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Update: ‘Mozhi’ on Sudermovies!
I finally got to watch ‘Mozhi.’
I like the way this Radhamohan guy makes his films. Our own Rajkumar Hirani. Read more on Sudermovies.
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Mozhi: Make way for Tamil cinema’s Hirani!
Radhamohan has to be our own Rajkumar Hirani.
With ‘Mozhi,’ he once again brings to Tamil cinema, a brand of feel-good that we usually associate with Rajkumar Hirani.
I couldn’t help thinking about Munna Bhai and Rajkumar Hirani all through ‘Mozhi.’
The mood is light throughout. There are some truly memorable moments extracted from slices of everyday life. There are well etched out support characters letting their sub-plots play the perfect foil to the overall scheme of things.
But it’s not just the feel and approach. The similarities start right from the content and the kind of stories they want to tell us.
Like Hirani, Radhamohan too believes in clean entertainment, and their films seem to brim of idealism. They both surely seem to hope that their films would bring reform and social change, with their protagonists personifying all the goodness in the world.
Both these chaps seem to adopt a classy sensitivity in portraying political correctness and still manage to deliver their stories and the message to the mass, without compromising their script.
They both love to keep their dialogues simple and casual, slowly building empathy towards all the support characters and setting the stage for the resolution, with the quintessential burst of melodrama.
This is the kind of stuff that should find its way into textbooks as far as sub-plot development goes. Remember the paralysed bald man in a coma (Anand, if I remember the character’s name right) in Munna Bhai? Now think about the mentally-disturbed bald professor stuck in the eighties. In both these movies, these sub-plots are introduced fairly early on, and kept hanging for a bit as the directors milk your sympathy, before finally letting human kindness (that’s why I say these guys are idealists) produce that moment you have been waiting for: The soppy finale. You want to see the man in the coma sit up and smile just as much as you want to see the professor get back his mental balance.
The filmmakers hold these cards back, diverting your attention towards the larger plot resolution before sneaking in the sub-plot resolution in a way that it totally compliments and completes the larger picture. Your eyes well up, just as that of all the other onlookers in the frame. The directors cut to the close-ups of these onlookers as they wipe their tears, a cue for you to hold yours back. Funny how both these guys use hardcore soppy drama to enhance the feel-good factor in their otherwise light films.
In both these films, there is plenty of comic book alienation and vibrantly larger-than-life song choreography, techniques that Hirani uses best. Be it the ‘mike-testing’ in ‘Munna Bhai’ or the bulb coming on and bells-ringing in ‘Mozhi.’
Both these guys seem to do pretty well in bringing out the drama in everyday life, with smart editing. If it was the carrom-board in ‘Munna Bhai,’ we have a cricket match in ‘Mozhi.’
You just can’t miss the similarities in content, approach and genre.
As excited I am about Hirani’s American outing with Munna Bhai, I can’t wait to watch what Radhamohan will do next.
Announcing Sudermovies!
I know that an overdose of own film is probably making it boring for a lot of you regular readers. But like I said a few weeks ago, I’ve stopped blogging for readers.
It’s a more personal exercise these days. So if there’s only That Four Letter Word in my mind, that’s all you will find here.
But I do understand that a lot of you come here mainly to read my reviews. To save you the trouble of reading largely self-indulgent posts, I give you Sudermovies, my new blog on movie reviews, opinions and random thoughts.
And for those of you who still haven’t seen TFLW, read the post below. It’s playing at Studio 5, Sathyam Cinemas at 11 a.m. on March 10 and 11. Those who’ve already seen the film, please spread the word and let your friends know.
The Pursuit of Happyness: Mr & Jr. Smith make us happy
The thing about underplaying is that it is under-rated. Will Smith does it so well in ‘The Pursuit of Happyness’ that he makes you wish they did give him that little piece of sculpture after a well-deserved Academy award nomination.
Yes, it’s one of those ‘role-of-a-lifetime’ portrayals. Uplifting. Equally endearing is Smith Junior’s supporting act. The real-life father and son are the perfect foil to each other in this film that somehow seems inconceivable without their chemistry. The Smiths are the pillars of the film.
