Piku

Spoilers (mild) ahead:
Piku is the reason why some sane people still find it in them to cheer for Bollywood.

The movie is named after the lead character, Deepika Padukone, who is a single woman living with her annoying, cantankerous and hypochondriac father.

The father is Amitabh Bachchan, who has shown, once again, why he is the lord of the silver screen.  

Director Shoojit Sircar is obviously as Bengali as the double oo-s in his name, and knows his subject like the back of his hand. 
His story telling devices are clever and pithy—he has to use Bachchan and Padukone for main leads, which could lead to accent issues notwithstanding the actors’  exemplary efforts to not sound fake.  So, Piku and her father are Delhi-based Bengalis. There, now the slight slips in accent are not as misplaced at all. The broad swaths are taken care of by the actors and the director, who, I presume, made sure no one says “rasugulla” and “kolkotta” and gets away with it.

Bengalis and Kolkata have been done justice, with their badminton and rolls, alpona and bindis and that inherent pride that is so hard to shake off.

There, important basics fixed and out of the way, Piku goes on to tell a story about an everyday, common working woman of today. The story is about how there are little things in her, as are there in her father and her friend, that make their (and by extension, our) ordinary lives not so ordinary.

Bachchan’s Bhashkor (emphasis on “o”) Banerjee is an annoying man. He is a nag and a hypochondriac of the first order, who likes to talk about his bowel movements with all and sundry. Sircar’s choice of ailment for Bachchan is apt—the food loving Bengali constantly suffers from digestive trouble.

But he also surprises the younger and more modern Irrfan Khan with his views on marriage and why he would rather his daughter first lived her life and then tied the knot, if at all.

Bhashkor Banerjee is a classic example of the old man who can use age as an excuse to spell out bitter truths to the family and get away with it. Things he would not, or did not talk about when he was younger.  His heart is in the right place, but he has reached a point in life where he does not and need to put up with nosy neighbours, annoying relatives or social mores.  So, he won’t.

Irrfan Khan is the able third wheel in the father-daughter equation, the helping hand who can sometimes fight for Piku when her father crosses the line, the outsider who can out-yell the family  into silence.

Don’t be misled by my calling him the third wheel—he is that only in the equation of the movie, because the movie is about Piku and her father. Khan more than holds his own in the quirky triangle that this movie is.

Top marks to Padukone for playing the part of Piku to the hilt. It is heartening to see what she can do when she decides not to run around SRK in tiny clothes.

So Piku is Everywoman, and every woman will relate to her in bits and pieces. She is the heroine, but she works hard at an often demanding job,  has to look after the house, has baai issues to resolve, has a father to look after, goes out with friends for a drink and worries about finding the right man for herself. She also admits to being about 30, without batting an eyelid.

Piku admits to having sex, terrorizes taxi drivers, yells at her father a lot, but mothers him as well.

In that relationship lies the quiet calm of the movie, the underlying sense of warmth that transcends what could have easily been a supremely bitter family experience.

 Piku says, at one point, “we can’t judge our parents.”  In Sircar’s movie, both father and daughter act with that basic understanding in place—he knows she is around to take care of him no matter how much he embarrasses her, she knows he will love her the most no matter how much she screams her head off at him.

With that foundation in place, the movie uses various devices to make it an interesting journey, often surprising the jaded Bollywood audience.

When Piku, Father and Third Wheel start on a journey, you could be forgiven for thinking that travel is how they will resolve all their issues and find inner peace. But, try again. 
They travel, but there are no emotional upheavals that make father and daughter weep their anxieties away. They keep doing their own things and drive the third person nuts in the process, but without loss of love.

Because, if every road trip turned out to be a life changing experience, the world would be a very different place, no?

There is a scene where a drunk Bachchan comes home and starts twisting to a popular Bengali number. You almost expect the daughter, who had stormed off the same party because she was annoyed with the father, to get up and join him, thus resolving differences. She doesn't, and there is no sappy “beta, but I love you”s.

Seeing her father dance, Piku gets up and shuts her door, albeit smiling to herself. That is how Sircar strikes a chord.

The setting of a Bengali family with no mother makes the movie believable:

 Where else would you find a woman of thirty not being hammered daily with marriage proposals? The mother’s place is taken over by Moushumi Chatterjee as the maashi, who diligently tries to push the wedding agenda, but is thwarted by the dad.

There is love, but in the very Indian style where there is not much physical manifestation of it. Like I said, there are no “I love you beta” moments, but an unshakable understanding that love exists between father and daughter. 

When Piku cries after her dad is taken ill, you could feel squeamish, remembering the many times your parent or a loved one might have complained about a problem and you've not paid attention.

In that, and other things, Piku is not a film that can assure you all’s well with the world. But then again, maybe in just that, it does.

NH10

                                                                       

Spoilers ahead.

With NH10, Anushka Sharma has clearly stolen a march over all her contemporaries, who will now have to spend months and months to catch up.

