Shuddh Desi Romance

Shuddh Desi Romance is like its title. It tells it as it is : it is desi, it has romance and it is matter of fact, but never preachy.

It talks about love, sex, living-in, marriage, commitment,  adulthood, doubts, trust, honesty,  middle class values and a lot of other things that every millennial, especially if they come from small town India,  have always known  about and have fought (or caved under) most of their adult lives.

But, and this is a huge but, it does not have melodrama. I am serious. The movie has a lot of chances to take the drama route, but it does not.  The jilted lover does not break into a sad song, abortion does not turn the bright-eyed loveable girl into a hardened, cynical  vamp and inner insecurities and frustrations do not come accompanied with doleful background music.

By now, I’m sure all Hindi movie goers know that the film does not toe the “ek chutki sindoor ki kimat” line. But what is notable is that  it does not hedge its message and it does not use sex as a means to draw in the crowds. At least, not from what I saw of the trailers.

Maneesh Sharma knows the dilliwala very well, as we’ve seen in Band Baaja Baraat, and uses this knowledge with flair. Take it farther away from Dilli and he’s still in his comfort zone. It is evident in how Rishi Kapoor breaks his daal bati and loads it up with ghee, how the wastrel sings for the pretty girl in the bus, how Rajput snaps at the conductor and then, on having a stroke of good luck, apologizes, in how they all dress.

Sharma’s not trying to make a “pretty” movie, though the man knows you have to make some compromises to get the money, which he does. But the compromises are mostly some well written songs tuned to folksy music, so one does not mind.  Parineeti Chopra is a natural, Sushant Singh Rajput is endearing and the most charming guide we’ve seen on screen since Raju, and Vaani Kapoor, graceful.

So in this movie, the girl and boy live together. Because they live together, they wash clothes and cook food and fight and kiss and make love like any other normal couple. They also sing and dance once in a while, but that is while doing those chores, so it is like when you put on your music player and dance while making omelettes or vacuuming (or sweeping, depending on where you are).

The studio they live in does not look like it’s been borrowed from a much richer cousin, the girl keeps her clothes in a steel almirah, wears cotton kurtas, uses buckets to wash and clean and uses a ceramic cup for an ashtray.
Even the flat Konkona Sen lived in in Wake up, Sid! was too nicely done for a struggling writer in Bombay.
When the man stays over for the first time in Sharma's movie, he uses rolled up ad hoc sheets for a pillow (and graduates to a real pillow in later scenes when he has officially moved). When he takes a bus , it looks like an Agra bus.
But that does not mean the movie is a depressing work of cameraman ship. Oh no. It brings out the beauty of Jaipur well, and even uses the pink in the pink city for a song that talks of love. Shaam gulabi, shehar gulabi, pehar gulabi hain.  Get it?
There’s the man caught in between doing right and wrong: in this case, struggling to come to terms with the fact that he will have to hurt the same girl twice, because, well, he’s in love with someone else.  Rajput is the quintessential lost boy-man who takes a long time to understand what he really wants in life and how to go about it. To top it off, he meets the right girl at the wrong moment—while he’s going to get married.

Chopra is the practical woman who has seen some of life, and the running scares her a bit. Which man runs  from his own wedding? In a  moment of self evaluation, she encapsulates the crux of the movie somewhat: "mere lehenga chunni pehenney sey kya ho jaega, usko bhaagna hoga toh bhagega hi." But because she's also upright, she's willing to see the good in the bhaagna. She accepts that that  also shows honesty-- this is a man who will not go through the charade when his head and presumably heart, are somewhere else. So, they give it a shot.

There is some more running and chasing, in which the director loses his grip and the movie moves a tad too slowly, but the acting compensates for it.  In an outright rejection of age old morals that say once you’ve told the world you’re going to get married , there is no way out even if all your head and heart is screaming "wrong", our hero finally gets together with the girl he loves.
And here, Sharma goes very bold. And YashRaj too, given that they are the original makers of the shaadi and chiffon romances.
Anyway, so instead of making the couple fall in love so that they change who they are and decide to lovingly marry, he sticks to his guns and makes them continue to live in.

