Danny Ocean meet Jamal K. Malik

Last winter, we went to see the famed (and might I add, utterly fabulous) Faberge Eggs. Those ill-fated relics of the Romanov Dynasty, stars of the blockbuster (and might I add, utterly boring) Oceans Twelve movie were being displayed at the National Museum in Delhi. What a contrast between the movie and the display. At the museum the jewels had been dumped, quite literally dumped into a room with peeling paint. Some hideous, cheap and makeshift gold moulding had been done around their (flimsy) glass cases (intended no doubt to convey to us the glamour and grandeur of European castles, but ended up reminding me of some cheap Punjabi wedding Tent). The write-up about the jewels was taped on to the wall and in fact fell down as we were walking through, the lone guard placed there to protect this king’s ransom in jewels was busy trying to prop it up, failing which he started a conversation with a cute little five year old who was whooping it up by doing gymnastics on the railings. If I remember correctly, in the movie the Faberge Egg was housed in an actual European Castle, (with much better write ups, though they are never shown in the movie, I am assuming that these at least were not copied of Wikipedia.....) and protected, guarded and transported with such care that stealing it was deemed to be the ultimate test of thievery.
Standing there, turning my patented shade of green, I had an Idea. An Idea which could make the world a better place. They ought to remake the Oceans Twelve movie. Not only will a boring movie be bettered but as a consequence (perhaps) museums and transportation in Delhi might also improve. In the new movie the Oceans gang and the Nightfox instead of wasting all those resources, time and intellect on trying to steal the egg in the western world, will simply wait for it to come to India. The actual stealing will be a piece of cake (all they need is cute 5 year old Kid, a hammer and a sturdy bag, gloves if they want to be really careful) and could play over the end credits as a sort of bonus scene, instead the movie will focus on the Oceans Gang and the Nightfox racing each other to see who gets to the Museum first. Delayed, Diverted or Cancelled flights would be the first obstacle for them to overcome. If they do touchdown, their luggage could get misplaced or else they would get held up in immigration by our esteemed and bumbling airport staff. Then they must race through the busy streets of Delhi navigating traffic, touts and beggars by using a variety of transportation modes. The oceans gang would definitely have the upper hand, they could use a variety of modes, and see which one works faster (thus ensuring their pre-mandated win). George Clooney in a DTC bus! Brad Pitt, Matt Damon and Bernie Mac in an auto! The nameless others in cars, metros, taxis, cycle-ricksahws or walking. Who will get held up in traffic? who will be forced to intervene in a case of eve-teasing? who will end up in an accident? and who will have to bribe a corrupt cop? Watch them as they scramble through the city, going past slums, high rises, posh malls and through the gullies of Old Delhi. Not only would it be fun and entertaining but it would also make for a deep and insightful film on the problems plaguing the transportation system (and cultural history conservation problems) of the Capital City of the world’s largest democracy.
Critics would applaud it for this innovative take on a third world country (public transportation rarely being the focus of big blockbusters, Titanic and Speed Excluded). The audience would appreciate the deft combination of humour, exciting chase sequences and exotic locations. Serious cine buffs would ooh and aah about the cinematography, editing and compare it to Slumdog Millionaire. George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon et al would get to add India to their list of countries for which they’ve raised awareness and done general good (Darfur is getting kinda old). And hopefully it would shame the Indian authorities into improving our museums and our public transportation system.

To think or not to Think

It was easy to rant about and critique Kambhakt Ishq, even the half a brain cell watching this movie leaves you with was more than enough to figure out and point out what all was wrong with the movie. It’s a little harder to tell you why I liked, nay Loved Dev D. Of the top of my head and without much analysis, I’d say it was the music, the look of the movie and the character arc of Dev which was portrayed brilliantly by Abhay Deol (sigh........)

It’s a lot harder (almost impossible) to tell you what I thought of Kaminey, primarily because two days after watching the movie, I can’t remember much about it, what I liked, what I didn’t like, what I was thinking of during the movie, what I felt about the characters, nothing much, no strong opinion. All I know is that I enjoyed watching the movie, I was buzzed out after I saw it and that I’d like to watch the movie again.

