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Release date:	August 4, 2017
Director:	Imtiaz Ali
Cast: Language:	Shah Rukh Khan, Anushka Sharma, Chandan Roy Sanyal, Aru K. Verma Hindi

Jab Harry Met Sejal is not When Harry Met Sally. With its bow to one of the greatest Hollywood romances ever made, the title of Imtiaz Ali’s new release seemed to suggest that his film would be not a mere romance but a conversation on the very meaning of love, attraction and the whole shebang that goes with it.

Maybe instead Ali should have opted for the name Much Ado About Harry and Sejal. Because, with due apologies to Bill Shakespeare, barring the chemistry between the lead stars, this is precisely what the film amounts to: nothing. The “nothing” about which “much ado” was made in one of Shakespeare’s most famous works.

Shah Rukh Khan here plays Harry a.k.a. Harindar Singh Nehra, a Punjab-born, Canadian passport-holding tour guide in Europe who is forced to accompany Sejal Zhaveri (Anushka Sharma) on a trans-continental search for her lost engagement ring. Harry had been assigned to her group – consisting of her family and friends – as they travelled across Europe for a month, when her boyfriend Rupen proposed marriage to her, and slipped that ring on her finger. She promptly misplaced it. Rupen sees her carelessness as an indicator of her lack of commitment, so she decides to stay back, find it in the haystack that is Europe and prove to him how much she loves him.

Obviously, this gives Ali the opportunity to combine his two favourite cinematic genres, the road movie and the romance. The locations (Amsterdam, Prague, Budapest, Lisbon and Frankfurt) are picturesque, of course, and cinematographer K.U. Mohanan delivers on the visuals. The same cannot be said of Ali’s writing of his characters’ motivations.

Jab Harry Met Sejal is a lost cause from the word go. Sejal’s reasons for stayingon in Europe, her pile-on behaviour, Harry’s back story, her carelessness as she wanders lonely streets and darkened nightclubs in alien lands – none of it is credible and frankly, neither Sharma nor Khan appears convinced of why Sejal and Harry do what they do.

Sejal keeps insisting she is devoted to Rupen yet also keeps pushing Harry to admit that she is f**kable (the euphemism she uses is “laayak”, the Hindi word for “worthy”, I kid you not). The pressing question that should have kept a film like this going is: do they get together in the end?The truth though is, that within about 30 minutes of Harry-Sejal’s running time, I did not give a damn.

It is hard to believe that the man who made such thinking entertainers as Jab We Met and Tamasha has created this boring film. Worse, through Sejal’s teasing ways, her stupidity and a troubling conversation she has with Harry’s ex-girlfriend Clara in Frankfurt, Ali seems to be quietly making a rather disturbing point about the meaning of consent in sexual relations, women who – as the prejudice goes – ‘ask for it’, women who cry rape after ‘asking for it’ and so on.

Perhaps this should not come as a surprise considering that, although some of his heroines have been strong women, the writer-director did, after all, come up with a very problematic man-woman relationship in Rockstar, and has casually featured rape jokes in both Rockstar and Jab We Met.

As Harry and Sejal wade through philosophical bullshit about finding oneself, finding the one you are meant to be with and so on, Jab Harry Met Sejal gets more exasperating with each passing minute. There is a fantastic Indian word for pretentious art of this kind: pakau.

I honestly wanted the film to end when just 45 minutes had passed…

…But it did not.

…It lasted for 99 minutes thereafter.

…Yes it did.

In the midst of all this pointlessness, SRK and Sharma’s torrid chemistry is the only thing that kept me from falling off to sleep in the second half of Harry-Sejal. Although she is young enough to be his daughter (seriously SRK, why are you doing this?), in a scenario where male stars tend to want to act with women half their age, I would rather see these two together than Khan with any of the other 20- or 30-somethings in the industry.

He is getting hotter with age, she has infectious verve and the charisma to match him pop for pop, crackle for crackle, spark for spark. Harry-Sejal’s premise is beyond jaded, but the Sharma-Khan on-screen equation is so sizzling, that I cannot remember the last time I wanted to see a couple have sex in a film as much as I wanted to see this pair get down and dirty.

So do they? Well, if you are willing to subject yourself to Ali’s mind-numbing take on the definition of a soulmate (no doubt that is what Harry-Sejal fancies itself to be), then you will find the answer for yourself.

The only other positives I can think of in Jab Harry Met Sejal are Hitesh Sonik’s pretty background score and the pizzazz in Pritam’s songs, especially Main banoo teri Radha. After a while though, even that is not enough and in fact, it feels like there are just too many numbers packed into the film.

Jab Harry Met Sejal is occasionally funny, but not half as funny or cute or ruminative as it clearly thinks it is. Hats off to Shah Rukh Khan and Anushka Sharma for managing to raise the Centigrades in this otherwisepakau disaster.

Rating (out of five stars): *

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	144 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/bollywood/jab-harry-met-sejal-movie-review-srk-anushka-sharma-raise-the-centigrades-in-an-otherwise-pakau-disaster-3893409.html

Poster courtesy:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jab_Harry_Met_Sejal

Release date:	July 28, 2017
Director:	Tigmanshu Dhulia
Cast: Language:	Kunal Kapoor, Amit Sadh, Mohit Marwah, Kenny Desai, Kenny Basumatary, Mrudula Murali, Kanwaljit Singh, Zakir Hussain, Vijay Verma, Rajesh Khera Hindi

A string of Hindi films have been made in the past century about the life of Bhagat Singh and his hanging along with his associates Shivaram Rajguru and Sukhdev Thapar on March 23, 1931. Most recently, at least three productions on the subject were released within the same year in 2002, including Rajkumar Santoshi’s excellent but unfortunately underrated The Legend of Bhagat Singh starring Ajay Devgn as the charismatic Singh.

Tigmanshu Dhulia’s Raag Desh is about another conviction, far less spotlighted, that took place 14 years later in vastly different circumstances although the British still ruled India at the time.

What came to be known as the INA Trials or the Red Fort Trials of 1945 involved three soldiers of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose’s Indian National Army (INA): Major General Shahnawaz Khan, Lieutenant Colonel Prem Kumar Sahgal and Lieutenant Colonel Gurbaksh Singh Dhillon. After being taken prisoners of war by the Japanese during World War II, they had joined INA and were involved in some of its more notable successes on the battlefield against the British in south-east Asia, but as their force gradually got depleted, were later compelled to surrender.

Khan, Sahgal and Dhillon were court martialled and their trial – held within Delhi’s historic Red Fort – attracted widespread attention. Defending them in court was an illustrious panel of lawyer-freedom fighters including Jawaharlal Nehru, Bhulabai Desai and Asaf Ali.

The trial became a rallying point for an Indian public that could see Independence within touching distance. Though the trio were found guilty of treason, the expected death sentence did not come, with the British sensing the possible disastrous consequences of such a move, keeping in mind the national mood and their own waning influence on the country.

Despite the many inherently melodramatic elements in this real-life tale of bravery, bloodshed, patriotism and sacrifice, writer-director Dhulia (who is credited with the film’s screenplay and dialogues) has taken a commercially risky route in Raag Desh with his clinical, documentary-like approach to the subject. There is no Sunny Deol-esque screaming in this film, no love songs wafting about although there is a romance, no chest-thumping nationalism, only facts, plain facts, about men and women who risked their lives that we might live in a free country.

In making this narrative choice, Dhulia reminds us that you do not need to raise your decibel levels to stir an audience when life itself is so packed with stirring moments. “Tum mujhe khoon do, main tumhe azaadi doonga (give me your blood and I will give you freedom),” was not a dialogue conjured up by a film writer – Bose actually uttered that line to inspire a people. “Lal Qile se aayee awaaz / Sahgal Dhillon Shahnawaz…(A voice comes from the Red Fort / Sahgal, Dhillon, Shahnawaz),” was not coined by a novelist to articulate an imagined secular ideal, it was a slogan from reality that rang outside the Fort while the trial was on inside.

The happenstance of this story’s protagonists being a Hindu, a Muslim and a Sikh is not a fiction created to propagate communal harmony, these were real people who fought side by side for a common cause without allowing their differing backgrounds to be a hurdle. In today’s divided India, where mob lynchings of Muslims have the covert and sometimes even overt support of the Central government (look no further than Union Minister Mahesh Sharma paying obeisance to the body of one of Mohammad Akhlaq’s alleged murderers, with the national flag wrapped around that body) and where a concerted effort is being made to keep minorities and liberal Hindus insecure, Raag Desh’s unspoken message speaks more than a thousand words.