Though based on the biography of stockbrokerage entrepreneur Chris Gardner, the film takes a few liberties, exaggerates a few facts (Gardner was paid a $1000 stipend during the internship but in the movie he gets none), simplifies some (Gardner’s son was hardly a year old when he takes custody of his son and was secretly homeless for a year but in the movie his son is five and they have to survive homeless only for a few months), but stays true to the undying spirit of the man in his pursuit of happiness, or ‘Happyness’ as the daycare run by Asians teaches his son.
Director Gabriele Muccino makes the most of Steve Conrad’s screenplay to give us one of the most memorable films of the year, working around the predictability of a rags-to-riches narrative (a broke-to-broker story rather) by floating moments of hope in the middle of all that struggle and despair, punctuating the ups and downs with heartwarming moments of father-son bonding.
Even the heavy Bone Density Scanners that Gardner sells in the film, probably metaphorical of his swinging fortunes and times (a madman actually calls it a time-machine) are characters by themselves. Every time he loses one, you can feel his angst. Losing one meant losing a month’s groceries.
Will Smith breathes life and spirit into the role, underplaying it with the right nuances, toning down the histrionics just a little to make it realistic. Watch him break down softly in the restroom, feeling helpless about letting his son sleep there, with people knocking the doors into the night. Simply fantastic.
The finest moment of the film arrives right at the end, the moment the director had kept us waiting for: Happyness. And that’s the moment Will Smith reserves his best for. His face takes you through the increasing levels of happiness in his ultimate moment of triumph. This is kind of stuff that brings cheer to the heart. The kind of stuff that should have won him an award.
If you want to know what happiness is all about, ‘The Pursuit…’ is a must-watch.
B-A-C-K: Due to public demand
That Four Letter Word will return back to Studio 5, Sathyam Cinemas this weekend. A few days ago, I was so sure that not more than 20 people would actually wake up to watch TFLW so early on a weekend.
I was so wrong. We had a little over 50 per cent occupancy on Saturday morning. And then, over 80 per cent of the hall was full the very next morning.
Thank you Madras for waking up early on a Sunday and making it to the theatres just to watch the movie.
Due to public demand, we’re bringing the movie back at 11 a.m. just for all those of you who complained that 10.30 was too early. So all you guys who still haven’t got a chance to see the film, here are a coupla more chances. March 10th & 11 (Morning show @ 11 a.m.)
The advance bookings will open on Thursday and you can book online through that yellow banner on the sidebar towards your right. Since this is a digital film, for best results, do watch it from the back rows. I thank each and every one of you who have seen the film for your support.
If you didn’t like the film, I’m truly sorry I let you down. And all those who’ve seen it three times or more, I can’t thank you enough. I’m really touched that some of you have listed That Four Letter Word among your favourite films on Orkut. I’m not sure if it deserves a place there but thank you so very much for being kind.
B-A-C-K: Due to public demand!
That Four Letter Word will return back to Studio 5, Sathyam Cinemas this weekend. A few days ago, I was so sure that not more than 20 people would actually wake up to watch TFLW so early on a weekend. I was so wrong.
We had a little over 50 per cent occupancy on Saturday morning.
And then, over 80 per cent of the hall was full the very next morning.
Thank you Madras for waking up early on a Sunday and making it to the theatres just to watch the movie.
Due to public demand, we’re bringing the movie back at 11 a.m. just for all those of you who complained that 10.30 was too early.
So all you guys who still haven’t got a chance to see the film, here are a coupla more chances. March 10th & 11 (Morning show @ 11 a.m.) The advance bookings will open on Thursday and you can book online through that yellow banner on the sidebar towards your right. Since this is a digital film, for best results, do watch it from the back rows.
I thank each and every one of you who have seen the film for your support. If you didn’t like the film, I’m truly sorry I let you down. And all those who’ve seen it three times or more, I can’t thank you enough. I’m really touched that some of you have listed That Four Letter Word among your favourite films on Orkut. I’m not sure if it deserves a place there but thank you so very much for being kind.
Painting or Poster?
I was talking to one of my friends about how people perceive a film like That Four Letter Word.
Some end up reviewing it like it’s another mainstream movie or a Hollywood romantic comedy in the theatres. And, some take it so seriously and take it up as their subject of critique.
But thankfully, there have also been many who have seen it for what it really is.
Paintings and posters should never be compared by the same set of parameters.
