What’s Your Raashee? : A yarn well spun!

★★★★★★★★☆☆

After Delhi 6 and Luck By Chance earlier this year, if there’s another movie that’ll slip under the radar before you could recover from a festive weekend it is What’s Your Raashee? Unlike the other two, it hasn’t sent the so-called critics fighting or raving. It is given a unanimous thumbs down from the niggling, finicky intelligentsia that would rather revel in ho-hum life lessons of two “fuck-ups” on a road trip in remote America to work out what it takes to be parents: yes I am talking about Sam Mendes’ twee and slight Away We Go, a film he started and completed while doing post-production for his infinitely superior Revolutionary Road. Now I am a fan of Mendes and all, and I have seen Away We Go, but it is nothing more than a bittersweet familiar-quirky indie that is less profound and funny than it thinks it is, but what has really gotten to me is how everyone on the desi writing scene has trumped and patronised this over a well-scripted, painstakingly mounted and performed homegrown socio-comic drama like What’s Your Raashee? Yes, opinions are like belly buttons and all but the unfair amount of snobbery WYR has and will be putting up is just befuddling. More importantly, it is quite disorienting to think that in their over-analysis and hyper-dissecting ways, even reviewers who one assumes to discern good cinema from bad, cannot be trusted to spot a good film when they see one. Pardon the overtly righteous tone here but I was at loss of words when I came out of the cinema at the number of misgivings I had about this. It swells my heart no end to see a director telling a story so well. Ashutosh Gowariker has again crafted a piece of motion picture that is wholly suffused with heart and pathos and imagination and is so quintessentially Indian and all the more original for that, that it will find appreciation as days, months and years go by. Or atleast that is what I hope. It is not cinema gold, and it is certainly not his best but it is definitely close, and not far behind, respectively. To compare what Gowariker makes when he is on a break to what Mendes does is just something to ponder upon as both the auteurs’ recent work hits the screens simultaneously.

Yogesh is an NRI-boy who’s being emotionally blackmailed to fly back and then forced to marry in ten days to get his big brother out of debt-the scheme being an exacting-for-virtue grandad who’d will all his assets to Yogesh the day he ties the knot. He lands and after casually shrugging off the hoodwinking, finds an Indian Linda Goodman-esque paperback snuggled between spines of Gujarati literature during a jetlagged insomniac night and in a Eureka moment, infuses this obligation for the family with his version of incentive by looking for twelve brides in ten days with the notion that this will offer him a chance to make the journey to the decision less arduous, more fair and infinitely more interesting [we are led to believe that our affable leading guy isn't all that "into" the fantasy-world of soothsaying horoscopes, sunsigns, kundlis and more such ilk]. Clearly,WYR has an imaginative ring to its premise and it delivers from the word go.

Even in this first half hour of the first act of this movie, there are moments of such touching sublimity, like what compels Yogesh to say yes to the parade that is an Indian arranged marriage in that moment where he’s served water by his sis-in-law who just glances teary-eyed and in that look lays bare of how hapless and humiliated she is of being tied to a dork like Yogesh’s big brother. Even Yogesh’s attitude towards his family, regardless of how infinitely different their viewpoints on marriage, partners and life might be, is commendable. There isn’t any indulgent rebellion or wallowing in tiresome despair, just moving on to the next step of trying to make the best of what is presented to him. I found this inherent curiosity of his to see “where it all leads to”, the spring-in-step embracing pacifism really mature and endearing. Besides Harman’s underplay really helps the cause. He’s a good-humoured, assured geezer who doesn’t wag his ass back to Amreeka at the ludicrous proposal being put in front of him (essentially a lose-lose proposition for him) where if he doesn’t wed, the debt-ridden family will be forced to go into hiding and if he does hitch up, the chances of him truly ending up with The True Love of his life are next to nil given the time constraint.