In the noisy times we live in, where yelling matches have become standard fare on news TV, it is a relief to watch the story of Netaji’s men and women being told in such muted tones. Dhulia adopts a non-linear timeline, going back and forth between courtroom scenes on the one hand and the central trio’s journey with the INA. The result could have been confusing, but Geeta Singh’s even editing and the director’s smooth storytelling combine to ensure clarity instead.

Raag Desh feels like a history lesson delivered by a conscientious teacher. The detailing in the legal arguments presented in court makes for particularly exciting viewing. It is evident that the team has done painstaking research for their film.

Neither of the above – the understatement or the meticulousness – should come as a surprise, considering that Rajya Sabha TV (RSTV) is the producer of Raag Desh. Many of India’s private television channels now bow and scrape before the present government, indulging in raucous displays of patriotism to prove their credentials in keeping with the demands of the current establishment, and competing to out-shout each other in a bid to attract sensation-seeking audiences. RSTV – owned by the Upper House of Parliament and headed by the House’s ex-officio chairperson, the Vice President of India – has remained sane, sobre and non-partisan though under VP Hamid Ansari. The tenor of Raag Deshis but natural then.

Despite the focus of the film being INA’s formation, its work and the trial, it gives us enough information about its three protagonists to make them relatable people who we cannot help but emotionally invest ourselves in. The manner in which we are acquainted with their personal lives, however, is an almost amusing contrast to J.P. Dutta’s brand of filmmaking. Without LOC Kargil-style maudlin music, Raag Desh, for instance, brings home the tenderness of the relationship between Sahgal and Captain Lakshmi Swaminathan, head of INA’s all-women regiment, who met and fell in love during their time together in the Army.

What I missed in the film though was the debate that is so much a part of RSTV’s programming. Raag Desh, for instance, steers clear of taking a position on the great Bose’s deeply disturbing, questionable alliances with fascist forces during WWII that many people rationalise with an end- justifies-the-means argument. They do not – however much you may respect and admire an individual’s intentions. It is disappointing that a filmmaker as politically aware as Dhulia would take a blinkered (or safer?) view of Netaji.

The acting in the film is uniformly good. The sweet-faced Amit Sadh downplays his looks and physique here (quite the opposite of what he did when he first attracted national attention in Kai Po Che). He perfectly portrays Dhillon’s more rustic effervescence in comparison with the other two lead characters. Kunal Kapoor as Khan and Mohit Marwah as Sahgal are both distractingly handsome in uniform, but do not let their great beauty subtract from the gravitas and conviction they bring to their roles.

While all three are impactful, Marwah (who, by the way, is Anil Kapoor’s sister’s son) stands out for his matinee idol looks and innate sincerity. He was impressive even in his dismal debut film Fugly (2014), but should hopefully attract the attention of sensible producers with Raag Desh, where he gets more material to sink his teeth into.

The supporting cast features a bunch of familiar faces who are well styled to represent the historical personalities they portray, and deliver on-point performances relying on immersion in the character rather than bombast. Kenny Basumatary as Netaji, Kenny Desai as Bhulabai Desai and – in smaller roles – Mrudula Murali as Captain Lakshmi Sahgal nee Swaminathan and Rajesh Khera as Nehru are all memorable.

The film is on shaky ground though in certain tehnical areas. Some outdoor settings look like sets in a not-very-expensive stage production. And the no-fuss matter-of-factness that works so well elsewhere in Raag Desh takes the edge out of some battle scenes. Compensation comes in the form of Rana Mazumder and Siddharth Pandit’s music, including a rousing rendition of the INA’s marching tune Kadam kadam badhaaye jaa.

Dhulia made his directorial debut in 2003 with Haasil, a gem of a film on campus politics in Allahabad starring Jimmy Sheirgill, Hrishitaa Bhatt and Irrfan Khan. It remains his best till date. Raag Desh, which he has written and directed, may not be up there, but it is special.

If you plan to watch it, do not go looking for Borderor LOC Kargil. This one is more akin to Sankalp Reddy’s Telugu/Hindi The Ghazi Attack(2017), albeit even more under-played and also less swish on the production front. Raag Desh is a docu-drama, not a high-pitched weepie.

In an age of armchair nationalists fighting wars on the social media, the experience of watching these genuine heroes and heroines who put their lives on the line for us – and are not half as well-known as they ought to be – is both educational and poignant.

Rating (out of five stars): ***

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	137 minutes

Poster courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raagdesh

Release date:	August 4, 2017
Director:	Shanker Raman
Cast: Language:	Akshay Oberoi, Pankaj Tripathi, Ragini Khanna, Aamir Bashir, Shalini Vatsa, Ashish Verma, Arjun Singh Faujdar, Yogi Singha, Anna Ador, Srinivas Sunderrajan Hindi / Haryanvi

An air of foreboding hangs heavy over Shanker Raman’s Gurgaon, the story of a family bent under the weight of years of suppressed anger, bitterness, even guilt. The unease is almost tangible when young Preet lands in the city after an education abroad. I should not have come back, she tells her friend Sophie at one point.

Preet’s father Kehri Singh, who heads a real-estate behemoth, is thrilled at her return. All his paternal warmth is reserved for his daughter while he cold shoulders her elder male siblings, including his son Nikki Singh whose arrogance camouflages a yearning for his father’s approval.

You sense Nikki’s resentment towards his sister from their very first scene together. Something has gone awry here. The arrangement of figures in this carefully constructed family portrait is confusing. Deeply conservative Haryana has one of the worst child sex ratios in India, the result of rampant female foeticide and infanticide. Not that the rest of the world is innocent of patriarchy, but Haryana’s stats are particularly shameful. A daughter here is viewed as such a huge liability that preventing her birth is considered a routine option. In a society such as this, something is clearly askew in the Singh home which offers no other evidence of being progressive, yet it is Preet who studied abroad, not her brothers; it is she whose name the business bears, and not as a hollow token of fondness either; it is Preet who Kehri sees as a natural inheritor of his business; it is her degree that he is confident will take it to new heights.

As layer upon layer of the story is peeled away, Raman reveals Kehri’s secret that has culminated in the tensions simmering in his household. We see then that the Singhs are in fact a metaphor for Gurgaon, a city resting on destroyed ecologies and clashing cultures, where dramatic changes have not been accompanied by gender and cultural sensitisation within the education system, where an appearance of liberalism masks deep-rooted conservatism.

Nothing exemplifies this better than Nikki’s quandary over Sophie. He clearly feels a genuine liking for this lively, friendly foreigner, but has no idea how to express such emotions. He knows how to show affection to his mother, to begrudge his sister her place in their father’s plans, to be violent with the woman he hires for sex, but tenderness… how is he to deal with that?

Could he discuss this with his boy band without denting the macho image he feels driven to project? Who then can he speak to? His distant father? His forever anxious mother? The sister he hates? In the absence of an outlet, he hits out at whoever comes his way, and he broods.

Much like Gurgaon, Kehri’s family did not naturally come into being, but was assembled like a well-strategised business model. In this household, a daughter is allocated a non-traditional role because ‘equality’ is a convenience, for the moment at least, not a conviction. She has freedom not because it is her right, but because she has been identified as a ghar ki Lakshmi and not a panauti, those being the only two labels available to female offspring in Kehri’s worldview.

Gurgaon is a film of Dunkirk-like silences more than conversations. The war here is not one of naval destroyers, tanks and fighter jets, nor between countries. It is raging all the same, as sure as any that was ever officially declared: a civilisational clash, a battle between young and old, old inhabitants and new, patriarchy and feminism, mindless traditionalism and free thinking.

Manoj Yadav’s lyrics for the song running alongside the end credits evoke images from the Mahabharat, one of the subcontinent’s greatest epics and now a synonym for the greatest battles ever fought. Most outsiders do not know this, but Gurgaon is named after the Mahabharat’s Guru Dronacharya, “gur” being short for “guru” and “gaon” meaning “village”. Ergo, this is “the village of the guru”. The title, then, is as much a literal reference to the city as a comment on its many contemporary social and cultural conflicts though sans the voice of wisdom, the Lord Krishna that Draupadi seeks but cannot find in the closing musical number.

Cinematographer Shanker Raman – who was responsible for the meticulously crafted visuals of Kashmir in Harud(2012), which he also co-wrote – makes a first-rate debut as a director with Gurgaon. His narrative style and the uncluttered writing (by Raman with Sourabh Ratnu, Vipin Bhatti and Yogi Singha), are both geared towards making a point with the least words possible.

If you have visited this busy metropolis to the south of Delhi, you will know that while on the one hand it is teeming with people and vehicles, on the other, vast stretches of the place can be intimidatingly deserted. Vivek Shah manages to catch the multiple facets of Gurgaon’s split personality through his camera, though with an emphasis on the latter. Each character in the film is alone with themselves and looking out on to a world that seems far removed from where they stand. Nowhere does this work better than in capturing Nikki’s sense of isolation. It is not that the film is indulgent towards him – it is not – but it takes us to a place where we can see why such a creature might emerge from this cauldron of contradictions and confusion.