Posters are designed for a purpose. To deliver a message to a mass. There’s a certain amount of slickness in production, boldface screamers, simple smart copy and colourful visuals with instant appeal, tailored to deliver the communication to a mass audience. Or, like most commercial cinema, it aims at giving you pleasure for the money you’ve paid. But being a whore filmmaker needs a certain amount of shamelessness.
Paintings, however, are just an expression of the artist. Almost like an extension of his thought-process and imagination. Or, like most art cinema, it aims at giving the creator all the pleasure. But, we all know that wankers do it only because they got no takers. So, Is TFLW a poster or a painting?
Neither. As a beginner, I do not have the skills required for a painting. And with my limited resources, I cannot afford the production values a poster requires.
So what is TFLW? The independent film That Four Letter Word, at best, works as a scrapbook.
A scrapbook that’s personal, random and straight from the heart. It has these sketches of characters, especially, those you would instantly identify among your friends. It tells you only as much as you need to know, as much as any comic book would tell you about its heroes. It does not say one of these characters is you. It only hints that you could be any of them or all of them at different points in your life. Each character epitomises and personifies one way to live your life.
That sort of generalisation was needed so that we could face off one approach with another. It is this generalisation that has worked with the lowest common denominator among the youth. And it is this generalisation that has made a coupla inexperienced critics call the film ‘shallow’.
At another level, this is a film on male bonding. And it is not about the girls and their lives.
The girls are just sub-plots and their role in the film is limited to their impact on the lives of the four central characters (Which is why all posters and publicity have more of the guys and less of the girls). The girls’ approach to life and backstory is explained in the comic book right at the beginning of the film. That’s all you need to know about them.
In fact, a lot of women have been able to identify with the way the guys live their lives. Because, like Vishal, they sometimes wear their heart on the sleeve. Like Prashant, sometimes they have a head on their shoulder. Like Sunil, they have been confused. Like Zebra, they have sought escape through alcohol.
Like I explained to someone in the comments section of the ‘Nishabd’ review, we can only judge the depth or shallowness of a script depending on what the filmmaker is trying to say. If Varma wants us to understand the love story between a 60 year old man and 18 year old girl, he needs to show and tell us more than shaved legs.
He needs to give us a glimpse into the conversations that led to the unusual attraction. So what am I trying to say in my film? The only point I’m making through the film That Four Letter Word is that different people have different approaches towards chasing their dreams.
We do not pass value judgements on whether you should be Vishal and listen to your heart all the time or that you should be Prashant and use your head all the time. We are just telling you that even if you are as confused as Sunil is in the film or as escapist as Zebra in the film, life has its ways of bringing you solutions.
All TFLW says, like Sunil often says in the film, is that God is just the scriptwriter. It is upto each one of us to do what we want with that script. We have to direct that script the way we want to do it. It is up to us whether we want to keep the sad scenes short or indulge in the fun scenes for a little longer. No matter how we direct that scene, we have no control over the new twist that the next morning brings with it. So if you are like Vishal, you might still end up becoming Prashant and if you are Prashant, you might end up becoming Vishal.
Watch the film with this perspective and you’ll know what I mean. We don’t have the answers. Life has them.
That Four Letter Word is about the people we know so very well. Ourselves.
Since the film is just a scrapbook intended to trigger memories of your days at the crossroads of life, I urge the bitter critics of the film to tell me what they think is missing from what they ought to know.
Because, honestly, that would really help me while scripting my next film, something that I have been doing off late. As I do that, I’m tempted to design a “poster”.
Painting or Poster?
I was talking to one of my friends about how people perceive a film like That Four Letter Word.
Some end up reviewing it like it’s another mainstream movie or a Hollywood romantic comedy in the theatres. And, some take it so seriously and take it up as their subject of critique. But thankfully, there have also been many who have seen it for what it really is.
Paintings and posters should never be compared by the same set of parameters.
Posters are designed for a purpose. To deliver a message to a mass. There’s a certain amount of slickness in production, boldface screamers, simple smart copy and colourful visuals with instant appeal, tailored to deliver the communication to a mass audience. Or, like most commercial cinema, it aims at giving you pleasure for the money you’ve paid. But being a whore filmmaker needs a certain amount of shamelessness.
Paintings, however, are just an expression of the artist. Almost like an extension of his thought-process and imagination. Or, like most art cinema, it aims at giving the creator all the pleasure. But, we all know that wankers do it only because they got no takers.