And so his journey starts with an awkward Arian, and I won’t solemnly dissect her awfully funny quirks here, but just that she attempts to smoke, drink, drop awkward English syllables to impress. And is caught. There’s a touching minute of sentimental confession that reveals how she went along with her dad to tutor herself with stereotypical personality paraphernalia [listed above!] to impress an NRI boy. Then there’s the upfront Aquarian who reveals she’s taken and it would be better if she’s rejected after a facile drive around town, which reveals Yogesh’s got much up his sleeve with vocals and guitar as a terrific male-aria fills the auditorium, Jaao Naa (only jarring moment being the husky chorus-y vocals that Priyanka’s cords elicit are unintentionally hilarious). And then to a Gemini overgrown teenager, with whom Yogesh, clearly in his element with locking and popping at her college festival, in a telling moment reveals how he’d react if his other half is switched off impressing the young lady who’s obsessed with screen/romcom versions of love. Then there’s the cryptic Cancerian who’s aggrieved by an ex who walked over her to knock someone else up. Decked up in ashen pink and Dabur Vatika tresses, you’d think she’s a doe-eyed starlet trying her best to look convincing in a Star Plus soap, but she’s not. What’s more, it takes just one interaction on the balcony to intrigue Yogesh how deep the pathos runs in an otherwise integrity-laced maiden. Then the Libran corporate vixen with a 24/7 attached to her hip and a business-approach to marriage replete with pre-nup who sets the scene for a thoroughly imaginative and enjoyable absurdist-scifi-comic-fantasy dance. Followed by a creepy reincarnation-believer with an overbearing dad who, in another expository fantasy (where the Sridevis and Madhuris are channeled in a cliffside windy routine and Piggy Chops gets to heave a requisitely padded bosom) later, when reveals on feeling suffocated in the room is greeted by a fabulous comeback by a creeped out Yogesh who comments on feeling suffocated in his body. The comedy is fabulously toned-down, timing terrific, writing just crisp enough. And interactions have space to breathe. It might last a good 192 minutes but the movie’s characters, its 12 girls, Yogesh’s family and their conflicts and joys during the space of this one month stay with you.

Post-intermission, a split-personality Scorpion, an underage Capricorn [10 minutes of this is more effective than the heinously exploitative and shamefully regaled-as-the-next-big-thing TV soap Ballika Vadhu], a virtuous Virgo doctor, a slutty Sagitarean pujarini, a rumbustious theatre performing Leo who gives an earful to Yogesh for giving the roadside ice-gola a snub or finally a princess Taurean playing cuckoo to dissuade suitors with a wanton eye… What’s Your Rashee? is forever engaging. Sometimes with its broad farce, sometimes with its ever-so-pertinent character-elaborating ditties where the things unsaid and the spontaneous flights of emotion get a musical voice, and sometimes with its wholly convincing drama. It doesn’t fail to baffle me in how many ways WYR could’ve gone wrong and unspooled as a tired mess, and how it never does. Of its many triumphs, foremost is its writing. Like it should be for a drama as seeped in surreality as in reality. Then be it the emotional heft given by the family’s whole debt-ridden theatrics, or the comic froth risen by the illicit dalliance of the matchmaking uncle of Yogesh which besides adding to a pre-climactic Wodehousian ruckus of sorts cushions the unpredictable meetings of Yogesh with the girls with a continuous comic sponge.

The organic nature of all the meetings: some ending abruptly, some on an ugly note, some suffused with feel-good but truncated by priorities; it just adds so much plausibility to the proceedings, you believe in Yogesh’s journey. Vignettes hardly exceeding fifteen minutes sure, but within their on-screen time constraint they mimic the slippery slope of state of affairs that an arranged marriage always is. And yes, the impact of first impressions, the first dates, first encounters: every glance, every smile passed, every tear-swollen eye, every anecdote shared and every sarcastic remark pointed demands attention here, which thanks to Gowariker’s keen eye, gets it. The guy wears his social conscience on his sleeve alright but never for a moment plods on with it. Accessible, trendy and rooted, his male protagonist, Yogesh’s reactions to his 12 hopefuls is as interesting as a single actress’s enactment of the 12 disparate girls replete with quirks, aspirations, pasts and futures. It taps into the gravitas and grandeur that comes with an institution like marriage with the traditional joint family is evoked as lovingly as in the early Barjatyas and his winking-smirking magic-realistic touch to cast a singular face in twelve different visages is a celebration of and a comment on the diversity of the 21st century Indian female experience on one level besides the more obvious one of every girl’s essential sameness from a curious groom’s vantage point is downright fantastic. Plus is there a guy who captures everyday kitchen-sink, drawing room interactions as lovingly as he does without resorting to easy caricaturism? Straight up, No.