Here’s what happened: while Deepika Padukone was busy being fighting on Twitter for her rights to dress as she liked and Parineeti Chopra was teaching ignorant journalists what periods are all about, Sharma was nowhere in the news. She didn’t create a storm with her opinion on the AIB roast, no one used her as an idol to fight against skinniness and most critics (including me, initially), were ready to write her off as the one who can only do the Dilli ki ladki routine.

That is, until now.  So while all her contemporaries were busy championing modern womanhood while constantly playing props to heroes in extremely bad quality movies (Padukone’s Happy New Year, anything Sonakshi Sinha has acted in except for Lootera, and the younger Chopra’s Dawat e Ishq), Sharma took up Jaggu in PK, with cropped hair and no affectations.

 Parineeti Chopra tried that a bit in Hasee Toh Phasee but since that was more misuse of the look than use, PK’s Jaggu won hands down. 

Then came NH10, in which she joined hands with a bunch of people including Anurag Kashyap and gave us a movie that has zero Bollywood clichés. OK, near-zero Bollywood clichés.

Dear Anushka Sharma, I doubt you can resist all along, but please don’t go back to being  arm candy instantly.

There is no happy ending in NH10. There is no deus ex machina that can save the day. There is a lot of darkness, no mincing of words and no effort to soften the blows for the audience. And the best part? There are no jarring item numbers to ensure the audience goes home happy, or slyly weaved in sexy shots of women’s bodies to “cut the tension”. 

NH10 is a story of the two Indias that economists, politicians and social reformers are at a loss of how to reconcile.  It is the story of what happens when through accident and foolhardiness, residents of the democratic India run into people from Khap Panchayat lands.

Sharma’s Meera is the person you and I and most people we know are —she has a well paying job, can look after herself, can take on misogynistic colleagues as needed and is married to a person who makes her happy, to whom she complains about having to attend parties.

One night on her way to work, she is believably (because it is Gurgaon) accosted by goons, after which her husband, Arjun (played by Neil Bhoopalam) buys her a gun for protection.

And that’s that, until they are on a road trip that goes terribly awry. The young couple is placed square in the middle of the kind of situation we all pray never to be faced with and only read about in newspapers. In the hinterland of Haryana, there’s an honour killing. Arjun’s bravado makes them targets of crazed goons who want them dead.

Director Navdeep Singh obviously knows the Jatland extremely well. And those who remember Manorama Six Feet Under will remember he can do thrillers well too.

Join the two together and you will get the picture.  Singh’s characters are well rounded, right from the village sarpanch to the police officer to the leader of the goon pack, who thinks nothing of hacking his sister to death but wails like a child on losing his brother.

NH10 also does not treat the audience like they are stupid—there are no long dialogues/monologues to spell out what is happening or will happen. The show, don’t tell, works fantastically in the sequence where we see the Haryanvi, writhing with pain, still bristling on seeing a woman smoking.  Or in the final sequence, where despite the horror of it all, you’ll still appreciate the absolute lack of high drama from Sharma.

There’s one tiny problem I see with the movie, and it’s nothing to do with the cast and crew, but with storytelling.

 NH10 could not have picked a better time for its release, what with all the angst against the banning of the BBC documentary.  While I absolutely love that this movie was made, to my mind, it would have been a perfect 10 if the makers could have found a way to unequivocally put across the thought, that there’s no greatness or pride in following the demonic tenets of the Khap-ruled hinterlands, even if those are centuries old rules.

Like the policeman in the movie, there’re a lot of people out there who believe “Gurgaon mein jahaan yeh aakhri mall khatam hote hain na, wahin aapki democracy aur constitution bhi khatam ho jaata hain.” In varying degrees, at least. 

My fear is of those people. That there could be a chance smart dialogues like these turn into some sort of validation for those real-life policemen who truly roam the lands, making the perpetrators into heroes, the same way SRK’s dysfunctional  Rahul in Darr (or any similar movie) stoked the imagination of many street side stalkers.  All women who grew up in the 90s will have some idea of what I’m talking about, no?

                                                                         

Roy.

                                                                       

If you haven’t watched, don’t read, for the makers of Roy have tried to bill it as a romantic mystery. 

You know what I think my biggest beef with Roy is? That they cheated the audience by advertising it as a Ranbir Kapoor movie, when in fact it is an Arjun Rampal movie. Kapoor is in it in a “dynamic role”, whatever that is supposed to mean.

Now, I understand why they would do that. Who in their right minds would want to pay multiplex ticket rates for Rampal and Jacqueline Fernandez? But I’m still bristling from the blatant cheating.

If you've read enough mystery novels or watched similar movies, it is going to take you 10 minutes to get to the bottom of the so called plot. If you've not, but are a reasonably attentive and logical person, it should still take you no more than 20 minutes to correctly predict what the Big Twist in the movie is.

 And that’s the thing with thrillers, you see. If you can tell whodunnit, what is the point?  There could have still been a point if there was enough Kapoor, or a well told story in the entire exercise.  But no.  I don’t know what director Vikramjit Singh was aiming for, but someone should tell him “high art” is only possible when there is some actual substance to it.