There are some movies which defy analysis by me. It’s not that they’re mindless movies, it’s just that I seem to watch them mindlessly. These movies (almost always) contain the following elements. Humour, it could be black, it could be very clean, but mostly it’s inconsequential humour, there’s no deeper hidden meaning beyond making the viewer laugh (even the Mumbai Bumbai joke in Kaminey is an old one, last noticed by me in Jab We Met! And which has lost all meaning due to repeated use). They always have well fleshed out female characters, it doesn’t mean that they portray my ideal woman, but rather that they portray women as they are, without shying away from their faults and emphasizing their strengths, (Priyanka Chopras role was an absolute delight to watch and her acting was excellent, must have more women with machine guns in movies). They have no right and wrong, either all the characters are kamineys with some redeeming feature, or else all the characters are decent but slightly flawed people, the only reason you’re rooting for someone is because they have star billing (this movie does have some obvious variations in good and bad, but since the movie so staunchly refuses to pass judgment on any of its characters or glorify any other, you’re also left unable to decide whether you agree with the movie.) These movies are generally high concept movies that through the skill of the director/ writer managed to avoid becoming gimmicky (excellent direction, great writing). These movies have a sense of fun, they have panache, they have style (cue the wonderfully choreographed to look unchoreographed Dhan te Nan, the relationship between Mikhail and Charlie). And they always have happy endings, sometimes ambiguous ones, sometimes with a twist, but a happy ending nonetheless.

I can’t find anything to disagree with, or agree with in these movies, they’re about style, they’re about the experience and I leave my brain behind and enjoy them. They’re movies like RocknRolla, Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, Kind Hearts and Coronets (an oldie and an absolute goldie), Arsenic and Old lace (these being the black humour ones), Singin’ in the Rain, Music and Lyrics (Clean Humour and yes I enjoyed Music and Lyrics). Think of them as abstract paintings or instrumental music, often there’s a meaning, but sometimes it’s just about the viewing/hearing pleasure. It’s art.

What do I think about movies like these and Kaminey? I think I need to watch....... enjoy them again.

Emofanal Atyachar

I have seen a lot of shitty hindi movies in the theatre. I don’t come across as the sort of person who watches hindi movies, let alone shitty ones and that too in the theatre, but take my word for it I have. If you can’t take my word here’s a sample from the list, Hello Brother, Har Dil Jo Pyaar Karega, Mujhse Dosti Karoge, Kaal and of course, Kambhakt Ishq. I was not a big fan of Hindi movies, never did care very much for them, the melodrama, the lack of finesse, the hammy acting, the stereotyping, the sexism, it made me cringe, it left me depressed, disillusioned angry and mad.

That is, until I saw Bluffmaster. I didn’t expect to, but I ended up adoring Bluffmaster, cute story (‘inspired’, but nevertheless), told well, acted well, no melodrama, actually funny and plausible in its own way. I decided to pay more attention to Hindi Movies. Since then I have fallen in love with Hindi Movies, they’ve developed a certain panache, a certain style, there’s attention and realism in the details, in the characters, in the relationships they portray. The song and dance (and sometimes melodrama) is still there but it’s done with a wink to the audience as if the movie acknowledges the ridiculousness of it all. Hindi Movies have discovered a sense of ‘Fun’ and I’m Loving it.