The atmospherics generated by Shah’s cinematography and the unsettling music by Benedict Taylor and Naren Chandavarkar, serve to build up a feeling of dread from the opening shot.

Crucial to the success of Raman’s storytelling is the casting. The good-looking Akshay Oberoi plays the seemingly glacial Nikki. The fake self-assurance he conveys here is a contrast to his character’s confident innocence in 2016’sLaal Rang, making him an actor to watch out for.

As Preet in Gurgaon, TV star Ragini Khanna is virtually unrecognisable minus the layers of Hindi-soap-opera-mandated makeup. It has been six years since her film debut in the indifferent comedy Teen Thay Bhai(TTB). Preet is a far cry from Khanna’s vivacious character on the teleserial Sasural Genda Phool, and gives her the space to display her versatility in a film that is more deserving of her talent than TTB was.

Aamir Bashir – who, by the way, directed Harud– delivers a stand-out performance in a small but notable part in Gurgaon. He plays my favourite character in the film.

While each member of the ensemble cast does a fine job, the most distinctive act in Gurgaon comes from Pankaj Tripathi playing Kehri in Don Corleone-like fashion, the godfather of a crumbling family and an expanding empire. The grating voice, protruding jaw and stoic demeanour he brings to this role, so different from the measured dancerliness of Rangeela in this year’s Anaarkali of Aarah, are ample reminders of this man’s chameleon-like skills. In fact, with a hint of prosthetics around the chin, he would be a perfect choice to play the lead in a Bollywood biopic of Marlon Brando, in the unlikely event of such a film being made.

But I digress… Haryana has inspired several Bollywood films in recent years, some celebratory (Sultan, Dangal), some reflecting depressing realities (Aurangzeb, NH10, Laal Rang, G Kutta Se). Gurgaonfalls into the latter category. It looks beyond the glitzy malls and swanky condominiums of this emerging Maximum City, to serve as a cautionary tale about unthinking urbanisation and the unseen worlds within our world. Like the city that is its subject, cloaking its turmoil with its gloss, Gurgaon’s pace and tone too are deceptive. The film is a slow burn but make no mistake about it: the explosion is coming.

Rating (out of five stars): ***1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	107 minutes 31 seconds

Poster courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gurgaon_(film) and JAR Pictures

Release date:	August 11, 2017
Director:	Shree Narayan Singh
Cast: Language:	Akshay Kumar, Bhumi Pednekar, Divyenndu, Sudhir Pandey, Shubha Khote, Rajesh Sharma, Anupam Kher Hindi

We’ve heard Vidya Balan’s soothing voice in government ads on radio and television since 2012, urging India to end open defecation, exhorting Indians to build toilets in homes and telling us stories of battles being fought across the country in the name of the loo. One such ad had Balan placing the spotlight on a bride fromUttar Pradesh called Priyanka Bharti who left her marital home and returned only when her husband built her a toilet. In the same year, a young woman called Anita Narre from Madhya Pradesh made news for the same reason, refusing to go back to her sasural until her spouse built a toilet in the house with the help of district officials, as recorded by media reports from back then.

Toilet: Ek Prem Katha tells us the story of Jaya, a fictional woman just like these two. In text flashing on screen before the end credits, Toilet informs us that it is based on the story of Anita and her husband Shivram. That’s funny though since Anita’s potty revolution took place two years before the Narendra Modi government came to power, yet this film pointedly sets its heroine’s actions in Modi’s time, implies credit to him and is, in fact, an ode to the present prime minister cleverly disguised as an ode to sanitation instead.

It is a pity that director Shree Narayan Singh chose to soil his film with pro-government propaganda, because until the Modi spiel sneaks up on us in the second half, Toilet: Ek Prem Katha drives home an important – even if simplistically handled – point.

Keshav (Akshay Kumar) and his brother Naru (Divyenndu) run a cycle shop in a village in Uttar Pradesh. At 36, Keshav is single because his accursed kundli can be countered only by a marriage to a buffalo and, if he does subsequently find himself a human bride, she has to be double-thumbed. So, he weds the beast and not long after, falls in love with Jaya (Bhumi Pednekar). She is highly educated, he has just completed school. Her family is modern, his father’s mentality is stuck in the Stone Age.

To add to the hurdles in the path of their inevitable union, their relationship starts off on a misunderstanding, as it is with all conventional Hindi film couples. And of course there is the question of her thumb. How many does she have?

Never mind how Keshav gets past these problems, but as you already know from the trailer, he does marry her. The big Mahabharat of their lives comes when she discovers, on the morning after her suhaag raat, that her new house does not have a shauchalay and she must walk kilometers in the company of all the village women, to relieve herself in distant fields and foliage. A miserable Jaya decides to leave her husband unless he builds a toilet in their home.

Toilet: Ek Prem Kathais about how Keshav, with some help from her, gets rid of this final hurdle in their path.

So far so good, if you can get past a very problematic opening half hour and the silliness of a nearly-50-year-old Kumar (his birthday is next month) playing a 36-year-old youth. The age disparity between the hero and the actor playing him is in keeping with a custom followed by generations of senior male Bollywood actors.

The film faithfully adheres to two other Hindi film traditions.

First, Kumar is 22 years older than Pednekar. Yeah yeah, Jaya mocks Keshav about his age, but such mockery is now a cliché in films headlined by men from Bollywood who are in the vicinity of 50 and insist on acting with women young enough to be their children.

Second, Keshav stalks Jaya into falling in love with him, going to the extent of photographing her without her permission and using her picture in posters for his shop, again without her say-so. These scenes are all presented as comedy, which is typical of an Akshay Kumar film. The irony is that just this week Kumar had spoken up about the stalking and attempted abduction of Varnika Kundu by the son of Haryana’s BJP chief, yet Toilet: Ek Prem Kathaadopts the same jestful tone towards stalking that Union Minister Babul Supriyo did in the context of Kundu’s case, when he joked about “boy chase girl” scenes in reel and real life.

Sad, because Jaya and Keshav are the sort of people who are worthy of a film sans socially reprehensible formulae. And there is so much in this one that works: Kumar’s comic timing is slamdunk impeccable, Pednekar – the sweet debutant from 2015’s Dum Laga Ke Haisha– is truly gifted, and there is both humour and poignancy in their interactions once he is done being a creepy pest (despite the distracting truth that she looks like his daughter). The songs Has mat pagli pyaar ho jayega (in the voices of Sonu Nigam and Shreya Ghosal) and Subha ki train (Sachet Tandon and Parampara Thakur) capture the ache and affection that such a couple might feel.

Just as you start rooting for these two though, the film takes the shine off them by rooting for the present government. Shree Narayan Singh has a right to be a fan of Modi, but he has no right to play fast and loose with facts or play political games with the viewer. It begins with Jaya looking at reports about toilet-related corruption scams into which a dialogue is casually snuck in: she tells her granddad that all of them took place four years back (meaning: in 2013, meaning: before the present government came to power). We are then repeatedly told that the lack of toilets in the country is our fault and not the fault of the government. While it is true that many rural folk have a caste-and-religion-related mind block against building toilets within their homes, ~~but~~ can someone please tell me how citizens are to blame, for one, for the lack of clean, safe toilets on highways and in other public places?

Anyway, a TV reporter specifically announces that the sarkarhas built three million toilets in the past three years. Three years, meaning, since 2014 when the present government was voted in, get it? Who knows anything of the India that existed before that year.

As if that is not glaring enough, the UP chief minister in the film decides that the only way he can get his toilet schemes implemented by lazy bureaucrats is to lock the toilets in their offices until they clear the necessary files (cinematic populism at its best, since it is tempting for a citizenry tired of lazy babus to excuse such autocratic, unlawful moves) and adds for good measure: if Modiji could introduce notebandi(a.k.a. demonetisation) then why can I not lock these toilets for the good of the country? (words to that effect)

I kept waiting for someone to also praise Aadhaar and the implementation of GST, to complete the sucking-up agenda. Small mercy that Toilet stops at its devotion to notebandi.

