Let’s say Guy Ritchie came up with yet another narrative bustling with a motley crew of characters whose paths cross in their quest for MacGuffins (we know how Guy loves multiple MacGuffins).
What if, the Coen Brothers then took over to add a few bizarre touches to this structure, made the oddball characters seem real, and added a touch of philosophy to make this pulp fiction look like a commentary on human nature.
And then, let’s say Quentin Tarantino took that material, rubbed his hands in glee and played around with the linearity of storytelling restricting his “answers first, questions later” approach strictly within individual sequences that play out chronologically, all building up to an end – which all these filmmakers love – That Bloody Mexican Standoff.
Now, imagine what happens when Vishal Bhardwaj exorcises their ghosts, shakes off those multiple personalities, and does to that material what he did to Shakespeare through his earlier films: Reinterpret the characters by rooting them firmly in a credible Indian milieu and make everything about that world come alive.
What you get is a movie where every single character, including the littlest of boys, turns out to be a dirty rotten scoundrel. A film where even the nicest ones stay grey.
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Sons of guns have a blast
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MADRAS INK. 