Roy looks mature—it is a quiet film, which is a welcome change from Bollywood’s melodrama and garish colours. But that’s about it. The entire film feels fake—the characters talk like some of Deepak Chopra’s tweets, a string of heavy or deep sounding words that lie next to each other without really meaning much.  Sometimes they even sound like Salman Khan’s tweets.

The protagonist is a super successful movie director, who has built his empire on the success of the franchise of a movie called Guns. There’s Guns 1, then Guns 2, and now he is writing Guns 3, over which he is breaking major sweat. Guns is, as you can imagine, about guns, heists and the like.

Besides being the director, he is also obviously the screenwriter, or the movie won’t be.

I can’t remember if they mention that important difference, but since I might have drifted in and out of sleep because the movie was so boring, I’m letting that slide.  

Now for more important questions.  You’re writing a story called Guns 3, which is about robberies, for Bollywood. Do you really need to go to Malaysia to seek inspiration for this? 

Deep breath. He’s a rich guy, and rich guys can afford to do such things. So let that slide too.

I’m not sure what time period Roy’s set in, but Rampal the director/writer uses a typewriter and wears a Fedora, even indoors.  There is a scene where he puts the thinking Fedora on just before he starts typing away. I am laughing even as I write about it, same as I did in the theatre and I don't think Singh was trying to be funny in that scene.

Anyway, because Roy is no Mad Men, said Fedora fails to add to style and sophistication. Ok, there are moments where Rampal does look handsome in the hat, but then he is a handsome man with or without. And even Don Draper wouldn't wear those indoors, because you know, manners.

While Rampal nee Kabir Grewal is struggling to write his story about a robbery, he runs into filmmaker  Ayesha Amir, who is Fernandez in a pair of glasses, which I am thinking is an attempt to make her look like the creative type. 

There is a romance. Set in picturesque Malaysia, there is another romance. Roy is the name of the protagonist of Guns 3. So when they say Ranbir Kapoor is in a “dynamic role”, it could have meant that he isn’t a real character. He’s fiction within fiction. So fictitious Roy’s love interest is Fernandez again, this time dressed in expensive, sophisticated clothes, portraying Tia.

They are careful not to show the neck tattoos that the director Fernandez sports, on Tia. Tia is rich and has a painting that Roy steals and then is miserable because he loves her and cheated her.

Ayesha reads books. Kabir sends him one and buys her drinks. Tia rides horses, Roy … well I can’t remember. I think he just stares at her. This is all meant to be very intellectual, by the way, because these sequences are peppered with lines like "Hum insaan hamesha kisi aur ki zindagi churake jeena chahtey hain", or the infitinely more conundrum like "Kya tum woh ho jo log kehte hain ya jo log kehtey hain woh banne ki koshish kar rahe ho."

 Then, when reel and real romance meet, you are meant to gasp. Only, I can't fathom why the movie makers thought it would be gasp worthy at all, because they have already told us Rampal is writing a story and have introduced Kapoor right as he talks about the protagonist, in true Bollywood cliche style, lest you miss the correlation.

Speaking of, Singh has crammed so many of these cliches, or symbolism if you will, into the movie I think it's a miracle my head did not explode.  Examples?

Rampal and Kapoor are both sad (since the author makes his protagonist go through the exact same feelings he is experiencing) and don't know what lies ahead. Hence, Roy is on a boat, adrift. I've already told you about the thinking hat bit. Rampal talks about the trials of fame and has a goldfish in a bowl for a pet.

If they were honest and made a low-brow masala potboiler, these tropes could have passed on as an attempt to lift the movie up. At best, no one would care. 
But Singh is trying to make this into a highly intellectual movie and is so caught up in making the packaging look good, he forgets to put anything in the box.

So we have to live with the fact that a very rich guy wants to make Guns 3 and needs inspiration for it. He can afford to spend a lot of money and go to Malaysia, so he does. The rich guy is either schizophrenic or the director is just enacting Guns 3 in a parallel setting, but there are so many bits that don't make sense. We are expected to let it all slide in the name of director's/poetic licence, I suppose.

But you will have realised, that is "letting slide" all of the movie.

I really want to know what made Ranbir Kapoor sign this project. Maybe it was the "dynamic role" and maybe once we decipher what that really means, it will all become as clear as daylight and everyone will understand what the point of this movie was.

                                                             

                                                             
                                                             

pk

                                                       

                                                                 

 By now, the storyline isn’t a secret any more, but if you’ve still not watched pk, don’t read on, for there are spoilers ahead.

pk is a brave movie, simply for the issue it takes up.  By now, anyone who walks in for a  Rajkumar Hirani movie has some set standards and expectations. Namely, it will take up a social cause and present it to us in a manner that makes for enjoyable cinema.