The tragedy of Toilet: Ek Prem Katha is that minus the stalking and the chamchagiri, it could have been a good film. Yes it is simplistic in its take on the prejudices against toilet building in our country, yes it implies that this is a Brahmin-specific – or at least upper-caste-specific – issue, yes it ignores the trauma of Dalits who are forced to clean the faeces of upper castes in both rural and urban areas (highlighted in Divya Bharathi’s recent documentary Kakkoos), yes it lacks the nuance and realism of the lovely Malayalam feature film Manhole by Vidhu Vincent which is about manuel scavengers in our cities, yes it displays a bizarre gender skew when it makes the need for toilets a women’s-only issue (though women are most affected due to the security risk in using fields and other public spaces, hygiene and dignity are human concerns across genders), yes it misses the complexities in women’s reactions to public defecation (studies have shown that some rural women actually prefer that morning walk over privacy because that is the only time their families allow them to leave the four walls of their homes), yes the film is guilty of all these flaws but at least it has taken the initiative to throw light on certain aspects of a crucial, contentious issue in a commercial venture with the potential to reach large sections of the masses.

Unfortunately, that intention and all its positives are completely overshadowed by its cringe-worthy keenness to bow and scrape before the present government and its head, an aspect of the film that lingers as much as its pluses because all the obsequiousness is packed into the latter half. What should have been a paean to the potty has ended up being a dishonest paean to Modi. It may as well have been named Toilet: Ek Toady Ki Katha.

Rating (out of five stars): *1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	155 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/toilet-ek-prem-katha-movie-review-akshay-kumars-paean-to-modi-and-the-potty-3919195.html

Poster courtesy:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toilet:_Ek_Prem_Katha

Release date:	August 11, 2017
Director:	Harikumar
Cast: Language:	Master Alok, Rima Kallingal, Unni Mukundan, Vinay Forrt, Renji Panicker, Joy Mathew, K.P.A.C. Lalitha, Salim Kumar Malayalam

Don’t know about you, but I read about him as a kid in Children’s World magazine: Edmund Thomas Clint, a child prodigy who died just short of his seventh birthday, leaving behind about 25,000 paintings and sketches of age-defying maturity and confidence. During his life, tragically curtailed by renal failure, Clint attracted the attention of the media and cultural icons in his home state Kerala and across India, in addition to some experts who wondered whether his parents were passing off the works of an older person as their son’s art.

Director Harikumar’s film is about this wonderkid. As the end nears, the boy tells his parents one day: this world has so many colours, there is still so much left to see, and to think that I have to leave before I do. And to think we will never know the full extent of what he had to offer the world. The thought is heart wrenching, especially because by then we have spent nearly two hours watching his imagination run free with his paintbrush on paper.

Oddly enough though, the film itself does not possess a fraction of the colour that Clint filled his life with. Harikumar clearly has his heart in the right place, and a bunch of solid actors to back him, but his direction is bland and the writing limited, bereft of the shading that filled the young artist’s paintings.

And so, for instance, when a journalist comes to interview little Clint for the first time, and the chap turns out to be an insensitive, pompous ass, what we get is a caricature rather than a believably sketched individual. No doubt there are plenty of such journalists around, but this one is presented in deliberately exaggerated fashion for effect, and over-acted by Salim Kumar, even given a limp like old-school villains, such that I was surprised they did not also bestow on him an eye patch or a hook in place of an arm. Likewise, a barber who is called in to shave Clint’s head is a large, intimidating fellow with a scary face and the disconcerting habit of spewing paan thhook (spit) on garden plants. We know that Clint hates anyone touching his hair, but did Harikumar have to be literal in his representation of the child’s fears?

Clint’s existential musings and innocent questions are as fascinating as children’s conversations usually are, though perhaps more acutely observed. Where do we go when we die? If I die and become a star in the sky, how will you distinguish me from the other stars? What is the mind? Can you tell me what it looks like so that I can paint it? Kids, as the American country song goes, say the darnedest things. The boy’s baby talk is endearing and reminded me of that old toothpaste ad on Indian television in which a father asks his tiny daughter to cover her toothbrush with “aadha brush toothpaste” (a half-brush full of toothpaste) to which she replies, “Daddy, aadha kya hai?” (Dad, what’s half?)

What the film needed perhaps, was more of that. Because it dips each time it shifts away from Clint’s chatter.

The dull narrative suffers further because of poor production quality and amateurish cinematography. The frames are exasperatingly unprofessional – I say exasperating because the subject is begging to be turned into a good film and the setting is begging to be well shot. Clint’s home sits in the lap of nature and the camera team’s failure to fully exploit its potential is a constant reminder of the averageness of this film.

The SFX work too is of a low standard, right from those so obviously fake kites flying in the sky in the opening frame. That shot is no doubt designed for a watercolour effect, but it just does not work. What does work later in the film though is a song in which Clint and his Mom walk in and out of settings that metamorphose from paintings to real life and back, with the paintings ranging from impressionist works to more realistic styles. This is the only passage in the film in which Harikumar shows some imagination.

Master Alok is sweet and has a charmingly staid way of delivering dialogues steeped in child-like wisdom. His diction too is impressive for one so young. Little Akshara Kishor playing Clint’s friend Ammu is a darling as usual, though the insinuation of a potential romance between them if he had lived is silly, to say the least.

The rest of the cast is effective enough, but Rima Kallingal stands out for trying her best but being too good for this film. So much could have been discussed during the course of the story: the meaning of mortality, the question of what constitutes art, who decides what art is and so on. Let us be clear: Clint does have some interesting portions, but just some. At the end of the day, it is an ordinary account of what was, from so many accounts, an extraordinary life.

Rating (out of five stars): *1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	138 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/clint-movie-review-a-life-filled-with-colour-recounted-through-a-limited-palette-3922689.html

Poster courtesy: IMDB

Release date:	August 11, 2017
Director:	Omar Lulu
Cast: Language:	Balu Varghese, Honey Rose, Dharmajan Bolgatty, Vishak Nair, Ganapathi S. Poduvel, Lal, Siddique, Mareena Michael, Remya Panickar, Hareesh Perumanna Malayalam

There were once four boyzz from Kerala

Who pretended ee life-iloru care illa

But deep down inside

They all wanted a bride

And they mourned because, y’know, penn illa.

Now these boyzz treated women like shit

As sub-humans on whom men should spit

They leered at their teacher

They were that kind of creature

I swear I can’t stand them one bit.

So these boyzz lolled about ogling girlzz

Then along came a gay girl with curlzz

She ignored all the boyzz

Did not fall for their ployzz

Or so it seems as this story unfurlzz.

One day she and the boyzz climb a wall

To scale which she seeks help, that is all

One boy pushes up her bum

He is that kind of scum

’Tis behaviour that made my skin crawl.

The hero is a chap called Romario

Who behaves like he’s some sort of Lothario

But he’zz playing a part

To mask a desperate heart

All Romario wantzz is to marry-o.

On a Goa trip with Riya from college

He peepzz into her loo without her knowledge

He leerzz at the lady

I tell ya he’s shady

’Tis a fact we had better acknowledge.

He tellzz us he wants to see Riya’s “kuntham”

Yes, the creep will not even say “vaginum”

He first triezz to bed her

Then he getzz to wed her

Next we learn it was all a sick stratagem.

Now remember that gay girl called Sherin?

The one I mentioned right at the beginnin’?

Sherin’s part of his plot

But I don’t care a dot

Cos this film clearly looks down on women.

These fellowzz treat women like dirt

Meant for three things: marry, screw or flirt

Yet they so badly want

A pretty wife to flaunt

But respecting that wife, I guess, would hurt.

It is clear here that women are objects of hate

Why do these boyzz long to wed women or date?

As property to claim?

As scapegoats to blame?

Ask questions, dear viewers, it’s still not too late.

Now you may say: “Who cares for this critic?’

“She’s just too much of a bloody damned cynic”

Well don’t care for me

That’s not the point, you see

We must shame starzz like Perumanna, Lal and Siddique.

Dear leads Varghese, Nair, Bolgatty and Poduvel

Can you tell us when better sense will prevail?

You are good with comedy

But you pick this travesty

How much further will you lower your level?

Honey and Mareena, where goes your self-respect?

Is this not a film any thinking woman ought to reject?

You are artistes, not meat

Not a hungry man’s treat

You okayed this script, knowing what to expect?

This film Chunkzz thinks it is oh so cool

In the way it showzz how these men drool

At those thingies called women

That they don’t see as human

Chunkzz is not even worth our ridicule.

What this film deserves is our utter contempt

From our judgement, it should not be exempt

When we tolerate these blokezz

And laugh at their jokezz

We give such men in the real world consent.

If Chunkzz mocked religious folk instead of women

Netas would wail, cops would put Omar in prison

That is not my demand

I, a viewer, reprimand

Ugly humour that treats women as sub-human.