So, Is TFLW a poster or a painting?
Neither. As a beginner, I do not have the skills required for a painting.
And with my limited resources, I cannot afford the production values a poster requires.
So what is TFLW?
The independent film That Four Letter Word, at best, works as a scrapbook. A scrapbook that’s personal, random and straight from the heart. It has these sketches of characters, especially, those you would instantly identify among your friends. It tells you only as much as you need to know, as much as any comic book would tell you about its heroes.
It does not say one of these characters is you. It only hints that you could be any of them or all of them at different points in your life. Each character epitomises and personifies one way to live your life. That sort of generalisation was needed so that we could face off one approach with another. It is this generalisation that has worked with the lowest common denominator among the youth. And it is this generalisation that has made a coupla inexperienced critics call the film ‘shallow’.
At another level, this is a film on male bonding. And it is not about the girls and their lives. The girls are just sub-plots and their role in the film is limited to their impact on the lives of the four central characters (Which is why all posters and publicity have more of the guys and less of the girls). The girls’ approach to life and backstory is explained in the comic book right at the beginning of the film. That’s all you need to know about them. In fact, a lot of women have been able to identify with the way the guys live their lives. Because, like Vishal, they sometimes wear their heart on the sleeve. Like Prashant, sometimes they have a head on their shoulder. Like Sunil, they have been confused. Like Zebra, they have sought escape through alcohol.
Like I explained to someone in the comments section of the ‘Nishabd’ review, we can only judge the depth or shallowness of a script depending on what the filmmaker is trying to say. If Varma wants us to understand the love story between a 60 year old man and 18 year old girl, he needs to show and tell us more than shaved legs. He needs to give us a glimpse into the conversations that led to the unusual attraction.
So what am I trying to say in my film?
The only point I’m making through the film That Four Letter Word is that different people have different approaches towards chasing their dreams. We do not pass value judgements on whether you should be Vishal and listen to your heart all the time or that you should be Prashant and use your head all the time. We are just telling you that even if you are as confused as Sunil is in the film or as escapist as Zebra in the film, life has its ways of bringing you solutions.
All TFLW says, like Sunil often says in the film, is that God is just the scriptwriter. It is upto each one of us to do what we want with that script. We have to direct that script the way we want to do it. It is up to us whether we want to keep the sad scenes short or indulge in the fun scenes for a little longer. No matter how we direct that scene, we have no control over the new twist that the next morning brings with it. So if you are like Vishal, you might still end up becoming Prashant and if you are Prashant, you might end up becoming Vishal. Watch the film with this perspective and you’ll know what I mean.
We don’t have the answers. Life has them.
That Four Letter Word is about the people we know so very well. Ourselves.
Since the film is just a scrapbook intended to trigger memories of your days at the crossroads of life, I urge the bitter critics of the film to tell me what they think is missing from what they ought to know.
Because, honestly, that would really help me while scripting my next film, something that I have been doing off late. As I do that, I’m tempted to design a “poster”.
Ghostrider: Skeletor on a Motorcycle
There used to be a time when we were starved of entertainment, and waited eagerly to catch ‘Giant Robot’ on Doordarshan.
We didn’t care much for the quality of visual effects, logical reasoning or the corn-ball excuses needed for Johnny Socko to open his little watch and order: Giant Robot, come soon. Or remember ‘He Man and the Masters of the Universe’ fighting Skeletor?
Years later, we find ourselves watching Ghost Rider pretty much the same way. It needs large doses of willing suspension of disbelief. A normal hero who transforms into a blazing ghost-fighter riding a cruiser that also transforms into something that’s probably common mode of transport in Hell. You can’t help but remember He-Man here, only that Ghost Rider looks like Skeletor on a motorcycle.
Only that, today, we have a wide range of choice from reality shows to crossover cinema to spectacular epic films with zillion visual effects and there is pretty much no reason to watch Ghost Rider but for the child that in you that digs mindless action and comic-book visual effects.
Ghost Rider, at least visually, seems to be a faithful re-creation of the Marvel Comics superhero. And, Nicolas Cage coasts along comfortably in a black-leather biker suit and a stunt cruiser, in a role that he could have very well sleepwalked through. Or maybe he did. Eva Mendes, as his childhood sweetheart, provides the much-needed relief in a film dominated by ghosts spouting the silliest lines.