Vaani Kapoor could have been the horribly wronged, lamenting third wheel (and she was wronged) but writer Jaideep Sahni makes her hold her own. She knows when to let go, and does it without any loss of self respect. And without any self pitying: when she says you may not be able to tell when you fall in love but you always know when you fall out, the audience knows she’s moved on. Or will, soon.
There’s no animosity between the two women, but neither do they become friends and live happily ever after.
There’s no outright rejection of marriage. Chopra, in her down to earth way says she’s not comfortable with marrying, not as of now.  There is, however, an outright rejection of the hypocrisy in marriages and weddings.

If you’re in one that has none of those, you’re golden, of course.

But in Sharma’s world of hired baraatis (and in much of what I see around me), people are either hiding, or lying, or convincing themselves they are doing it for some greater good, or trying to change each other, or letting the titillating mms-downloading-conservative purohits get away with it,  or being fools in some way, of which our spunky couple will have none.

Neither will I, but that’s besides the point.
                           

Breaking up with SRK

                                                       

    No. No, no, Shahrukh Khan. No.

    This is not how you want to buoy your dipping career graph, or look to woo your audience south of Mumbai. Not just because it is absolute nonsense and a confirmation that you have decided you'll keep making your money living off your previous hits, but also because this tells us you're taking us for granted.

    You know what? No one likes that. 

    And more importantly, because you are single handedly destroying all efforts Barfi, Vicky Donor (laughs, anyone? ), Wasseypur, Inglish Vinglish and other sensible movies courageous directors are slowly starting to make, sometimes with a fraction of the movie you can afford to blow. And none of the power you wield in the industry.

     Because you're telling them, "why do you need to bother  making good movies? Look at me. I'm SRK, I make nonsense and make money as the suckers lap it up."

     Chennai Express got you your money, sure. I hope you enjoy the pelf. 

    So go ahead, wear your madras checks (or RA-One costume) and do your worst. But know this: Playing a forty year old Rahul getting excited about an upcoming Goa trip with friends and cracking loud, crass jokes is not how your core audience gave you your success in the first place. 

    Just to put it in perspective, looking for "hot babes/dudes" in Goa is understandable in 16 year olds. Your son and daughter will soon be asking for permission for that trip, if they have not already.

    In 40 year olds, it is plain creepy. When you do that on screen, you tell hundreds of men in India that it is OK to do so. Is it your fault people people behave foolishly? No. Is it your responsibility to make sure you're not worsening the situation, if not bettering it? Yes. 

    How can one do it in out and out commercial movies? Case in point: scene where Chulbul Pandey tells his wife "aap meri patni ho, ghulaam nahi..." after knowingly bothering her over odds and ends while she's busy doing household chores.

    That Khan knows he has a following: people who blindly and stupidly ape what he does on screen. He is not to blame for that, neither can he control it. None of you want to, either. So in his home production, he is making some effort to use that power to drill sense into our collective heads. 

    And you are the smartest of them all, are you not, SRK? With the biggest following among them all?     

    We made you into SRK because you acted in slightly "different" movies: movies that did not bank solely on shoulders going hichik-michik or mockery of people. Movies that were a break from the otherwise mindless dhoom dhadaka naach gana of the 90s. Only, you've taken it all back to the worst of that era and then dragged it down some more. 

    Remember "Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa", "Darr", "Raju Ban Gaya Gentleman",  "Dilwale Dulhaniya..", "Chak De...", "Swades",  even "Dil Toh Pagal Hain" and "Kal Ho Na Ho"?  

    Know what, SRK? We do not owe it to you to make you successful. It is quite the other way round.