Since then I have loved Chak De India, Rock On, Luck By Chance, Love Aaj Kal, Lage Raho Munnabhai, and of course Dev D. These movies had their flaws, but each one had some little touch that made me sit up and pay attention. Chak De was understated brilliance, I went in groaning at the thought of another Rah! Rah! We are Indians and invincible (............not!) movie, instead I got a steady and believable story about an underdog team and its disgraced coach, the look of the movie was spot on, shabby Indian fields, dingy government offices populated with paan stained babus and of course Shah Rukh Khan on his scooter (and not big flashy car!) in the last scene. Rock On while not all that great on the whole (for starters, which self respecting Rock Band calls itself Magik?) handled its characters and relationships very well, from Arjun Rampals nagging and neglected spitfire of a wife, to Farhan Akhtars society belle with a heart of gold wife, how years later when Farhan Akhtar bumps into his ex-girlfriend (who he dumped by running away and leaving behind a letter) it does not lead to melodrama as much as a temporary awkwardness. And all the horridness that was Deepika Padukones acting was redeemed in that one scene of Love Aaj Kal when Saif Ali Khan after being mugged in San Fransisco stays beaten down, slightly hysterical and bleeding away, instead of pulling together, running after the baddies and kicking the crap out of them a la any movie made in the 90s (when it was some sort of unwritten rule that Hindi Movie heroes could not be beaten up by goondas without their managing to exact some sort of appropriate revenge, especially if the goondas happened to be Firangs). Lastly, Luck By Chance is brilliant through and through. It’s witty, it’s smart satire, it’s polished and it’s the movie I wanted to make about gender equations. Konkona Sen Sharmas ending dialogue/monologue where she dumps the grovelling Farhan Akhtar by telling him that she would rather lead her own ‘imperfect’ life than be a footnote in his ‘perfect and famous’ life still gives me Goosebumps when I think about it. My movie (I was going to win an Oscar for it) was going to end on a similar note, when the too good to be true hero comes back asking for forgiveness from the slightly frumpy heroine, he tells her that he’s sorry he left her but now he wants to be the last guy in her life..... awwww....... not! The heroine then gently tells him that this wasn’t the correct thing to say, he should have said that he wanted her to be the last girl in his life and goes away leaving behind a very baffled looking hero trying to figure out the difference.

These movies leave me High! It’s like a concentrated shot of adrenalin. I think furiously about the story, the acting, the dialogue, the look and cinematography. The Music remains pounding in my ears long after I’ve left the theatre and sometimes I end up not sleeping for days (!) racing up and down my hostel corridor all night (don’t ask!) because I’m that rattled by the movie. It’s a bit extreme, and heaven knows what’s wrong with little ole me (Mom says I’m high strung). I just saw Kaminey and I foresee several long sleepless nights ahead of me, as I try to work it out of my system.

Thank heavens for hostel - Long corridors, heavy sleepers and accommodating friends.

Not Tacky......... It was Disturbing

2.5 Hours. 120 Rupees. 1,000,000 Brain Cells. This is what it cost me to watch Kambhakt Ishq. But writing is therapeutic and hopefully by the time I finish writing this post, I will have stopped fantasizing about inserting a grandfather clock which chimes the hour and half hour up Akshaye Kumars ass.

I think the biggest problem I have with this movie is that it starts out with the “hero” calling the heroine a bitch and the turning point of the movie comes when the heroine realizes that she is, in fact, a bitch (because she doesn’t believe in marriage and true love). Other highlights include the song where a whole gaggle of blonde haired bimbos thrust their boobs out (of their dresses) in retaliation to guys who were, well.... just thrusting, the scene where Kareena sits and cries her heart out because she (thinks she) had drunken pre-marital sex with Akshay Kumar and of course the operation where Kareena wears her lucky-mantra-chanting watch over her surgical gloves. There is also the scene where Akshaye Kumar is cavity searched by a big black woman, I didn’t see that scene, I had my eyes shut. But I’m sure that had I seen it I would have found it offensive, racist and included it among the highlights.