Priyanka Chopra’s spectacular turn as the twelve wholly disparate characters are filled with enough nuance and meticulous, tasteful subtlety (when she could have so gone for a broader, straighter, cartoonish OTT version to ram the character in the audience’s psyche given she barely has 15-20 minutes to leave an impression on us and her on-screen to-be groom) that deserves nothing but accolades. The gorgeous and intuitive lass is going from strength to strength and we are all the more thankful she’s constantly up for a challenge. And Harman Baweja is everybit the sincere Gowariker hero that this script asked for. In one of the many self-referencing moments in the film, he’s your non-steroid-buffed, ethical and moral hundred percent Indian male. All my skepticism of the boy’s talent has been laid to rest by his confident, charming underplay. Poor man’s Hrithik he might be, but then this film did require an everyman persona with some Bollywood flourish. Both these, or rather 13 of these main characters are scaffolded ably by a whole motley of Gowariker-staple character actors and theatre and TV thesps each of whom retain the uproariously funny, inconsolably Gujju and often mesmerisingly sublime tone of this upanyaas of a flick. The production design is detailed (Nitin Desai, I heart you), Priyanka’s looks supremely entrenched in the milieu her 12 characters inhabit, the music very situational but jeweled by Jaao Na, Kitne Chehre, Aa Chal and Su Che, and the ode to performing arts other than the movies along with the ample jazz inserts and detailing is slick. Moreover it breaks new ground by taking two extremely over-shot and over-commented aspects in the romcom genre: compatibility and marriage, putting a whole new spin of archaic tosh about horoscope on this and somehow managing to deliver something that flows, and has a thing or two to say about the times we live in.

In all, a genuinely feel good social dramedy filled with good people making sensible choices and elevating their life experience, this is one movie you can enjoy with your family.

Kaminey: KICK AFF!

Explosive, audacious and spectacularly entertaining crime caper from the Man who has singlehandedly defined, reinvented and set the benchmark for the noir genre in Bollywood-Vishal Bharadwaj. After the decadently sinister Maqbool and the masterfully brawny but hideously miscast Omkara, clearly third time’s the charm for me as Kaminey is everything that the respectable-indies-showing-how-it’s-done-but-just-missing-it [read Sankat City, Mithya], the-now-anonymous-and-transposable-but-once-iconic RGV vehicles, and the unapologetically-plagiarised-then-desified-artificial-posturing of Lakhias, Sanjay Guptas and Anubhav Sinhas want to be, but never will be, for this my friend is the “real thing”.

This is the real roar amongst the shrill catcalls that we have been hearing for the past many years. This was how we did it, i.e. full-on and by that I mean unapologetic, racy, throbbing full-on. Not the diffident, neurotic, self-consciously ironic full-on with arsey-humble nods to the films of yore [DevD, Johnny Gaddaar anyone?] and thanks to Bhardwaj we will continue to. And how can I forget: in the year, where the clueless and the uninitiated went mental after the synthetic “realistic pap” of Slumdog Millionaire, Kaminey couldn’t have come at a better time to show, pardon me repeating myself here, HOW IT IS BLOODY DONE.

So it goes like this, two brothers or slumdogs shall I say-identical twins-one an insufferable stammerer Guddu, another a lisper [actually, a liffper] Charlie, a fast-lane bookie with dreams of becoming a millionaire who go their own separate ways to chase their individual destinies but end up, as it happens, getting wound up in each other’s affairs unknowingly thanks to a girl and a guitar [watch the movie to know what I mean] and as is typical of such larger-than-life monozygotics screwed-up-by-the-ever-powerful-destiny-to-come-face-to-face epic thrillers, cross each other paths again with insane, hysterical, noisy, and rather sentimental repercussions.