    You made Billu and  Ra-One. We were taken aback, but we let it slide. You made a Jab Tak Hain Jaan, we were hurt but it was more abhimaan (speaking of remakes, why not that one?) than despise. But that was when the feeling that you were taking us for granted really sank in. 

    Because a man as smart as SRK makes one mistake. Ok, two. We were ready to indulge you and your pride.     "See? Only SRK can make this bad a movie and still recover his money and make the audience go with it."

    The third time, it is not a mistake, it is a calculated move.

    The fourth time, it is an insult. A slap across our faces. You are telling me, us, that you do not care for the very audience that made you what you are. The one that you represented: the urban, not so loud, not so crass male. We called you King Khan not because you could churn out badly rehashed inanities, but inspite of that.          Now you've taken it too far.

      Fine, you want to be really popular in Tamil Nadu. The "south", in general. Did you really have to take what represents the worst of Tamil cinema and add hindi dialouges to it to do that? 

    You, SRK? The man who could look into the camera, smile his dimpled smile and make the whole theater go weak in the knees? The most romantic of all heroes Bollywood has seen since I started watching Hindi movies? 

    The man who taught the Bollywood audience that not always is the hero white and villain black? That there are greys to be considered? 

    So, what happened? 

    You aged? People do that.
    Mr. Bachchan was more masala and more commercial than you've been in your peak, and he evolved. He tried a Lal Badshaah and some, quickly realised his mistake and there on, changed course. 

    He did not let his ego stop him from playing characters that fit his age. It only made people respect him more, and as far as my layman's understanding goes, money isn't really a problem for him any more.

    The other Khan, Aamir, did it and he wasn't even as famous or popular back then as you were. I doubt he has as much muscle in the industry as you do, either. Ranbir Kapoor, about half your age and a quarter of your experience, does it. So it is not about age, position or experience. It is about wanting to or not wanting to.  

    When my friends and I fell for you, it was because you were talking to us in a language we understood. Because you drilled into our heads a simple equation. Rahul=love, honour, honesty, sensibility.

    Because even though that raised our standards to such ludicrous highs that we never found our perfect men all through teenage, we were OK with it. Because when you say "Rahul, naam toh yaad rahega," our hearts still skip a beat.

   Because when you are Kabir Khan, you are able to raise a very predictable plot to above average. Simply because you play Khan like noone else could.

    That pride, I understand. This, I do not.

    This Rahul, I do not know.

    But this Rahul gets you your money, so I'm guessing you'll keep at it. But I'm going to stay away till there's a  trailer that shows me you are being you again, doing something that justifies my liking you. Our liking you. 

    I'm hoping that could be this Diwali. I'll watch out for the posters.

    But I know there's a good chance it won't, for easy money is an addiction. So long, then.

    

    P.S: Deepika Padukone is the only saving grace in Chennai Express. I hope you thanked and paid her enough.

   P.P.S: I know I'm nitpicking now, but Kalaripayattu and Kathakali are from Kerala. Chennai is in Tamil Nadu. You got the Bharatnatyam part right, though. 

                                                                         

Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani

There was a boy and there was a girl and they were best friends. No, there were two boys and there was a girl and they were best friends. And there was some cross-crushing, but they did not fall in love and marry and let the third friend drop off like an unwanted appendage, thank god.
It helped that there was a Deepika Padukone to add an extra angle to what could have turned into a hackneyed and sorry love triangle, of course.
Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani is Bollywood candyfloss, lifted a little beyond average by a smart script and a strict check on tears. There are some of course, which romance comes without any? But like I said, director Ayan Mukherji kept his actors on a tight leash.

Mukherji is smart. Like with his last movie, he sticks to the generation he knows best and raises questions that are likely to rattle it the most. And he crushes that silly adage Bollywood has been tattooing in our minds for ages and ages, ever since a jilted Parvin Dastur yelled at a cowering Bhagyashree “ek ladka ladki kabhi dost nahi bann saktey.”