Then there is the other small issue about the objectification of and violence against women (I lost track of the number of times they got pawed, mauled, kicked, kissed and verbally abused) the fact that sex is portrayed as OK for men and great for fun but that true love and women must abstain from sex (the “Heroines” are virginal and Akshaye Kumar stops just short of having drunken pre-marital sex with Kareena because sniff* he realizes he’s truly in love with her as opposed to the other harlots he was just stringing along .... wipes away a tear). Akshaye Kumar gets all the insults, punches and one liners in, while Kareena is left staggering from drunkenness, being kissed against her wishes, being chased by a (politically correct, racially integrated!) street gang (she is rescued by Sylvester Stallone who hearing her maidenly shrieks for help and the sound of ka-ching decided to appear in this movie and save her), leaving a watch in Akshaye Kumars Stomach, realizing her mother was a bitch (Mommy dearest refused to take back philandering hubby despite his honest and earnest plea that he had changed and wanted things to work out between them) and that she is a bitch (for not believing in true love and marriage and believing in the fact that all men and Akshaye Kumar are jerks).
I did however like the first proposal scene, it was thoughtful, romantic and everything the movie wasn’t. If I ever get proposed to, I too want to be dumped overboard a yacht into a coral reef from which my proposer will pull out an oyster which will open to reveal a handful of pearls and a 24 karat diamond engagement ring. I did not care for the second one, the one where Akshaye Kumar shouts at Kareena and orders/forces her into a car after leaving Denise Richards (playing herself, and who obviously doesn’t understand any of the hindi dialogue insulting her but can recognize the phrase “you come before camera with less clothes and we give money to you” in 37 different languages).

This movie was essentially written by a dick, a dick which managed to wrap itself around a pen and move it across paper. The audience seemed to enjoy the movie. As for me..... Does anyone have a grandfather clock they’re not particularly fond of?

Did I hear you say Movie?

A day well wasted is a day well spent. And yesterday was a day very well spent indeed. My sister, cousins and I decided to celebrate the return of new releases to Multiplexes by going and watching 17 Again. As my sister and I were leaving, my mother looked at us and in accents of great torment and despair announced that she was being Bheja Fried yet again by us.

According to her Being Bheja Fried means being cruelly left out, deserted by your near and dear when they go to see a movie without you, that too a movie which you might enjoy. The origin of this term she explained her voice quavering with neglect and deeply repressed emotions comes from when my Dad and took me and my sisters to see the movie Bheja Fry without her. She accused us of having Bheja Fried her numerous times since then, the most recent incident being when we went to see Star Trek behind her back. My Father she had forgiven, but being Bheja Fried by those who she not only gave birth to but also gave reasons to live by introducing them to the wonders of Star Wars and the Lord of the Rings was unpardonable according to her. To watch us so shamelessly stalking out without a care in the world (My sisters Final exams are on and I had some left over Internship work to be submitted today) without so much as a backward glance at her as we bheja fried her, it broke her heart, she wailed.

We would have been deeply moved and might have considered inviting her or perhaps even invited her to come along with us except that, my mother got snagged in a technicality. In order to be Bheja Fried the movie you are left out of should be one that you actually wanted to see, or think you might enjoy (like when my friends went to see Dev D minus Me!). My mother to put it quite simply has not enjoyed a movie in quite some time. All the movies she’s seen recently have given her a head ache, and she always ends up pulling a 99 on them. A 99 you ask? It means plugging into your ipod, shutting your eyes and completely ignoring the movie. She first did it in the movie 99, she then pulled a 99 at Angels and Demons (a movie I was Bheja Fried from because I had Internship work to submit the next day. Those of you who think that I am a hard worker, carrying work home, please don’t read the rest of this sentence, for the rest of you who’re still reading- the reason I get stuck with work at home is because I’m busy sleeping at work, that or writing blog posts). My mother would have pulled a 99 on 17 again. If she came, her Ipod stayed behind, we warned her, she sheepishly agreed that perhaps it was best for her to not come.

So it was just us kids who went and saw 17 again, and then because it was playing in a theatre conveniently close by and because even my cousin hadn’t seen it, but mostly in order to bring balance back to the Universe I decided to skip doing the work due and we watched Angels and Demons instead. It was day very well spent indeed.

But it was as we trailed out of the movie theatre after watching Angels and Demons that it hit Sumana that this coming Wednesday she was going to be Demonised by her friends. That is what happens to you when you have a movie crazy family (did I mention that my family has a movie lingo which defines the different ways in which we watch or don’t watch movies?) which takes you to see every single movie released (even those released during your exams) so that when your friends eventually get around to going to see a movie with you (say for example to celebrate the end of the exams) you’ll be watching that movie for the third time in a theatre.