Rating (out of five stars): none (I refuse to rate this film)

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	121 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/chunkzz-movie-review-boyzz-will-be-boyzz-and-sickozz-will-be-sickozz-3928413.html

Poster courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/MovieChunkzz/

Release date:	August 18, 2017
Director:	Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari
Cast: Language:	Kriti Sanon, Ayushmann Khurrana, Rajkummar Rao, Seema Pahwa, Pankaj Tripathi, Rohit Chaudhary, Sapna Sand Hindi

If you debuted with Nil Battey Sannata, there will obviously be high expectations around your next. Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari, who broke into Bollywood last year with that sleeper hit starring Swara Bhaskar, is back this week with her second film, Bareilly Ki Barfi.

Nil Battey Sannatawas set in the Indian city that houses Shah Jahan’s monument to his love for Mumtaz Mahal. Bareilly so far has been best known to Bollywood gazers for the many musical references it has inspired, and most famously of course for that jhumka that Sadhna lost in the local bazaar in Mera Saaya 51 years back. I wish I could tell you it will henceforth be known for Bitti Mishra.

Bitti who?

That would be our heroine (played by Kriti Sanon), a spirited young resident of the place whose father runs a sweet shop, mother is a school teacherand who is herself working in the public grievances section of the city’s electricity department. Bitti’s parents are worried sick because though they have paraded their beti before dozens of prospective grooms, she is still kunwaari.

Whether or not she is a kanya in the complete sense of the word is a separate question that they have not dwelt on, but one potential husband does. “Are you a vurjjinn?” he asks her on the terrace of her home, where she and he have been sent to bond while both sets of parents wait expectantly downstairs. Bitti snubs him, as any self-respecting woman should, and so her matashri’s lamentations for her daughter continue.

This is our introduction to both Bitti and Bareilly Ki Barfi (BKB). Bitti is a non-conformist with a mind of her own, we are told: she ignores curfews imposed on daughters alone, does the break dance and rides a mobike in this conservative milieu. Add to that her professional and financial independence, a point underlined by her supportive Dad, and you might assume writers Nitesh Tiwari and Shreyas Jain would be satisfied with their rather neat profile of a small-town woman who refuses to be constrained by social straitjackets. But no sir, they are not.

Despite all these markers of Bitti’s free spirit, Tiwari and Jain (who earlier collaborated on Dangal, which the former directed) feel the need to make smoking the overriding signifier of her sense of independence by stressing and re-stressing it, then colouring it with a bold red marker in case we have not noticed – because Bollywood has for some reason in the past decade or so decided to make the cigarette the ultimate metaphor for feminism. Apparently, courage and a sense of independence are not good enough.

Nitpicking, did you say? Actually not. This confused feminism signifies the writers’ lack of conviction and clarity that turns out to be BKB’s undoing.

First, while the film’s first 20 minutes are devoted solely to Bitti, once the hero enters the frame she is completely sidelined. This delightful creature, brimful of potential though she is, is relegated to the margins as soon as we meet Chirag Dubey (Ayushmann Khurrana) and Pritam Vidrohi (Rajkummar Rao). From then on, Bitti is reduced to being nothing more than the object of their interest and duelling.

Second, both BKB’s male leads are victims of half-hearted writing, lost to the most inconsistent characterisation I have seen in a Hindi film in a while. The motivations for their actions are unconvincing because each man’s nature and character swings from left to right like a pendulum throughout the narrative. No, this not what you might describe as shades of gray, this is a different colour of the rainbow in successive scenes.

With a screenplay this weak, nothing can save BKB. Not Sanon’s natural charisma (this woman is truly special, give her better projects please!) nor Khurrana’s innate charm. Not the flashes of genius we get to see from Seema Pahwa and Pankaj Tripathi playing Bitti’s parents Susheela and Narottam; and from Rao when his character Pritam is being bullied by his friend Chirag.

Pahwa, Tripathi and Rao in particular pounce on every morsel of inspiration available in this largely uninspired script. All five artistes far outshine their film.

BKB even fails to explore Bareilly with any degree of detailing. Add to this one of the plainest soundtracks delivered by Bollywood this year (featuring songs by five composers) and it almost feels like Ms Tiwari and her writing team lost interest in this venture halfway through it.

It did not start off this way. In the opening 20 minutes of BKB, there are little touches that hold out a promise of better things to come. Like a dejected middle-class Mum stuffing namkeen back into its plastic container after the departure of a possible dulha’s family from a ladki dekhna session, while her forlorn spouse packs laddoos back into their dabba. Like that scene in which Bitti lies to a cop that she is Christian and he breaks into English without batting an eyelid, as any north Indian fed on Bollywood stereotypes would. These well-observed moments are a reminder of the detailing in Nil Battey Sannata, a film that was both intensely local and universal. The rest of BKB does not live up to them.

The only positive that remains consistent throughout BKB is the humour in its dialogues (barring the decidedly silly, schmaltzy climax). Funny conversations, however, are not enough to redeem the insubstantial story into which they are written.

My heart kind of broke as I watched BKB. 2017 has been a lousy year for quality Hindi cinema so far. Apart from a handful of indies that have shone in the dark, the rest of Bollywood’s offerings in the past eight months have been bad enough to tempt a cinemaniac to hang up her boots. Even in my saddest moments in the months gone by though, I did not dream that the woman who brought us the life-affirming tale of Chanda and Apu from Nil Battey Sannata would follow that up with the blandness that is Bareilly Ki Barfi.

What happened, Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari?

Rating (out of five stars): *

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	122 minutes 49 seconds

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/bareilly-ki-barfi-movie-review-this-ayushmann-kriti-rajkummar-starrer-aint-no-nil-battey-sannata-3945419.html

Poster courtesy:https://www.facebook.com/BareillyKiBarfi/

Release date:	August 25, 2017
Director:	Kushan Nandy
Cast: Language:	Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Bidita Bag, Jatin Goswami, Shraddha Das, Anil George, Bhagwan Tiwari, Murli Sharma, Jitu Shivhare, Naveen Tyagi, Divya Dutta Hindi

On the face of it, Babumoshai Bandookbaaz is a good old comic crime thriller with more plot twists than the hairpin bends on a mountain road. Look closer though, and you will see the underlying tragedy in the tale of Babu Bihari, a hitman who acquires a protégé and gets played even as he thinks he holds all the cards.

Babu (Nawazuddin Siddiqui) is a sharpshooter for hire in the interiors of Uttar Pradesh, a man whose killing skills have earned him a celebrity status of sorts in the criminal underworld. He is a close associate of the local politician Sumitra Jiji (Divya Dutta), but switches sides when he receives a high-paying contract from a rival. While out on the job, Babu’s mission is thwarted by Banke (Jatin Goswami), a youngster who has been assigned the same contract for reasons subsequently explained.

Banke is yet to establish a reputation for himself in the field, but he is cocky and has obvious potential. His work is managed by his girlfriend, an aspiring actress called Yasmin (Shraddha Das). Also in the picture are another murky politician, Dubey (Anil George), and Babu’s fiery lover Phulwa (Bidita Bag), a professional cobbler with whom he shares a home.

As it happens, Banke is Babu’s fan. So, they come together for a game of who-kills-who-first.

Obviously nothing is as straightforward as it seems in this scenario. There are wheels within wheels in Babu and Banke’s saga, blind alleys where you assume there is a path ahead and turns where you expect a straight road.

In the end though, Babumoshai Bandookbaaz is about the pointlessness of violence and the endless cycle of bloodshed that is sparked off by those who take the law into their own hands. Or, as one marginal character says in the film, what goes around comes around. This is a theme that was pushed by Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s pathbreaking Parinda in Bollywood in 1989 and on which Ram Gopal Varma built an entire filmography, starting with his Telugu film Siva in the same year. More recently Bollywood kingpin Anurag Kashyap has visited and revisited this line of thinking in several films. The highlights of Kushan Nandy’s latest venture – his first after a long break – are its swag and the two dudes at the centre of the story.

Babumoshai Bandookbaaz is an extremely gory film, though most of the butchery takes place off screen. Babu and Banke are what twin Veerus might have been if they were transported from Sholay’s Ramgarh to Jiji’s domain.

They are funny in a disturbing sort of way. And in the first half, the grimness of their choices is underlined by the casualness with which they commit murder. The pre-interval portion is packed like a tiffin box filled to the brim by my indulgent Mum, making Babumoshai Bandookbaaz a stylised action flick with equal parts humour and pathos, infused with song and dance in traditional Bollywood style.

The women in Babumoshai are relentlessly objectified, but they give as good as they get, with a gaze that is no less lustful than the no-good men in their lives. They are also nobody’s fools.

Following a very dramatic moment just before the break, the tone switches completely. The second half is more intriguing than the first, though it does dip in terms of both pace and heft. Be that as it may, the film remains enjoyable for the most part.

Nawazuddin Siddiqui is the lynchpin of the enterprise, delivering a performance in which he somehow manages to amuse and yet scare the bejeezus out of a viewer. His entry into crime takes place in circumstances that are mirrored endlessly in the real world, circumstances that should shame our society but do not.