The chemistry between Ranbir Kapoor, Kalki Koechlin, Aditya Roy Kapur and later , Deepika Padukone reminds one of the ease and comfort we saw in “Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikandar”, but of course, the later was a different story altogether. But what a movie!

As for Yeh Jawani Hai Deewani, we have it all: we have attractive women and attractive men who travel to exotic places, or don’t. As long as they all look good. We have money, we have love, we have friendship and we have lovely songs. Oh and we have some amazing dancing. So, we have a hit!

The movie isn't going to be remembered as Ranbir Kapoor’s best performance, but it will help him and the others make a lot of money. And, it should be remembered, justifiably, for his dancing. Kapoor’ll never be a Hritik Roshan but what Remo makes him do in this movie is nothing short of spectacular, be it his retro moves to Western (ok, inspired) beats or his perfect expressions while courting Madhuri Dixit to very Indian moves.
Speaking of, our lady never fails to charm, does she?
Nearing fifty, and still the most graceful heroine on screen today. Only, I wish she did not give in to that hand movement in the “Via-agra” song, The Dixit who is confident enough to sportingly dance with a male lead much much younger to her to “Tu sham ki tarha dhal gayi” does not really need vague sleaze to draw the crowds. All she needs to do is smile, we’ve known that since she took the stage as Mohini a very long time ago.

Mukherji throws her at us at the very beginning of the movie, gets us in the mood (thanks Rekha Bharadwaj and Pritam), makes us dance a bit with her (or jiggle in our seats, depending on how shy you are) and then takes us on a journey across the world, while raising some very pertinent-to-working-youngs-but-been-asked-two thousand-times-already questions.

The eternal tussle between home and the world, career and family. In the course of which, Koechlin, Roy Kapur and Padukone all help the distraught hero find his way. They are all largely being themselves: single, working city dwellers, and they are all good actors, so they do their job well. The acting is easy and devoid of any unnecessary drama, the chemistry does not make you cringe. Quite the opposite actually, it is warm and comfortable.

Padukone loses her glasses and turns into her gorgeous self in the process and Koechlin loses her grunge look and wears a very pretty “ghaghra choli”, but then, what else is growing up?

Which, however, I won’t say Mukherji did with this one, despite the movie being a decently good watch. I mean, he debuted with “Wake up Sid” and then slipped into kind of formulaic candyfloss. But then one understands the need to make money and get some fame. As long as that money (ours, from the tickets) is invested back into another Sid-like venture in the next.

In the meanwhile, romance and song and dance lovers (me included) will watch this one one more time and this year’s Diwali will have many stage shows of “Dilliwali Girlfriend” and “Balam Pichkari”.
But then if they spice up a movie with not one but three such numbers, can you blame the audience?

Rituparno Ghosh: what he showed an average movie goer

There are famous men, and then there are famous men. There are those that you know of, because they are on TV, have won awards and are popular. And then there are those that touch your lives. You don’t know them personally but wish with all your heart you did, because when you know them through their works, you feel like it makes you a better person.

I was inadvertently introduced to Rituparno Ghosh by my mother in the early 90s. The mother, you see, is hugely responsible for turning the daughter into a lover of Indian cinema. I watched Qayamat se Qayamat Tak even before I was enrolled in school and fell in love with Salman Khan in Maine Pyaar Kiya when I was 4 years old. Yes, that happened. And continued, till our man decide to go black-buck hunting, at which point I decided sanity is important even while crushing on screen actors.

Anyway, so ma was making plans to go watch a movie (Bengali!) and I was not a part of it. Grumble, grumble, some heated words and a conversation that ended in “it is not a movie for kids.”

This was before Google was omnipresent and at our beck and call, so it took me some time before I read up on reviews of Unishe April, and whatever I could find about this new director. Background here: this was at a time when no self respecting middle class Bengali bhadralok would go watch a Bengali commercial movie in theatres. And I don’t blame them. The 90s gave us some really really mind numbingly stupid atrocities in the name of cinema. At least in Bollywood, the women were pretty and the men were handsome, and there were good songs.