Confessions of a mathematical society president

My parents didn’t take us, when we were Kids to see many movies and the few that we did get to see in the theatre were always kiddy movies (like keeping your cell phones off, not taking hyper kids to the movies is a courtesy my parents very firmly believe in). So the three of us were pleasantly surprised, when my Parents returned from a shopping trip one evening from which the three of us had been excluded (Ok…… in hindsight it looks they didn’t believe in taking us kids out, Period.) with tickets to the Night show of a movie called star wars.
They tried explaining the premise to me “stars and lasers and wars…. Lots of fun!” and I remember trying to picture the movie in my head as we went to the theatre “twinkling stars in a night sky, occasionally a laser beam would emerge from one star and go hit another star which would disappear ……. Lots of fun!” (I really hadn’t seen many movies then). It was my first night show, my first grown-up movie, my first movie with action and violence and a real true Villain, who actually managed to be villainous and not comic relief. That night I fell in love with Movies for the second time (the first time was when I saw Singin’ in the Rain on TV).
And there was so much more to come, finding out that Darth Vader didn’t die in the first movie, that Darth Vader was Luke’s father, that Han Solo Didn’t die in the second movie, that Leia was Luke’s twin sister and that the prequels I waited for, for so long and so eagerly, sucked. But once a star wars fan, always a star wars fan. And Star wars geek I remain to this day, I was after all the girl who had a crush on Lando Calrissian (not Luke the guy who was supposed to be the hero, not Han who stole the show and became the actual Hero). Lando? Who you ask? Precisely I reply. To those of you who are equally clueless about Luke and Han…. I don’t know what to say.
In my grandparents house down south there are many important traditions which must be honoured or else consequences faced. Absence from the sacred early morning pooja for instance will invite the wrath of all your dead ancestors upon you, to make noise, or disturb the peace during the even more scared post-lunch siesta will earn you the wrath of all your living ancestors. On one particularly long sojourn down south my mother began to tell her three hyperactive daughters (perhaps that’s the reason we never got taken out anywhere) the story of the Lord of the Rings, a new episode every afternoon in order to keep us amused and quiet so that the rest of the household could sleep. To cut a long story short, I eventually got around to reading that even longer story, a several hundred times. I have read the companion book Silmarillion thrice and made notes and family trees to keep things in track. I can tell you both the names of Aragorn’s Sword, what Minas Morgul was originally called before the evil lord Sauron took over it, I can recite some of the poems in the Books and most of the dialogue from the movies. To amuse myself in situations of boredom, I make lists of the cast members of the LOTR Movies. I can name 30 of the top of my head! How many can you name?
This summer my sister introduced me to Anime. I fell for it hook line and sinker, I sat up all night and watched 25 episodes of an anime called “Darker than Black”. I marvelled at it, I woke my sister up at 2 in the morning to discuss the significance of the last episode, cried like a baby after one particularly touching episode and when it ended I lost no time trying to find out what was the next anime I should move onto.
And it was as I sat at 5 in the morning, my head spinning with BK Nimarishi, mediums, and the very, very cute protagonist (I totally have a thing for chinky eyes!) that it hit me, the only thing holding me back from total geekdom was the fact that I was not (also) a Trekkie.
That was then. I just saw Star Trek the movie last night. I liked it. (John Cho is the cutest! His eyes……….).
Its official! I am the female Raj Kuthrapalli. Minus the IQ and mathematical aptitude (I became president of the mathematical society on sheer geekiness). And with a longer and even more unpronounceable name. After a night of serious introspection and much contemplation I’ve come to realize that the only thing keeping me from dressing up like my favourite characters and attending movie premieres or conventions is the fact that we don’t have movie premieres and conventions in India. Anyway I’ve almost made peace with myself (writing being very therapeutic) all I want right now is a pair of prosthetic pointy ears for it to be complete.

Books Versus Movies (No Contest)

I can’t sleep. So while I wait for the latest episode of “How I met Your Mother” to download, allow me to practice my Acceptance Speech for winning best adapted screenplay (preferably a Tamora Pierce Novel adaption) at the Oscars, on you.