In pk, Hirani takes a huge leap. From talking about ill mannered chimps who disguise themselves as gentlemen to the rotting of our education system, he decides to take the bull by the horn and talk about the root of all evil in this country: religion. And no, despite the many parallels between Oh My God, what Hirani does here is much bigger, for he does not restrict himself to the comforts of nitpicking into his own faith and belief. The problem is not contained in any one faith in this country, and the movie is bold enough to say as much.

But we live in the times of nonsense (I mean it quite literally), and that is Hirani and co writer Abhijat Joshi’s albatross. In catering to that I think they might have slipped, in execution, but never once in intent.  

Religion is such a deeply ingrained practice in people that it takes an alien to point out its fallacies. Mostly because of the volatility that ranges and shifts violently between hardcore extremism and hyper sensitivity (especially among Hindus who immediately rise up to champion the cause of other faiths and say how wrong it was to drill holes in them). If you’ve watched closely you’d see no one was doing that in the movie. The point of the movie was to hold a mirror to the rotten stink of all religions, and so it did.  Secularism does not mean one religion has to be mollycoddled over another. It is the belief that religion should not be involved with the day to day social and political activities of a country.

Anyway, now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s get on with the movie. The alien device is thus  brilliant, because which inhabitant of this country (or even this world) could otherwise be completely unbiased in challenging religious sentiments? No, not even you, no matter how much you shake your head at me now. 

But other than that, Hirani and Joshi also question everyday malpractices in us in smart pithy scenes, like the one in which pk discovers Gandhi’s importance is now only defined by money, or where he is surprised that an insignificant and obvious fraud in a little city in a little country in a little planet in one corner of the universe has the audacity the think he can save or help God.

Things that we’ve all learnt in school (respect the Flag and the Father of the Nation, do not litter, you can’t bribe God to do your bidding, be a good person), and things we’ve all not only conveniently forgotten but also make excuses not to follow. What’s the point of not littering the roads when it all goes to the same pit, eh? Well, how about you trash things in your bedroom and living room instead of in bins at home? It all goes to the same pit anyway!

There’s nothing specific to talk about in terms of actors. It is Aamir Khan’s movie, but this isn't his best acting by any means. Anushka Sharma glows like a fresh flower despite the awkward lips. The anti-hyper feminine look is a winner. Everyone else is good at what they’ve been asked to do. There’s no answer to why the radio only plays old songs. Is it fixed to a particular channel that does that at all times?

The message in the movie is simple—stop following religious mores and practices at the cost of logic. God, or your belief is not the villain, distorted notions of those are.  Stripped to the bone, it really is that simple. It is bewildering to the alien, as it is to the few sane people left on Earth that this takes so much time to understand. On this theme Hirani adds commercial layers of songs (which don’t quite match up to his standards and are a tad too many in number), love triangles and melodrama.

And herein lies my problem. What Hirani has attempted with pk should be made an example of  ( wonder why it's not gone tax free yet) for every director and actor who think thick jokes, double-meaning laden quips and blowing up cars are the only way to make money. But where it missed the mark for me was in the inexplicable doses of un-Hirani like melodrama and preaching in the narrative.

In short, exactly what worked by their absence in  3 Idiots and the Munnabhai series killed the experience in pk.

Or maybe, like someone said, the audience for this one is people who think they can fix their problems with stones and amulets. (Don't laugh, we know educated graduates who still wear those. There. What are you hiding under your sleeve?)

At least, that’s who the movie is educating. They are the ones who buy Nazar Suraksha Kawajes and give Star TV its monies. So maybe, Hirani took the soap line of tears and dumbing down to drive home the point. I only wish he hadn’t.

                                                                     

Haider

                                                           

       With Haider, Vishal Bharadwaj completes his trio of Shakesperean tragedies, saving the toughest for the last.

Hamlet, as we all know by now, is the longest of the bard’s plays and takes about four and half hours to be acted out in its entirety. To my mind, it is also the more complicated of his works because the theme is not woven around right and wrong or good and evil, it is about indecisiveness. And revenge of course, but no one needs to spell that out.

In Haider, Bharadwaj manages to cut it down to about two hours and forty minutes.  It is evident from the way the movie is made that Bharadwaj wanted the trilogy to end on a high note and consciously worked towards that goal. The camera and editing work are razor sharp, the locations picturesque, characters well defined, the treatment poignant, yet grand. 

The good thing about Bharadwaj’s movies is that you don’t need to know Shakespeare to appreciate and enjoy them. The very good thing about his movies is that if you do know Shakespeare, your appreciation of what Bharadwaj is doing is magnified. Of course, it helps that basic human emotions—love, jealousy, hatred, sympathy etc remain constant through time, space and geographies and the 16^th century master has already given us the best plots built around them.