Bengali movies during this time were really just on-screen versions of jatra, (look it up, I don’t know how to translate that in English) with garish red lipstick and yellow blouses and high pitched dialogue delivery. How do I know? Well.

Eventually Ma said I could come if I wanted to. I went, with a big show of reluctance (who wants to go watch a Bengali movie? Also, you said no, so I won’t go any more, etc) and 30 minutes into the movie I knew I had watched one of the best movies in my 10 years of living. Note here, after that, every time I watched a Ghosh movie, I felt the same. I haven't watched Sunglass yet, but am very familiar with every other movie made by him that has seen the light of day.  

So Ghosh took Bengali commercial movies by its horns and completely turned it over. People in his movies did not yell and scream, they did not wear strange clothes and actually felt like real people.

Much like Rowling did with reading, Ghosh re-introduced the Bengali middle class to Bangla movies. And remember, for a people whose standards are the likes of Satyajit Ray and Ritwik Ghatak that is no small task.

But here’s the thing, Ray and Ghatak were long gone, and then there were none. Except for the one odd Aparna Sen, but her movies were/are too few to bring a massive cultural change. It was almost like the cinema gods were punishing the local industry in their attempt to maintain equilibrium of quality. Like the gods were saying “you Bengalis have gotten too used to high quality in Ray, Sen, Ghatak, so now you’ll have to deal with just the opposite. We give you inanity like there never was.”

In the meanwhile, an entire generation grew up going to English medium schools, went out for fancy dinners and had started experimenting with foreign concepts like “dating”, had already made jeans and making-out a part of their growing up, and equaled bangla movies with rustic nonsense.

Then Ghosh came along, changed all of that, and even made his audience think.

When he told a story, you listened. Watched, but you know what I mean. And because Ghosh was an extremely intelligent man, he knew exactly how to hook his target audience: the well schooled but very averse-to-change middle class.

So his characters would sing Rabindrasangeet and quote Tagore and Shakespeare, and the middle-class erudite would feel safe in his movies. “Look, these are people just like us!”

Then, they would cheat, hurt, fight and even rape behind closed doors. “Look, these are people just like us!”

He “got” women, and when he recreated Binodini on screen, you were enamored by her silent strength.  Then, because you are a good middle class man/woman, you’d say you’d rather an Asha than a Binod, but Ghosh showed you how just like there are men and boys, there are women and girls. His Binod can, without missing a beat, retort, “shongo korbey, chinho rakhbey na, taai kokhono hoy?” (Somewhat crudely, "you'll want to mate but you won't have any imprint on yourself, how is that fair?") I think Tagore would have approved. 

Then he took his prowess to Bollywood and gave the industry one of its finest dramas in the name of Raincoat. In which he retold O’Henry’s Gift of the Magi, and said so clearly. But because he was a man who knew what he wanted and knew he was the best at it, he largely stuck to Bengali and instead of chasing famous actors in their industry, got them to come down to his land and remade them. Aishwarya Rai, Amitabh Bachchan, Rakhi, Abhishek Bachchan, Sharmila Tagore. All remade by Ghosh.

And while doing all this, he boldly cross-dressed and shred a mimicry artist to pieces in a talk show when he decided the world had had enough cheap humour at the expense of men like him. Effeminate, like he put it. 

And he does it confidently, gracefully, with a smile and never once raising his voice. Just like in his movies. While the infinitely more “manly” TV artist looked on like a deer caught in headlights, and struggled to find coherent words.

And he was brave. He retold Tagore’s Chitrangada to suit today’s world, he used his own voice to dub for a woman’s character in a movie, he portrayed the story of a gay man and his mother’s shock when she found out, he talked of marital rape ages ago when the Indian legal system will still not recognize it, he composed songs in Brajbuli and he told us, much like many many great authors have told us over and over again : it is important to think, it is important to be compassionate and liberal and open to ideas, and it is important to stand up for your rights and against encroachment and it can all be done beautifully, without raising your voice. 