“Well…… this is unexpected (audience laughs because I had all five nominations). I’d like to thank the two most beautiful women in the world (camera pans to my two beautiful sisters……. Audience gasps) for never letting me doubt my own beauty (audience snickers as Joke falls flat), my friends for encouraging me to follow my dreams and being true to myself (audience goes awwwwww……..) and lastly my parents for making me who I am.
Thank You for making me the Girl who thought books meant novels and only novels. That a book was not a book, unless it had a story, non-fiction and textbooks being in a category unto themselves. The Girl who did a double take because the text books outnumbered the fiction books in her senior school library. The girl who never understood the families who proudly displayed their entire book collection consisting of a row of untouched Encyclopaedias in their Drawing Rooms.
And Thank You most of all from teaching me to learn from stories. . Thank You for treating a good story with the respect it deserves no matter what the medium. For treating movies and books the same (Movie Making Audience Cheers), the stories they tell and the lessons you can learn from them being the important thing (Clapping Starts). For treating serious and frivolous alike – for you can always find something to be learnt.

I learnt everything from my Values to my Geography from Movies and Books. These Stories have served as the starting points of Deep Introspection into weighty issues like "Is True Love never Having to say Sorry?" and have jumpstarted Extensive Research on Trivial Bits of History such as "Schindlers List" which might have otherwise gone unnoticed.

This is the reason I do what I do (adapt screenplays) I’d like to thank the Academy for recognizing my genius at it. ( Orchestra starts playing, is drowned out by the Standing Ovation, somewhere in the audience George Clooney starts to fall in love with me)”

Thank you for your patience, I am off to learn How Ted Mosby met his Children's Mother.

of Devs, Dads, Dimples and a Deol

I did two things over this weekend, one that I never thought I would do, and one I never should have done.
I never should have gone to see Dev D with my Dad. My dad is pretty chilled out about the movies, he likes arty, serious cinema which my mom does not (my mom can watch only mindless action mixed with humour, or Mindless romance mixed with humour, or Humour, real life is arty and serious enough for her), which is why my dad now looks to his daughters for company if he wants to watch something serious. So I figured, what the hey! Here’s a chance to show him bold new Bollywood, even if he doesn’t care for the story he’d like the technical accomplishments, the songs, the direction, the production values, the acting. Aaaaaaargh! I forgot about the Sex, the drinking, the language and the fact that the protagonist is a self pitying loser who we are supposed to sympathise and cheer for after he has run over and killed an entire slum (by the way, said actions are perfectly acceptable in English Movies). It was awkward to say the least. Perhaps I could have pulled it off better had I not already seen the movie (“the reviews were so good..... but this is ......”). But now my dad thinks I identify with Dev D so much that I want to see it twice! More than that it’s a serious lapse of judgment on my part (my daughter doesn’t know what I’ll like or not like). We drove home in silence. When we got home my mom asked us how we liked it, my dad grinned and said it didn’t pass by him. Maybe it’s ok...... but he is never going to take another movie recommendation from me.
I never thought I would fall in Love (this is not a crush) with someone from the Deol family. Abhay Deol is not John Abraham (my long time crush), in all senses of the word “not”. The guy can act, he can pick movies, he does his own thing, he takes avant-garde art courses in New York (steel welding anyone?) he thought of Dev D (the movie I liked so much, that I had to watch it again, Dad or no Dad), he has dimples (Ok John Abraham has dimples too)! He is smart, a smooth talker (swoon) and utterly cute. I know we are soul-mates, no one loves the movies as much as I do, I like art, I like Dev D, I like dimples and have some vague ones myself. We’d be perfect together. I’d help him pick movies to act in and he’d help me with my job as an art museum curator. We’d talk (about smart things ya’know) and take art courses (Blowing glass in Budapest, Tile glazing in Turkey......) and do other things (smart things ya’know) together. Papparazi shots of the two of us would feature our adorable dimples, awwww........ they could call us Soudeo or Rambhay.
John Abraham (should you ever read this blog), I may crush you to death, but for Abhay I’d gladly Die myself.