Bharadwaj internalizes Shakespeare in a way that is awe inspiring. In Haider he has gotten closer to the original text of the play than he was in Maqbool and Omkara,  in a way that can excite a student of literature. Yet, he is bold enough to depart from the original script in the very end. He has the student poet, for the student prince. You can’t have a Lord Chamberlain in modern day Kashmir, so his equivalent is the head of the police department.  There are the gravediggers and there are the courtier equivalents , there is the theme of Oedipus complex touched upon, there is the moment of his skull sighting and monologue, but what definitely takes the cake is Bharadwaj’s clever twist to the Ghost and the rendition of the famous “to be or not to be” soliloquy.  What good would a Hamlet be without that?

In Haider we have “Roohdar”, who is the rooh to father Hamlet’s jism. See?  That’s what makes a good adaptation. 

Setting Haider in Kashmir was a smart touch that adds uniqueness and an extra layer of complexity but Bharadwaj could have used any backdrop for this.

Then again, a tale of a series of misunderstandings and complex human relationships  that lead to death and devastation. Where have we seen that before? 

You’re right, almost everywhere in various avatars. Which is why Kashmir works. It’s that extra something to hold your audience in place, especially those who don’t find analyzing layers of  human relationships a worthwhile investment of time and money.

And yet, at times you might get restless. It is, after all, a long movie. Good as Haider is, it lacks the “chutzpah” of Omkara.  Shraddha Kapoor rankles a bit, maybe especially  because she is in such talented company. The girl gets sandwiched between power packed performances from the rest of the cast.  There’s one song that derails momentum, but then the Bismil number works like magic. As does the breathtaking choreography in it.

But just like the sum of the parts is not always equal to the whole, for all its beauty, goosebumps and breathtaking views, Haider does not stay with you beyond the theatre walls. And you are less likely to revisit Haider as fondly as you do Omi Bhaiyya or Langda Tyagi. 

                                                               

           

                                                                           

Lamhe

Yes, you read it right. That’s Lamhe, a 90s movie that I watched yet again the other day because I personally categorize it as “can watch whenever it is playing” and my American friend, having nothing better to do on a rainy Sunday, decided to give me company.

Her reaction to the movie was so entertaining (she’s Tamil but born and raised in the US, so unlike most people I know, she’d never watched this movie before) to me, I decided to review it here. The other reason is obviously that the three movies I’ve watched of late range from bad to uninspiring, so I didn’t bother writing about them. I gave “Kick” the miss, because I’ve promised myself I will not pay money to watch films that plainly mock the audience. Humpty Sharma ki Dulhania was the better of the lot and Alia Bhatt is definitely doing well, but it didn’t move me enough to write. I did like the “piyi huyi thi, memory loss nahi huwa tha” rejoinder to DDLJ though.

Anyway, back to Lamhe. It’s a Yash Chopra movie and after Silsila, easily the boldest they’ve ever been. Daag and Kabhi Kabhie (even Chandni) I assume would be risque for Bollywood back then, but Daag’s sort of Mayor of Casterbridge and the tension in the other two is tempered down  hugely to make them fit into the mainstream mold.

Anyway, I hear neither Silsila nor Lamhe did well when they hit the theatres, so I’ve a very strong feeling the grand old man, partly disillusioned with the audience, decided to stick with what the audience wanted—women in translucent whites and lovely songs stitched on easy-breezy story lines.

There are lovely songs in Lamhe, of course. Who can imagine any Chopra movie without those? But there’s surprisingly little candyfloss-ing. I remember when the movie hit the theatres there was some discussion about whether I would even understand, much less enjoy it. I just did the calculation. Lamhe was out in 1991. So I was six. I remember  the post movie discussion  my aunt and her friends had was quite steamy, all of them largely agreeing it was a bit “too much”.

I must have been too young to understand what exactly was “too much” in it, because I’d followed and liked the story quite well. But over the course of the years I’ve learnt to appreciate the risk Chopra was taking, making this movie in the early 90s. The movie breaks a number of Bollywood taboos while staying within the “commercial” borders. I always feel people do not need to become too radical to make any point—it can all be done in a more or less pleasant manner, and I felt the same again the other day when I was explaining Lamhe to my friend.

 For those who have no clue, it’s about a man who falls in love with a woman older to him. Taboo # 1.  The woman gets married to the man she is in love with, leaving our young man heartbroken. But he’s a man of the world, so instead of taking to the bottle or doing anything equally silly he goes about his business and in fact turns into a very disciplined man later. But the love of his life and her husband die soon after, leaving their infant an orphan.  The young man takes her in and provides for her; the baby  is raised by the “daai” who raised the man himself. Over time, the child, a spitting image of her mom, falls in love with her provider, now not so young. (Million taboos smashed!) Expected complications follow, not the least because of the age difference between them. Daughter realizes love of her life was originally in love with her mom but that does not matter to her (more smashing ).

Add to that some brilliant acting by Sridevi as mom and daughter, a very restrained Anil Kapoor  (all hair jokes notwithstanding, I like him),  melodious songs, good dialogues,  very sensitive direction and you know why many people like me would call Lamhe one of their favourite Hindi movies.