That said, his Babu is always entertaining but never a person whose condemnable behaviour is hero-ised, either by his acting or by Ghalib Asad Bhopali’s writing.

On a superficial viewing, it might seem that Siddiqui has played this character repeatedly in the past, and in many ways, Babu does indeed hark back to Faizal Khan in Kashyap’s Gangs of Wasseypur 1&2. What worked for me though was the chalk-and-cheese contrast between two extremely violent, kinky men he has played in quick succession: Babu this year and the mentally unhinged, impoverished serial killer in Kashyap’s far superior, sadly unheralded Raman Raghav2.0 from 2016.

The rest of the cast in Babumoshai Bandookbaaz is a roll call of fine talents that deserve far more than what Bollywood seems to have served them so far. The very attractive Jatin Goswami playing the smug Banke matches his star colleague Siddiqui scene for scene, dialogue for dialogue, smirk for smirk. Equally oven hot and seemingly effortless in her spot-on performance is Bidita Bag as Phulwa. The always reliable Divya Dutta as Sumitra Jiji and Bhagwan Tiwari playing her policeman sidekick Tarashankar lend an unexpected comicality to their performances in one of the film’s darkest scenes on a lonely country road surrounded by fields.

The weakness of the second half comes from the feeling that plot points are being introduced one after the other merely to surprise, without a sufficient exploration of the motivations and deceptions of several characters. The result is that while the film remains engaging throughout, it is hard to ignore the post-interval lack of substance.

To say that it completely lacks depth would be unfair though. The quiet insertion of a famous melody I shall not name here while the end credits roll, for instance, comes across as a deliberate act of subversion. And the Babu-Phulwa-Banke dynamic is interesting, to say the least.

Besides, Babumoshai Bandookbaaz, flawed though it is, comes as manna to a starving film buff in what must certainly be the worst year for Bollywood in the decade so far. It could have been better, of course, but it is fun enough to be forgiven its follies and indulgences.

Rating (out of five stars): **1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	A
Running time:	122 minutes 39 seconds

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/bollywood/babumoshai-bandookbaaz-movie-review-nawazuddin-siddiqui-rules-a-rocky-ride-3972131.html

Poster courtesy:

(1) https://www.facebook.com/BabumoshaiBandookbaaz/

(2) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Babumoshai_Bandookbaaz

Release date:	September 1, 2017
Director:	R.S. Prasanna
Cast: Language:	Bhumi Pednekar, Ayushmann Khurrana, Seema Pahwa, Neeraj Sood, Supriya Shukla, Chittaranjan Tripathy, Brijendra Kala, Anshul Chauhan Hindi

One of Shubh Mangal Saavdhan’s achievements is that although, on the face of it, it visits territory familiar to both its lead stars – Bhumi Pednekar and Ayushmann Khurrana – it has its own distinct identity.

Khurrana debuted playing a professional sperm donor in 2012’s Vicky Donor in which Shoojit Sircar did not generate a single icky moment from a subject that a lesser director might have taken down an icky road. The actor has been mastering the art of playing a repressed middle-class boy through 2015’s sleeper hit Dum Laga Ke Haisha– which happened to be the sprightly Pednekar’s maiden film – and Bareilly Ki Barfi, which was released a fortnight back. Vicky Donor dealt with intimate bodily concerns, so do Shubh Mangal Saavdhan (SMS) and Pednekar’s second film, Toilet: Ek Prem Katha, which too is currently in theatres. She too has acquired her own M.A. in playing feisty women in a conservative milieu through her three films.

Add to this the fact that Seema Pahwa, who plays the heroine’s mother here is also the heroine’s mom in Bareilly Ki Barfi, and it is easy to see how SMS might have acquired a been-there-seen-that feel. Like I said, it is to the director and cast’s credit that they give their film a stamp of individuality in so many ways, that five minutes into its running time, fresh memories of toilets and barfis fly out of the window.

SMS is the story of an engaged couple in the National Capital Region who learn that the boy suffers from erectile dysfunction (ED). While the first half is devoted to how Mudit and Sugandha discover the problem in the months leading up to their wedding, the second is about the search for a solution and its effect on their relationship.

That an Indian storyteller might consider ED an issue because it would deny a woman sexual pleasure in her marriage – and not merely because of the social pressure she will inevitably face to beget heirs carrying forward her husband’s family line – is reason enough to sit up and take notice. That hewants us to view sex as a means to express love and affection between the partners involved, and not merely as a function performed to make babies (or for that matter, not as an instrument of physical satisfaction alone), is such an interesting turn of events.

Even when the conservatism of Mudit’s family threatens to tear them apart, it is evident that writer-director R.S. Prasanna sees Sugandha and Mudit as equal partners. Even though SMS is an out-and-out comedy, it is clear that Prasanna does not consider their intimacy a frivolous pursuit. Frankly, this man’s refreshingly different attitude to life is spelt out from the opening moment of the film when SMS gives us something you rarely ever get in commercial Indian cinema: a female voiceover and the introduction of the heroine before the hero.

SMS is a remake of the Tamil filmKalyana Samayal Saadham which starred Lekha Washington and Prasanna. The original and SMS are both directed by R.S. Prasanna. He also wrote the original. The screenplay and dialogues for the Hindi film have been written by Hitesh Kewalya who manages to neatly capture the environment in which the film is set while also flirting with sexual innuendo at places without ever getting crude.

The first half of SMS is a complete riot, yet manages to evoke stirring passages of emotion between the two leads. From their initial meeting, to the manner in which they get past the hurdles involved in courtship in a society where a direct and open expression of interest in a person of the opposite sex is frowned upon, a woman is expected never to make the first move and a decent man must therefore find ways to approach a woman he likes without being a stalker or a lech; from their shy shot at having sex one night when they get her house all to themselves, to Sugandha’s mother’s effort to drive home the virtues of virginity to her daughter, and the bride’s calculating yet affectionate chachu, everything is designed to have viewers rolling in the aisles with laughter even while driving home the point it wishes to make. And Prasanna succeeds on both counts.

Pednekar and Khurrana are so sweet together and separately, that I wanted to reach out and hug them throughout. She, with less experience, performs as if she was born to live before the camera. That they are good actors is a given. This film further serves to establish that they are a shubh jodi on screen, and could well be our new Deepti Naval-Farooq Sheikh combination.

In one scene, Mudit tells his fiancee that he ate “onion” kulchas earlier in the day. In another, he refers to his “resumé”. I loved how Khurrana mispronounces both words – with seeming effortlessness – without turning his character into a caricature. I loved too that the film is not condescending in its gaze on the people of its chosen setting.

Of the supporting cast, Seema Pahwa and Neeraj Sood playing Sugandha’s parents get the benefit of the best-written characters, and return the favour with scintillating performances.

Though Mudit’s Mum and Dad are not examined as closely by the screenplay, Supriya Shukla and Chittaranjan Tripathy too have their sparkling moments. The only other supporting players who are written with any depth are Sugandha’s eccentric uncle (played by Brijendra Kala) and her best friend Ginni (Anshul Chauhan) – both actors are just fantastic.

This being middle class India where everyone in your extended family and neighbourhood has an opinion about the most private details of your existence, and where “bachche kab karoge?” (when will you have children?) is a question people ask even virtual strangers without any qualms, of course after a point Mudit’s troubles become a talking point in the entire biraadari. When the narrative reaches this place, it falters, getting carried away with its hyperbole.

(Possible spoilers ahead)

This is one of the reasons why the post-interval portion of SMS is much weaker than its opening half. The other reason is that after a while, the team seems not entirely sure how to handle the complexities of their theme while sustaining the humour. At this point, substance gets sacrificed in favour of absurdity, loudness is used to cover up lack of layering, and an exploration of the Sugandha-Mudit equation is replaced by frenzied activity on screen. Enter: a clumsily handled guest appearance by Jimmy Sheirgill, and the insertion of Mudit’s touchy-feely ex in the picture, the only purpose this irritating creature serves being to keep us informed that the boy did manage to do it in the past.

(Spoiler alert ends)

Criminally, too, SMS is casually ignorant in its discussion on erectile dysfunction, dismissing ED with a wave of the hand as a condition driven purely by psychology. Performance anxiety is just one of many reasons that could spark off ED in a man, and it is inexcusable that a purportedly sincere film would spread further falsehoods about a subject that is already so mired in misinformation in this country.

The standard reaction to such criticism is to say, “C’mon yaar, this is not a documentary, it is a fiction feature.” Yes, yaaaaar, but A BeautifulMind and Rain Man were not documentaries, yet they gave us deep insights into schizophrenia and autism respectively. And before anyone responds further with, “C’mon yaar, but SMS is a comedy,” let me add, yaaaaar, that I can recall scene after scene in Rain Man that were comical, yet the film was not uninformed.