Shahid’s sincere attack on this two-pronged devil of a headlining role is not a pitch affected or misfired. He is one guy who has taken almost superhuman leaps to overcome his boy-man impishness and thrown himself in the arena to grab the gauntlet, and grab it he does. Just that, once again, he’s surrounded by an intimidating amount of histrionic pandemonium courtesy a formidably seminal supporting ensemble which more often than not slip the carpet away from Shahid’s candy-ass stutterer or the silent-seething liffper when the frames are shared. I don’t want to deconstruct his performance further per se, because I can’t fault it on many levels [the face-off between twins and the climactic showdown alongwith the natural chemistry with his screen-love are a joy to watch, courtesy him], but when viewed in the bigger picture, for a leading man, maybe more intrinsic and not transformed bravura could have just sent the film on another level. Call me unreasonable. Giving credit where its due, he’s one talented sonofabitch who can now be given a flipping trophy without wondering if he could do better. This is him at his best and he performs with an appreciation for subtlety and internalisation that is light years ahead of his contemporaries, so what if he’s just a tad less of an ass-whopper he’s so meticulously projected to be. Still, brave!

Priyanka Chopra’s performance and presence is wholesomely winsome. The lass is going from strength to strength with every passing movie and why not? She performs with that rare sparkle and uninhibitedness that A-listing leading ladies of nowadays are simply devoid of conjuring. Be it going ballistic on her brother and his motley set of cronies with an assault rifle or any firearm in the vicinity [by God's grace in this grimy Mumbai underbelly, there's always more than ten littered around] or mouthing off her goody-two-shoes boyfriend who gives the staple “priorities” lecture when she gets knocked up, as Sweety, Piggy Chops stands her own amidst the testosterone-motherlode she’s surrounded by.

I can’t fill this space with the rest of the credits [I wish I had a notepad to pen them all down] but suffice to say, spearheaded by Amol Gupte as Piggy Chop’s big brother, they seem to be having so much fun, just watching the whole crew perform and react had me in splits and smiling throughout. Fantabulous is the word. Watch Gupte do pretend shelling with Charlie’s partner-in-crime or the officers interrogating Guddu making him sing to break through the stammer].

The writing is so cued in to every character’s quirks without ever making it obvious, the swearing [of just the right level, not the crass verbal smut that seems to pass off as humour] is pureed with a consistent spattering of wit and then there’s the sheer convolution of the going-ons which give this Jeffrey Archer meets Tarantino via Guy Ritchie and Salim-Javed of 70s phillum a crackling energy all its own. As the various, precariously ignited and staged subplots and fringe characters all converge in that swashbuckling finale, you want to wolf-whistle. Its that good.

And man, does it help or what that Vishal is a composer par excellence? What a thoroughly keen ear for giving cadence to his action [Dhan TaNan is the anthem for 2009 thank you very much], gravitas to his drama [just watching the way brothers seek each other, communicate in an understanding that goes well beyond the slice of their lives captured by the camera], potency to the introspective scenes [those few moments when the title track plays] and punctuation to the insanely-well timed situational comedy. And I can’t believe I haven’t said a word of how accomplished his visual sense is. That wafting and gliding 1000-rupee-note scene that instantly transports Charlie from the ringside to neon-glow of gold-silver-mint-fresh-moneybills world: we are there with Charlie, or as the foreboding flashbacks finally get sewed to a crisp backstory, the tipping point in Charlie’s life is signified by replacing his kid-self with the muscular adult he’s become are just a few examples of what makes Kaminey so special. We have fun and we don’t have to leave our brains on auto-pilot, when was the last time that happened?

This guy Vishal is just blessed with an astute sense of what makes good cinema, and as viewers we are blessed that he can tell it like the way he wants: archetypical larger than life fables and morality sagas, dunked in machismo, attitude and brawn all his own, and always so coolly, so quintessentially Indian.

Rush now to see this, I write any more and I’ll spoil it!

★★★★★★★★☆☆

Fashion (Hindi)

“Over-the-top and shocking-for-the-sake-of-shocking character arcs almost sink an otherwise lavishly mounted and sincerely enacted drama about a small town girl not being able to handle quick success as she transforms into a fashionista. Her ascent to becoming a supermodel, and then her descent alongwith the subplots of two other girls who affect her during these phases is what forms the crux, but it all plays out with a predictable tune to it with the presumptuous, old-world, high-and-mighty approach to the profession making it a tad graceless and unbecoming of a guy who gave us Chandni Bar.