There’s an obvious influence of Daddy Long Legs in there, but it has been suitably Indianised and adapted. There is the age-and-place- in-life appropriate girlfriend who I’ve only lately started sympathizing with, I was too busy rooting for the young Sridevi earlier. 

There’s some incredibly no-fuss dialogues from the women and a whole lot of speaking their minds, without any nudity.  There’s some unnecessary comedy in the form of Anupam Kher, but the comic device is used in the classic sense where Kher acts as a mirror and a sounding board to the protagonist. Sridevi’s voice could be annoying at times but it’s nowhere as annoying as in Chandni and everything else about her is very good, so there’s no point nitpicking.

My friend started watching the movie only because it was playing right in front of her. What started as a polite show of interest quickly transformed into genuine curiosity. “She’s in love with him? But he’s her mom’s age!”

“Does he like her? He liked the mom!”

As I explained and sometimes defended the characters, I was thinking about how some things in this world will never change. It’s been more than a decade since Lamhe released and we’re still astonished at the complexities of love and life. Especially if they transgress age differences. I wonder how Lamhe would do if it hit the screen today. Would we still say “it was a bit too much”?

Maybe  fewer of us would. Like my friend, maybe more people would come around to accept the simple logic the younger Sridevi put forward: “kisi na kisi ko toh bada ya chota hona hi parta hain”.

Well, we’ll never know.  But we are also people who push things like “Humshakals” to be hits, so maybe we don’t even deserve to know. Maybe that was Chopra’s revenge—to give us Jab Tak Hain Jaan, in a manner of saying ”If it makes you go numb, don’t blame me. I tried, you rejected. Now suffer.”

Queen

                                                         

The first thing that you'll like about "Queen" is its honesty. The movie, and also the character, played so well by Kangana Ranaut.
    Gone is the Ranaut of the same old-same old high society, high maintenance, insecure, angst-ridden characters she monopolized. In Queen Kangana Ranaut is, like that Front Row interview, in her element and in her skin. And that carries the movie.
    With Queen director Vikas Bahl has broken a million taboos in pop Bollywood cinema, just like Rani (Ranaut) does when she goes on her adventure. It is a movie with no famous heroes (or even heroines), it is a movie where the leading lady does not fall in love with the handsome man who befriends her, it is a movie where the actress has to deal with modest means (even the planned honeymoon is in a budget hotel, ) and it is a movie that the  Johars and Chopras are still wary of putting money in.
    Queen, for those of you who still haven't seen it, is a coming of age movie. It has all the necessary cliches (the simple girl, the fickle boy, the cancelled wedding, the worldly-wise friend, the cathartic moment, the run of liberty) that makes for a coming of age movie, and yet it all falls in place and makes for an enjoyable experience that you relate to.
    Director Bahl uses a lot of boilerplate themes : the misfire while sending a picture, the sex shop, the confusion over a French menu, but where he wins is in his projection of those themes.
    My dance teacher once told me a good artist differentiates herself in how she presents her work and not simply by the content she chooses.
    As I watched Queen, I think I appreciated what she said meant all over again. Queen is the best example of  a movie making it sheerly on performance and direction despite a done to death and utterly predictable story line; right up there with  Chak De, in which SRK and team pulled off the same.
 So yes, there is the scene where a lizard scares the heroine, but instead of making it about "save the poor girl" Bahl uses it to forge a bond between roommates. A lizard in the bathroom makes most people jump, no matter you are French, Japanese, Indian or Spanish.
  The Dilli ki ladki is confused with a menu written in French, but it's not for gags or drama. She learns and the next time she's in the same situation in another new country, she makes it a point to ask the chef what she wants.
    The story in Queen is as simple as can be. Rani is the poster child of any matrimonial ad. Homely, pretty, educated  and agreeable, Rani is set to marry long time sweetheart Vijay, of course with the blessings of both sets of parents and extended family. But Vijay, who wooed Rani once upon a time, has had a taste of the modern world and thinks she is not good enough for him. Vijay calls off the wedding, Rani is flabbergasted. Shout out to both Bahl and Ranut for carrying this scene out so well. There's no loud screaming and shouting, there's not maramari between the families.
    Anyway, middle-class Rani has been saving since she was 17-- she always wanted to go to Paris for her honeymoon. After the initial shock and heartbreak, Rani somehow still manages to decide to go to Paris on her own and as she takes on her solo journey, finds a new life. And she realises she does not always need another person to be happy, that it is possible, even more enjoyable to do some things for herself and alone.
   Like a true artist, the director takes this hackneyed plot and does wonders with the presentation. So when the girl from Rajouri Garden sees her new found friend kiss her boyfriend in the mouth she smiles from the joy of having broken a million taboos, and you smile with her.  When she freaks out at having to share a room with male roommates but later settles in, when she drinks and enjoys it, when she kisses the "crush", when she insists on her food not being bland, you fall in love with her guileless charm, instead of snickering.
    Bahl's treatment of the characters are another strong point. The girl's parents are middle class-- they drive a Maruti, ask the kid brother to chaperone her and don't jump up for joy when she says she wants to travel the world alone. But then again, they love their daughter and have it in them to put her joys before their apprehensions. So the dad drives her to the airport when she leaves and lets her do her own thing when she decides to confront the fiance's family.
    The sultry Lisa Haydon does not appear outlandish-- they become friends but she does not accompany her all over her journey. Besides helping Rani and lending hotness to the movie, she has a kid to and a job to take care of.
    The boyfriend is a tad short changed, for we need to dissociate ourselves with him and focus on Rani. But even so, kudos for not turning him into a villain.
    In Vijay (Rajkumar Rao) you see the traditional Indian male struggling with his newfound modernity and almost feel bad for him. The man who stops Rani from working or dancing while wooing her dumps her later because he's changed and feels  she's stuck in her old world while he's moved forward. And then he comes looking for her (presumably after knowing she's having the time of her life without him)  and tries a more level tack, only to have it all unravel the moment she mentions she is sharing a room with three guys. "in logo ke saath rahogi raat mein? he splutters, and you realise that for all their Ray-bans and leather jackets, the Indian Male is still not free of the "raat mein?" syndrome.
    Queen is a well thought out movie -- the choice of Rani's degree (home science), the choice of the car the family drives (a maruti), the Urdu speaking Pakistani stripper, the Alice in Wonderland T shirt Rani wears, all speak of that.
    And when the movie is over, there's not forced naach gana to lift the mood. For you don't need any. The movie itself does that for you, and you come away with a smile.
    A thought: It is after all, a movie about finding your own joys and learning to be happy by yourself. So how about you go watch it alone, instead of depending on your boyfriend/girlfriend/ friend/partner/spouse to make time?
                                                     