This is how the middle class Bengali went back to the theatres. Which is how they can now dare to experiment within the commercial framework and even get funding for these movies. I can still remember a time, not very long ago, when a movie about three girl friends would be only released in Nandan (art-film circles) and sink without a trace. And many movies, like Bhooter Bhobisyot would not be made because, maybe, no one would fund it. Today, cool hipsters go watch them with popcorn and sodas. 

Bollywood, the deep.

“Really? You listen to Bollywood music when you are by yourself?”

People have been asking me that question for as long as I can remember. Some with shock, some surprise, some not as direct, some more direct than that --I’ve been fencing with the idea of “Bollywood is your type of music?” for more than a decade of my life.

It is my type of music. I’ve grown up on a staple diet of all things Bollywood, or the Indian Hindi film industry, for those of you who prefer to call it that. And I’ve been dealing with the fact that people will judge me, in various degrees, as soon as I say that.
Because though I do listen to Western music and though I do have some staple favourites there, if I’m alone in my room or really upset or really happy, I’m more likely to take refuge in Kishore Kumar or Yesudas than I am to tap into Simon & Garfunkel. Nothing against Sound of Silence. I love that song. Same as I like Bridge Over Troubled Water. And Lenny Cohen. And the Beatles and Bill Withers and so many many others. I even listen to Coldplay and Shakira and even Megadeath once in a while. When you have kid brothers and grow up in an India of the 90s and MTV, you listen to everything.

But my real comfort zone lies elsewhere and that has been the source of surprise and concern for so many people, I thought it was time for me to write this post. Also because I just got reminded that Bollywood is celebrating a 100 years of entertaining us. What better time?

Why surprise? Here’s the back story. Bollywood is pop, Bollywood is in bad taste, Bollywood is not deep and if you’re an urban teenager, Bollywood is definitely not hip.

It is cool to go watch Ang Lee movies, it is good to know of Scorsese. It is intellectual and deep to watch Hrithik Ghatak and V. Shantaram.  It isn’t that cool, important or intellectual to watch Raj Kapoor movies, or even Yash Chopras’. Because it is all “dhoom dhadaka, naach gaana.”

But here is my question, is it really all mindless entertainment that has no deep meaning? I am not an expert, but here’s my attempt at logic. I read Tagore and Shakespeare and Premchand with equal love. Notice, I said love. I enjoy reading them, and I try to learn from them. Surely, you won’t say I don’t have any ability to grasp depth and understanding at all?
Ok, so if you’re ready to give me that leeway, here’s my question for you, especially if you’re among those who have, at some point, wondered why the girl that spends time reading “heavy books” also listens to Bollywood.

Have you ever listened to those songs closely, or watched those movies intently?  Don’t fight me on “are you saying Bollywood is all sensible”? Of course not. But then, what is?
Keep obvious trash and inanity aside, and now think, have you ever really listened to them closely? If you have, do you really think there is nothing deep or motivating or soothing about Hindi pop music?

When an Amitabh Bachchan says, “nasha sharaab mein hota toh, naachti botaal,” is that not deep?

When a pair of separated lovers sing “Sarhad insaanon ke liye hain, Socho tumne aur maine, kaya paaya insaan hoke…”  does it not make you wonder?

When you are down and depressed and hurt, I bet listening to “Kuch reet jagat ke aisi hain, har ek subah ki sham huyi. Tu kaun hain, tera naam hain kya? Seeta bhi yaha badnaam huyi” not make you feel a little better. Try it.

Too poignant and mushy for you?  How about “ bela chameli ka, seja bichaya. Soye gori ka yaar, balam tarsey”?
No, there is no cleavage show in that song. Yet, I dare you to find me a more bold, non mushy  song sequence. Of course, taking into account how it has been shot and fit into the movie. We are, after all talking about the film industry.