SMS’ lacunae though, surface only in the second half, by which time the mood is so firmly set, that half the battle has been won. Among the many things to recommend this film are the lightness of touch in the songs (written and composed by Tanishk-Vayu) and in DoP Anuj Rakesh Dhawan’s take on the NCR and Haridwar sans mandatory visits to famous landmarks – what Dhawan gives us instead, for the most part, are narrow streets in congested residential colonies, crowded public roads, small middle-class homes and a sparing use of long shots while he is at it, which goes well with the film’s endearing lack of pretensions to grandeur or a large scale. (For the record, FYI, SMS was shot on location in Delhi, Gurgaon, Haridwar, Rishikesh and Mumbai, in addition to a Mumbai studio.)

Shubh Mangal Saavdhan then is super-fun till it gets superficial. It is, to borrow the tagline of another film now in theatres, sundar, susheel and risky in its first half, flails about in the second, but remains entertaining overall. Handle it with care and alertness.

Rating (out of five stars): **1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	105 minutes 25 seconds

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/shubh-mangal-saavdhan-movie-review-ayushmann-bhumis-film-travels-from-super-fun-to-superficial-3996161.html

Poster courtesy:

https://www.facebook.com/ShubhMangalSaavdhanTheFilm/

Release date:	September 1, 2017
Director:	Shyamdhar
Cast: Language:	Mammootty, Asha Sarath, Deepti Sati, Innocent, Dileesh Pothan, Hareesh Perumanna, Vivek Gopan Malayalam

Pullikkaran Staraa is peppered with moments reminding us of the Mammootty that once was, still occasionally is and could still be – an expression of tenderness here, a comical interlude there, a flash of thoughtfulness and hurt, a shot emphasising that handsome face and towering frame on which the advancing years rest so well. The question then is inevitable: when age has been so kind to this megastar, why is he being so unkind to his own legacy?

Unlike the summer release The Great Father, which was repugnant from start to finish in its focus on Mammukka’s swagger and figure in the middle of a story of a child-rapist-cum-serial-killer, this film is not puke-worthy. What it is is worthy of a long, long bout of weeping by a critic who has grown up admiring and respecting this brilliant actor.

Mammootty stars as a much-misunderstood man called Rajakumaran in director Shyamdhar’s latest film. The opening sequence shows us a series of unhappy coincidences that give the child Rajakumaran the reputation of being a pervert. You can guess from one of his nicknames – Kuli Scene Rajakumaran – what he might have done (or been thought to have done) to earn this rep.

Anyway, the boy grows into a misunderstood man. Rajakumaran is now a Kochi-based professional trainer of schoolteachers. He is a do-gooder who has remained single mostly because his standing as a slime ball towards women has pursued him into his adulthood. His thoughts and life head off in unplanned directions when he meets two women from different generations: his supposed contemporary Manjari Teacher (played by the fabulous Asha Sarath who is, the Net tells me, in fact about two decades younger than Mammukka) and the very young Manjimma (Deepti Sati).

Also written into the storyline are Rajakumaran’s three friends, played by Innocent, Dileesh Pothan and Hareesh Perumanna.

This being a Mammootty film, it is obvious that there will be expressions of romantic interest from both the lovely ladies. This being a Mammootty film, it is obvious too who the script will choose for him.

For the moment, forget the fact that Pullikkaran Staraarests on a wafer-thin plot, forget the lack of focus in the narrative, the over-stretching, the unnecessary scenes (such as that bus accident), the occasional double entendre, the questionable editing and the unremarkable music. The fact is, there are many possibilities staring us in the face in Rajakumaran’s training sessions with his teacher students. Those passages genuinely have something to say, but instead of keeping its eye trained on them, the film relegates this part of the hero’s life to the margins, remaining obsessed instead with ending his bachelorhood.

Gender segregation is a serious issue across India, and certainly in Kerala society, but Shyamdhar is obviously not trying to put the spotlight on a social problem, he is a manifestation of that problem when his characters think sexual attraction and kalyanamthe moment they spot a man and woman – any man and any woman – together in the same frame for even a few seconds. We see this all the time in commercial Mollywood, and in the real world in Malayali society, but too many Lakshman rekhas of absurdity and obnoxiousness are crossed in Pullikkaran Staraa when Rajakumaran’s buddies routinely suggest marriage to him at the drop of a hat whenever he happens to encounter a woman, even if she is young enough to be his granddaughter, as Manjimma is, or merely happened to sit next to him on a busone day, as Manjari did.

Apparently, no spinster, divorcee or single woman of any variety is capable of being in the same room as Rajakumaran without being drawn to him. Apparently, he is incapable of being in the same room as any such female homo sapien without being drawn to her, despite his protestations when his friends goad him to approach the aforesaid women.

Mammootty has made a habit of courting and/or marrying characters played by actresses half his age over the years, but watching him get coy with Deepti Sati – who is 22 according to the Net and looks it, while he turns 66 next week – is a last straw. It is like Bollywood audiences used to watching heroes cast opposite actresses who are aeons younger, but being particularly repulsed at the sight of Salman Khan with the baby-faced Sneha Ullal in Lucky: No Time For Love (2005). Sheesh!

Why am I devoting so much time to the age difference between Mammootty and Deepti Sati, when he is not the only male star nor Mollywood the only Indian film industry guilty of this transgression?

Because Rajakumaran’s possible liaison with Manjimma is the overriding aspect of the storyline.

Because even in the role of Rajakumaran’s ‘contemporary’, Shyamdhar could not bear to cast an actress in her 60s, but instead picked the 40-something Asha Sarath.

Because such casting indicates a disdain for older women, which in turn is a symptom of a deeply patriarchal society whose attitudes towards women are evidenced in this film.

Because Pullikkaran Staraa seems incapable of seeing women as anything but a mother, sister, daughter or wife to a man, never a friend.

Because too many Malayalam films are filled with men constantly articulating their resentment towards their wives and the shackles marriage supposedly places on them – such that a Martian might think men are the ones who change their names, shift out of their homes and quit the families of their birth after marriage, pay dowry, get pregnant even if/when they don’t want to, give birth to children who do not bear their names, are expected to consign their careers to the background, are expected to lie back and take it whenever their spouse is horny, and so on – yet these same men are absolutely, utterly desperate to be with a woman.

And because, the patches of sweetness in Pullikkaran Staraa’s classroom sessions are sidelined by the filmmaker and overshadowed by this nonsense.

Dear Mammukka,

Please stop this. If nothing else, lean on the team currently advising your son, urging him to experiment and nudging him in the direction of such gems as Kammatipaadam and Kali. The last film you did that was worthy of your talent, your charisma and your stature was Pathemari in 2015, a role for which you were unfairly robbed of a National Award for Best Actor when it was given instead to Amitabh Bachchan for Piku.

In Pallikkal Narayanan, we could see the grace and gravitas that has made you a heartthrob of generations of serious Malayalam film watchers. At a time when so many interesting writers and directors (including your co-star in this film, Dileesh Pothan) are authoring a whole New Wave in Mollywood that is yielding quality cinema and box-office results, why are you not seeking out such scripts? What, instead, are you doing in a film as vacuous as this one?

It is a measure of how bad things are that this is the best that can be said of Pullikkaran Staraa: it is not as boring as White, it is not as insulting to women as Kasaba and it is not as deeply disturbing or offensive as The Great Father.

Seriously Mammukka, ithu oru anyaayam aanu, an injustice to your craft and your filmography.

Regards,

A well-wisher

Rating (out of five stars): *

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	135 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/pullikkaran-staraa-movie-review-dear-mammootty-why-are-you-marring-your-legacy-4000473.html

Poster courtesy:https://www.facebook.com/PullikkaranStaraa.Movie/

Release date:	August 31, 2017
Director:	Lal Jose
Cast: Language:	Mohanlal, Anoop Menon, Reshma Rajan, Arun Kurian, Sarath Kumar, Salim Kumar, Priyanka Nair, Chemban Vinod Jose, Siddique, Shivaji Guruvayoor, Alencier Ley Lopez, Vijay Babu as himself Malayalam

Velipadinte Pusthakam (The Book of Revelation) a.k.a. Apocalypse is the last – most intriguing – book in The Bible. It is a befuddling piece of writing attributed by some to St John the apostle of Jesus, and has divided scholars for centuries.

Lal Jose’s film of the same name is neither as esoteric nor as confounding as the title suggests. It marks the stalwart’s first team-up with one of Malayalam cinema’s biggest superstars.