Hasee Toh Phasee

                                                           

There was a boy and there was a girl and there was the fiancée. Of late, all “different” plots in Bollywood seem to be hatched around those lines, having successfully trivialized the entire sequence beyond salvation.
In Hasee Toh Phasee, director Vinil Matthew has the ammunition, but doesn’t know how to use it right.
 He has KJo and Anurag Kashyap’s backing, a quirky love story, some clever repartees and a scientist heroine who makes a first appearance in short-hair and boys’ clothes (oh wow!), leading the audience to think this will be a good investment of time and money. But then it all comes apart.
Twenty minutes into the movie the viewers realize all those devices are just there for the  sake of being in there, the movie is essentially the same ghisa-pita love triangle that only pretends to be different.
Meeta (Parineeti Chopra) is the  prodigious scientist who has an addiction problem.  That’s about all that is fresh in the movie.  Chopra, given that disarming manner in which she makes dialogues come across as real conversations,  does  a pretty good job of being the weird,  non-glamorous heroine. But that alone cannot save a movie and you know a movie has not been saved when the entire theatre is distracted—guessing passwords, checking out Bombay locales and the color palette of the costumes – instead of following the story line.
Shout-out to the costume designers here. The decision to repeat Chopra’s clothes was a sound one, a step towards being realistic. Also, good job in not going totally over the top with the backless cholis.


Nikhil (Sidharth Malhotra) is the male lead. Two things here: if you’re sharing screen space with the younger Chopra, you should know there’s a very good chance she’ll overshadow you. When you walk into a project with that understanding, it helps if you don’t distract your audience further by not buttoning up your shirt. Malhotra stubbornly refuses to button up, is made to dance to lyrics that go “yippee, I’m a Hippee”, and thanks to a story line that gets lost,  is the weak man who is shoved from fiancée to girlfriend to fiancée and back till we get exasperated and want to grab him by the shoulder and shake him up. Bad deal.

The rom aspect of the rom-com is palatable. I mean, it is a romance. There is a nice song or two, there are likeable male and female leads. But then comes trouble. In his pursuit to be different, the director brings in the “no sappy love but quirky exchange” expectation, but fails to deliver.
So the much-hyped scientist heroine becomes a sham :  it would not hurt the story one bit if she were a dancer or a magician.  Chopra should be careful of these traps—a couple of more movies in the same way and she’ll be dangerously close to singing and dancing next to Salman Khan’s Bihari cop soon.
But for now, she’s the best part of this movie and well deserves all the accolades she’s getting for somehow getting the audience to connect with a character that has not been well sketched, nor shows a lot of emotion.

The love triangle complications, as I already said, have been so overdone, the writers forget where to draw the line. Granted, all the world loves a lover, but when said lover is chasing the sister of his fiancée at the wedding venue itself,  you begin to wonder.  Adah Sharma as the fiancée-sister is completely replaceable with any of the many “great-figure-and-skin-no-acting-skills-whatsovers running a dime a dozen in Bollywood today. When that character -- someone who is already not making an impact of the audience -- is made to somehow go ahead to get married even after she is made aware of  her groom’s love for her own sister (even writing that down makes me wince a little) , you are with the audience when they go “what the hell?!”