Actually I expected far worse from this and dreaded the 360 degree turns in Priyanka’s character that all the reviews unanimously disapproves of. Surprisingly, Piggy Chops seem to have enough talent to make the drastic moral slippages and resurrections appear fluid and adds a lot to even the most banally written sequences. Ditto for Ms Ranaut who seems to have finally taken care of the roughest edge of her persona i.e. her voice and its almost in line with her pitch-perfect expressions and body language. And Ms Godse is a surprise natural besides being a stunner and so is Samir Soni. Brilliant soundtrack too (Salim Sulaiman, take a bow), and the whole look and feel was convincing. All in all, a good one time watch, as Bhandarkar knows how to arrest your attention, sometimes at the cost of his characters who tend to accumulate epic conflicts by the time the end credits have rolled, but he has a knack to tell a story. Worryingly, he seems to be dumbing down his cinema ever since Page 3, and hopefully his next one won’t be downright retrogressive. Like always, the actors and the props save this from being an out and out disaster.” 

Dostana (Hindi)

Just when I give up on Bollywood being absolutely unable to excite me anymore as a medium, something as likeable as this preppy thing which will do anything to make me laugh comes along. Zany, chic, eye-candy to the last pixel and upliftingly urban-Dostana heralds another step forward in the romcom genre and Tarun Mansukhani takes off where Siddharth Anand left us with Salaam Namaste. It pushes the envelope, has otherwise mediocre actors turning in fresh, believable performances from the word go just like SN, and there’s a surprising amount of maturity and comfortable casuality to all the urban frills in both the mindset and the reactions, besides a genuine flow which makes the out-of-catalogue pretty living adding to the visual feast and completing the picture. No wannabes here. Everyone looked and spoke their parts. Piggy chops with that recently cropped hair does to this movie what Aniston did to Friends, i.e. win you over with her all-heart winsome charm and performance. This is the most unassuming Abhishek Bachchan I have seen in a movie and he rocks it, whereas Abraham despite not turning any new leaf is pleasing. Ditto for Bobby Deol. Most importantly, it was a yarn well spun, a story well told, with the initial set of situations leading to a plausible buildup and believable resolution.

The gags in the first half made me laugh more at their audacity and risque-ness at being present at all. As far as how injurious or offending this would be to the gays, i’d say its casual take-the-piss movie that makes the familiar dandiness an object of humour and as a plot point, but otherwise the characters are mature and cool enough to be okay with it and only a stuck up moron would take offence to something as harmless as this. Plus those well-synchronised odes to Karan Johar’s previous outings Kabhi Khushi… and Kuch Kuch Hota Hai with ipods was done with more style and panache than Bachna Ae Haseeno’s clumsy ode to DDLJ. This is great popcorn cinema, and yes it had the chops to rival the best of Hollywood summer romcoms.”

Drona (Hindi)

In the run-up to the Academy Awards this Sunday which will officially end all the compulsive discussion about what the film industry threw at its audiences 2008, I thought I’d do my bit in adding to the din this weekend by doing my own Top 120. The countdown is filled with mostly American, Indian and European cinema (in that order) and has been made possible by my personal log and the notes I took down conscientiously right after my first viewing of a movie. If you are looking for over-analysis, look elsewhere. This list will merely skim over the most dominant flavour of every particular movie. 

Starting off from the bottom, 

No.120: Drona (Hindi)

This is all I’ve written: “I volunteered to commit hara-kiri by watching this. I thought, how bad can it be? Not surprisingly, a stinkbomb, pile of rotten turd, that thankfully exposes Junior B as a pathetic, cringeworthingly self-conscious actor. Quit already dude, its amazing how many props it takes to extract a half decent performance from you. Left to your own devices, you and your bunch of crazily spoilt nitwit buddies can conjure up junk such as this. I mean you are cast as some angsty brooding teenager having mommy issues, when you look like you could have fathered ten of your own, and please don’t get me started on your attempt at what an Indian superhero should look like. A full-on sherwani with a dupatta, hairpiece and all! That’s an occupational and a health hazard for someone born and required to do cross-desert marathons. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure that one. Just someone who is awake. My family paid a 1000 bucks to watch you scowl and mumble and another 1000 to chew on stale popcorn and flat cola bought from the hyped-beyond-belief Fame Adlabs. You owe us, bigtime!”