There is a reason why Bollywood has been around for a 100 years. If it were really all frivolus naach gaana, that would not be possible. The law of elimination would have guaranteed that.

And it’s not all old and long gone. They’re making magic every day, right from singing “har ghadi badal rahi hain roop zindagi”, to saying “Usey musalsal kar bhi aao, wo jo ruki si raah baaki hain.”  Only, we need to listen.

So the next time you raise your eyebrows at people who say “Bollywood is my type”, think about this post. Maybe, those eyebrows won’t rise as high.

Oh, and let me know what your personal favorites are. I'll enjoy comparing notes.

Nautanki Saala!

So, Rohan Sippy decided to Bollywoodise Apres Vous. Which is a French comedy that I had somehow managed to watch when I was in college and was doing cool things like watch French movies about restaurateurs. It means “after you” and was quite good, even with subtitles.
Hence the special curiosity to check the Hindi version out. Sippy picked the right guy to play the Hindi Antoine in a character that needs to have comic timing, good acting and intelligence. Tada! Who else but Ayushmann Khurrana, he who is firmly establishing himself as the next potent sexy-brainy mix that is hard to ignore?

But sadly, one strong actor does not a movie make.
Nautanki Saala tries to do things different, succeeds in bits, but falls flat for the most. So Khurrana is Ram, who directs plays that are clichéd-ly called things like "Ravanleela". He also plays Ravan in Ravanleela, which is, you know, sooo fresh.
But Sippy does do a good job of handling his comic sequences. It’s always a pleasant surprise to see a Hindi mainstream comedy that does not have crassness, crudity or jokes that make one want to throw up. Khurana is brilliant in most parts, but frankly, the script gets jaded towards the end and the leading lady does not do anything to help the man. And I’m going to keep giving him the benefit of doubt. The man is extremely talented and good looking, pulled off a Vicky Donor, and in a world where Abhay Deol is increasingly getting lost (where is he?) Ranbir Kapoor needs some good competition. Kunaal Roy Kapur as the friend is good, but it’s not his movie, so he can't do much.
.
Which reminds me, why a smart character like Ram would fall for someone who came across as nothing but a brainless ninny (and not even that hot), was lost on me.  Or maybe that is the point the director was trying to make. Who knows?
By the time the movie ends, you don't really know what point Sippy was trying to make at all. And like in his earlier movies, he has a potentially good story-- all the complexities of modern-day love--but does not tell it well. Ram falls in love with his friend’s girl and decides to ignore all the feelings to do the right thing. Only, it’s real love so the supposedly high point in the movie comes from a uber sexy Ram saying “bahut ho gaya nautanki, sala” and kissing his lady love passionately, fiancé and friend go to hell.
Because all the world loves a lover, the audience would have rooted for them, except for that the lady (I looked her up, Pooja Salvi) can’t act or kiss to save her life. Despite all the brave tongue show.
Anyway, that settles one part of the movie, but the plot hereafter is
like warm beer. Much as you want to drink it, beyond a point you just have to accept that beer does not taste good warm.
Friend, can you just already accept your girl likes Khurrana better? I mean, who won’t? Fiancee, can you accept your man loves the friend’s girl (to be fair she does, quite early on, and exists sans drama. Respect.)? Girl herself, can you accept you are currently dating an idiot and come on, how silly are you, really? Ok. Good.
So now we've untangled our cliched and done to death plot and need to end this show. What do we do?
We'll make our girl, who’s a florist, get on stage in the middle of a full-blown professional performance and get her to deliver perfect lines.
And the audience will love it. Because that's how professional theatre works. At least in DTPH, Madhuri and SRK had rehearsed being on stage for a long time.

There’re a couple of very good renditions of old favorites like “So gaya yeh jahaan” and “Dhak dhak karne laga” that the director has managed to weave into the movie in the middle of all this, and those are the moments that keep you from totally hating it. Those, and some comic sequences.
Watch it on cable or Netflix when they air it.

Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola

With Matru ki Bijlee ka Mandola, Vishal Bharadwaj has done the impossible. He has successfully managed to replicate the real India of today, in all its complexities, within a commercial framework that includes all things Bollywood. Without resorting to silly stereotypes.
In Bharadwaj's satire, which is set somewhere in the Hindi heartland of Haryana, the people are at the mercy of its rich resident with a drinking problem. Rustic as this character is, he speaks perfect English when he wants to, though he prefers to converse in his mother tongue. His daughter is Oxford-educated and his right-hand man went to JNU.
Yet, when they party at home and really want to have fun, their karaokes are in Hindi. Bharadwaj's revolutionaries do not hide in jungles, his revolutionary is well-spoken, can hold his own among political bigwigs and can pronounce "bourgeois" right while sharing a beedi with his high-society friend and her husband. Bharadwaj also shows the ugly rich India, through the brat that has grown up with "no sense of decency." And yet, because anyone with money can now access technology, this otherwise moronic character can score over his smarter politician friends by discovering pesticides that can kill crops when used wrongly.  Lesson here: do not turn up your noses at people that talk with heavy indigenous accents. They might just be smarter than your city rat self, and brought up better than you.
Mandola (Pankaj Kapur) is a megalomaniac who does what village lords have been doing for generations. He does not mind hurting his people for money, is hand in glove in his exploits with the Chief Minister (Shabana Azmi) , is filthy rich and an alcoholic. And because he is very Indian at heart, his hallucinations do not make him see pink elephants. He sees pink buffaloes. (Go Bharadwaj!)
He also instigates a rebellion against himself and stands for the constant capitalist versus socialist fight most modern Indians go through each day of their lives. We love our malls and Cokes, but we cannot completely stamp out the Gandhi in us. And in here, Bharadwaj taps the true potential of theatre and shows why and how that form of acting easily always trump its silverscreen rivals if and when given the chance. I think this also somewhat justifies why serious theatre actors have scoffed at film acting for generations, but let's not get into that debate. To say Kapur is brilliant in his role as the schizophrenic Mandola is an understatement, and I do not know how else to describe what he did in this movie, with able support from his other theatre trained colleague, Shabana Azmi.
Anushka Sharma is her usual peppy self and does nothing she has not done before, but because this is not her movie, it does not matter. She does her job well enough though, that of bringing glamour and entertainment. Imran Khan breaks new ground, and his sense of comic timing helps him hold his own against the highly seasoned Kapur, though his Haryanvi accent is suspect.
The movie belongs to Kapur, and he  reigns supreme, not once allowing the viewer's attention to wander.
Bharadwaj loves Shakespeare and uses the Bard magnificently, just as he did in his earlier ventures.
He uses Gulzar's (thank god the man is back, what with his last venture in Jab Tak Hain Jaan...) strong words to weave in songs that take the story forward and make you tap your feet along. He brings in a hot herione in skimpy clothes to entertain those who need it, but makes sure she can ride a bicycle on dusty roads and jump into dirty ponds despite being "phoreign" educated. There are also shades of Ray's "Hirok Rajar Deshey" in it, though I won't be able to say if it is just a case of great minds thinking alike.
And while juggling all of this, Bharadwaj manages to not lose sight of his main storyline: that of the Indian farmer, his constant struggle with local strongmen, politicians and even nature. The story of how this breeds what we call "anti social" elements. In all its wit and glory, it  manages to make fun of corrupt politicians, sympathizes with those who need it, shows us again how riches and power do not make a man and also stands for love and honour.
Matru Ki Bijli ka Mandola a rare example of a movie that balances its pathos, absurdities, wit and makes you laugh without having to resort to crudity.
There's just this one small concern. Bharadwaj should have timed this right. By the time they are looking for nominations for Filmfare 2013, MBM will be old and they'll have forgotten Kapur for the Khans. Or other Kapoors. Unless, he has better things lined up, of course.