The com part of the rom-com works in bits. The CID/Daya reference is funny, but the Priyadarshanesque chase in the middle of a bazaar is an ordeal.  The more serious scenes fall flat, largely because the viewer cannot decide whether to treat the movie as fun and fluff, or look for more layers. So Meeta wets her saree, but you don’t really feel her pain because in the next moment, she’s onto some Bollywood-ish trick that mars the effect of what could be a very touching scene.
There’s also my steady gripe against directors: only someone who takes his audience to be very stupid would come up with a hacking scene of the kind they show in the movie. Hand drawn flowcharts, really?  It’s a disgrace, though the supporting actor is endearing, at times more than the male lead.

Beneath the veneer of being realistic, Hasee Toh Phasee is the run of the mill Bollywood candy floss. So in the end, order is restored in the universe, love wins and money matters are resolved.  Then in keeping with current tradition, there’s a song and dance attached to the movie at the end, and it does the trick. By the time you've collected your shoes, coats, bags and empty chips boxes, all you remember is the peppy beats from the song, and it is time to head home.
                                                     

Dedh Ishqiya

                                                                     

First things first. Why have I not reviewed any movie in such a long time?  Because
I didn't think Bollywood made anything worth reviewing. Even Dhoom 3 was a disappointment. It wasn't good and it wasn’t bad enough—the movie just hung in the middle.
So when I heard Dedh Ishqiya was out, I started watching it halfheartedly, more out of loyalty for Madhuri Dixit than for any other reason.
Sure, I think Ishqiya is a very well made movie and every one in it did a good job. But that’s exactly the problem, you see. I couldn’t think of what a sequel could add to Ishqiya’s explosive Vidya Balan-walking- away-with-two-men ending. And I was in for a surprise.
Dedh Ishqiya takes off from where Ishqiya ends, and does not as well. The Khalujaan (Naseeruddin Shah) and Babban( Arshad Warsi) characters stay, and they are still conmen. Shah is still the more sophisticated character—his love is expressed through shayaris. Warsi is the baser force and his emotions are like him. Madhuri Dixit is understandably paired against Shah. Huma Qureishi is Warsi’s girl. Or he is her boy, whichever makes you happy.
For a movie series that is named after love, one must not wonder what the central theme is. Especially in a sequeul. So Shah and Warsi are still deplorable and sometimes ruthless cheapskates, but for one problem. They turn to mush every time they fall in love. But that's where the part-two ishness of the movie ends. There is no mention of Krishna (Balan) in this movie. Our beloved conmen have a new POA, and it involves new romantic interests, but  in a different setting.
Director Abhishek Chaubey now sets his stage in old world Mahmudabad, where the locals still follow their king and queen and enter shayari contests.  This backdrop provides Chaubey the perfect setting to make use of Dixit’s Kathak dancing skills and Shah’s refined dialogue delivery. So there’s a lot of word play, tehzeeb, romance and to contrast all of that,  some buffoonery and rustics.
And it all goes extremely well, till come the similarities with Ishqiya. If you’ve not watched the first movie, I suspect Dedh Ishqiya would be a better treat. But if you have, somehow, you know what to expect. And in a thriller (ok, semi thriller clad in a lot of romance), that is bad.  There is the mandatory kidnapping, the two lives of the beautiful women, the honour among thieves., the witty repartees.  Still,  the writers, the director and Vishal Bharadwaj, manage to keep the audience focused with some incredibly understated humour.
There is a take on a Mexican standoff in the movie, which ends when school kids start playing “Hum Ko Mann Ki Shakti Dena” in a nearby playground. There is no added laughter, music or any other silliness to draw attention to the funny parts. They are peppered throughout the movie in situations and in dialogues, so you have to pay attention.  Smart director, I say.
Now if you haven’t seen this movie, I won’t give away the “twist” or the more juicy bits in the plot, because it is a movie worth enjoying. But let me warn you, there are some boring parts as well—I suspect those come from the writers trying too hard to be smart all the time.
Then again, Shah and Warsi compensate for whatever drags creep into the plot. Where Dixit  brings in the “nazaqat” to go with the setting of  Mahmudabad, Qureishi is fierce and earthy. And both women have layers in their character, which makes the movie what it is.
One wishes there was more use for Dixit, though. Despite her being the central character, it often feels like she doesn't have much to do on screen. Not even dance as much as she is capable of, except in the added video feat, where you see her in all her splendor (and you are made painfully aware of how much Qureishi lacks dancing skills.) One just feels like Dixit should have been used more.

But the director and/or producer made a good call in adding that extra song to the movie. Like I said, Dedh Ishqiya is a quiet movie. Not as quiet as Lootera, but it has no over the top hullabaloo. So you really have to pay attention, watch and listen. Now if Chaubey just relied on audience who like doing that, he’d not make a lot of money. But I’m guessing he didn't want to spoil the movie either. Plus, Dixit needs to dance! So, in comes a dancing video with rustic  lyrics. And because it is executed fabulously, it works. Just like the movie does.

Go watch.


                                                               

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?