Given the cheesy lines, it might actually be a good idea to catch Ghost Rider in Tamil. Hitch a ride with Kaalabhairavan. Time-travel to the days we didn’t have satellite television.
Review: Nishabd
Lolly & Pop
When the 60-year old hero looks towards the open door, out of which his 18-year old object of affection has just run out of after expressing her love, we are left with a pretty photograph of his wife in her prime, framed on the wall right beside that door.
A few scenes later, when the shocked wife shuts the door on him literally, the fallen hero stands in the corridor, halfway between a door that’s shut and another that’s open, with the girl anxiously waiting inside. If only the rest of ‘Nishabd’ was as subtle.
But for these two scenes of individual brilliance and maybe the final monologue, there is very little in ‘Nishabd’ that bears the stamp of the master filmmaker.
Not only does he make 18-year old Jiah wear very little, Ram Gopal Varma also tells us very little about what led to the unlikely romance in the first place. Yes, we know they spent a day out in the estates, pretty much like ‘The Bridges of Madison County’ and all, with photographer Vijay (Bachchan) finding reason to sing again, thanks to the arrival of his daughter’s friend Jiah (Jiah Khan).
There are things we must be told. Like, what was the first conversation the old man ever had with the girl who is his daughter’s age. It begins on an interesting premise, with what could also be a one-line self-explanatory excuse for having shot the film the way he did, Varma makes the photographer say: “It is not necessary that the rest of the world sees it through my perspective.”
Brilliant. But, moments after that first line of serious conversation they’ve ever had, Varma decides it’s not important to tell us what they spoke about next. He increases the background score and shows them talking. Lazy screenwriting or weak direction?
What we see more of is a skimpy Jiah getting wet endlessly, pouting like a Playboy pin-up with her index finger in her mouth, and sometimes, with a lolly, perhaps the perfect metaphor for the entire romance.
The kid can’t act for nuts and even if her accent that swings from American to Australian does not distract, her favourite catch-phrase does. “Take light” sounds more like tapori-speak from ‘Rangeela’ than something that a sophisticatedly rich, foreign-raised brat would say. But then, like any teen who knows her pavement shopping in Dharavi, she also sports a hand-bag with big block letters: L-O-V-E.
No doubt Jiah is a pretty photogenic bombshell, but there is a difference between making her look innocently sensuous and professionally raunchy. While Vijay’s own photographs bring out that innocence of a teen having fun with a hose-pipe, Varma’s own frames throughout the film seem pretty distracted by her anatomy. It’s also another thing if Varma’s intention was to tell us that it was lust and physical attraction that led the old man into grey territory.
But he insists it is that purer emotion called love.
Full credit to Amitabh Bachchan’s finely sensitive portrayal of that angst of falling for his daughter’s friend. But Varma lets him down drastically, using silly jokes borrowed from SMS forwards as ice-beakers between the couple. And the more important conversations consist of her stilted dialogue delivery followed by long pauses and predictable monosyllabic answers from Vijay. If he wants us to understand their predicament, Varma ought to tell us more. The intensity of the romance appears watered down by weak screenwriting. As a result, the entire episode comes out looking like an old-man hopelessly infatuated by a teen with a juvenile crush on him.
Equally annoying is Varma’s way of hammering down what is implied and understood as he makes Jiah ask Vijay: “Do you like my spirit?” or her telling her best friend “I don’t recognise boundaries” during a tiff over her metaphorical ‘foul’ play during a game of badminton or Jiah asking Vijay: “What is black and white at the same time?” and actually making her say it: “Nothing.” Yes, yes, we got it in the first place, it is not radio-drama, Mr.Varma.
Revathy stands dignified in an otherwise sketchily etched out film, Bachchan emotes with all his heart and Nasser lends a little maturity to a support role. The camerawork (Amit Roy), probably intentionally quirky and at times lucidly metaphorical, only distracts an already wandering narrative. Amar Mohile’s score haunts, thanks to Vishal’s melody of ‘Rozana’ – the only song finds no place in the film.
Somehow everything seems too rushed up and hurried with unrealised, pregnant potential.
Or maybe, we are reading too much from a shallow script that might have worked just right for a 10-minute short.
MADRAS INK. 