Mohanlal here plays a professor whose arrival at a Christian college in a coastal fishing town marks a turning point in its troubled existence. Caste tensions run high among the students, with the children of poor fisherfolk being taunted for their humble background while the well-off lot are in turn mocked as rejects from more prestigious educational institutions. Violence between these groups is rampant when Lalettan’s character, Michael Idiculla,enters the picture.

He is an unconventional teacher and a compassionate human being who finds ways to encourage the poorer kids, demystify their lives in the minds of their financially fortunate classmates, and bring all warring sides together. However, when he suggests a fund-raising project to be executed entirely by the staff and students, the story takes unexpected turns, and we end up discovering far more than he might have wished to reveal about himself while simultaneously, and accidentally, figuring out the truth behind a crime that once rocked the town.

Parallel to these present-day happenings, we are told a tale from the past, of Vishwan (played by Anoop Menon), the man accused of his murder (Siddique) and the one who went to prison for it (Chemban Vinod Jose).

The film opens with a vicious fight on a rainy night years ago. The revelations in Velipadinte Pusthakam are the truth behind that clash as much as Idiculla’s truth.

These discoveries are not as earth-shattering as they are made out to be by their positioning in the storyline and the tone in which they’re told, but they add up to a reasonably entertaining film.

Velipadinte Pusthakam packs a lot into its 157 minutes – a mystery, mental illness, casteism, even a brief mention of male supremacy. Writer Benny P. Nayarambalam skims over most of these themes though, pivoting the narrative entirely around the hero and the whodunnit.

So don’t go looking for insights on most of these subjects. Mental health, for instance, is merely a device to further the thriller element in the film. This becomes forgivable, I guess, if you consider that at least Velipadinte Pusthakam does not perpetuate specific myths about the disorder it references, unlike so many mainstream Indian films.

The mention of caste in the story is well-intentioned, even if simplistic and risk-averse. Deep-seated prejudices are easily forgotten when the hero waves his magic wand over the community. And in the opening scenes when student gangs headed by the boys Franklin (Sarath Kumar) and Sameer (Arun Kurian) are being chided by the principal (Shivaji Guruvayoor), their discussion neatly apportions equal blame to both groups, no doubt to avoid offending relatively privileged castes who dominate the audience.

Still, the conversation – flawed though it is – is a reminder that southern Indian cinema, at the very least, acknowledges the existence of caste oppression (many films here do more than just that), unlike the Brahminical worldview pervading the north’s biggest film industry, Bollywood.

If the equation between the students had been further explored, Velipadinte Pusthakam would have had greater depth. One particularly memorable sidelight involves a boy apologising to a female collegemate for his voyeuristic behaviour. It is such a pleasure to see a college campus in a Malayalam film where male misdemeanours are not trivialised or normalised.

Unfortunately, the students are sidelined once Idiculla walks in (considerably late in the opening half, I must point out), and Velipadinte Pusthakam shifts to being his story from theirs. This is the film’s loss, somewhat like how Taare Zameen Par might have suffered if, upon Aamir Khan’s late arrival on the scene, it had become the tale of Nikumbh Sir rather than little Ishaan.

The decision to marginalise the students is one of several poorly conceived aspects of the writing. Another is the Christian clergy’s official endorsement of Vishwan despite the violent methods he would use to do good. While it is conceivable that the clergy might offer behind-the-scenes support to such a man because he helped them, the very public stance they take here in his favour – going to the extent of hanging his picture on the college wall, between the photographs of bishops – defies believability in much the same way as if Mahatma Gandhi had erected Bhagat Singh’s statue at a monument to ahimsa.

Inevitably, at one point a good-looking young woman expresses interest in marrying Michael Idiculla.This is the primary purpose served by the presence in the story of the teacher Mary, played by the charismatic Reshma Rajan from AngamalyDiaries. A conversation she has with another teacher about the age difference is hardly a saving grace, when you consider how superfluous this aside is in the script, and how silly, no different from the young housemaid’s effort to flirt with Mohanlal’s character Jayaraman in last year’s Oppam.

It’s funny – and sad – that Lalettan’s directors feel compelled to remind us that he continues to be attractive to handsome young women, as if that, and not his talent, is the measure of his hero-worthiness. Is this their definition of masculinity? Does it reveal too the star’s insecurity and his discomfort with his advancing years? Perhaps this is the velipad (revelation) of Lalettan’s filmography of the past couple of decades. Thankfully this daft interlude in the film is brief.

As it happens, Velipadinte Pusthakam is done in by its excessive awareness of Mohanlal’s stardom. Potentially interesting characters such as Sameer, Franklin and Franklin’s feisty lady friend are pushed aside, and a striking actress like Rajan is reduced to being a showpiece, all to maintain the male megastar’s primacy.

Not surprisingly, as is the case with too many commercial Malayalam films, women are hardly significant to the proceedings. While this is routine in Mollywood, it is particularly noticeable here because Idiculla asks a specific question about male dominance in a classroom one day.

Be that as it may, Lal Jose manages to keep Velipadinte Pusthakam moderately appealing with incremental doses of information about Idiculla and Vishwan. This is not a spectacular thriller, but the suspense is mildly engaging, Shaan Rahman’s music and DoP Vishnu Sarma’s visuals of the seaside location are pretty at all times, and the acting uniformly competent.

If the director had not been so conscious of Mohanlal’s stardom, he may have done a better job of tapping the actor in him. As it is, Lalettan isfair enough and Velipadinte Pusthakam isa more worthwhile Onam offering than the week’s other new release starring the other Big M of Mollywood.

Rating (out of five stars): **

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	157 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/velipadinte-pusthakam-movie-review-mohanlal-does-a-fair-job-in-a-film-thats-too-conscious-of-his-stardom-4003619.html

Poster courtesy:https://www.facebook.com/VelipadintePusthakam/

Release date:	September 1, 2017
Director:	Althaf Salim
Cast: Language:	Nivin Pauly, Shanthi Krishna, Lal, Ahaana Krishna, Srinda Arhaan, Siju Wilson, Krishna Shankar, Saiju Kurup, Sharafudheen, Aishwarya Lekshmi, Dileesh Pothan Malayalam

The promo line for this film should have been, “expect the unexpected.” Because nothing, not a trailer, not even a review filled to the brim with spoilers, can prepare you for what it has to offer.

Of the three Onam releases I have watched so far – Pullikkaran Staraa, Velipadinte Pusthakam and now this – Njandukalude Nattil Oridavelais head and shoulders above the rest.

I confess to having felt a fleeting flutter of trepidation when, in the opening minutes, one of the film’s protagonists announces that she might be suffering from a serious disease. It is already clear by then that Njandukalude Nattil Oridavelais designed as a comedy. Would it continue in the same vein? The question on my mind at that moment was: How can you possibly make a comedy centred around such a grave health issue without turning offensive?

Ask writer-director Althaf Salim, because that is precisely what he does.

Njandukalude Nattil Oridavela (An Interval in the Land of Crabs) revolves around the Chacko family formerly based in Kuwait and now back home. They are: Mum Sheela Chacko (played by Shanthi Krishna) and Dad Chacko (Lal), their elder daughter Mary (Srinda Arhaan) and son-in-law Tony (Siju Wilson) who have a child, their London-based son Kurien Chacko (Nivin Pauly) who is single and clearly anxious to mingle, their youngest, Sarah (played by Ahaana Krishna), who is surreptitiously dating a friend,plus an ailing grandfather.

The Chackos are well-off and, to all appearances, leading a relatively undramatic life. They are going about the business of living when their humdrum existence is interrupted by Mum’s medical scare.

Should they artificially rev up their energy levels to keep her spirits up? Would it be supportive to acknowledge her tension and their own, or for her sake should they pretend to be unaffected? How do they cope with their own fears while simultaneously having her back? Is there such a thing as a right thing to say when someone you love is dealing with an intense personal trauma? Would being peppy around her make things worse or better for her? In such a situation, should life, work, romance and plans come to a standstill? If they do not, does that make us selfish?

These are concerns most human beings have grappled with at some point. There are no definitive answers, but in the Chackos’ hits and misses you might find a reflection of your own struggles, and perhaps a realisation that sensitivity and consideration are perennial works in progress.

I will not say more about the plot, though if I did, it would not amount to playing spoilsport, because as is always the case but more than ever in this case, it is the treatment not the story that counts.

Blending humour with such a grim subject and sustaining it without being odious for even a moment is a feat by any standards. It is particularly noteworthy in Althaf Salim’s case because he does the tricky job with a self-assurance that belies his lack of experience.

Salim makes his directorial debut with this project. He has co-written it with George Kora. Malayalam film buffs already know him as an actor, of course, since he starred in Nivin Pauly’s 2015 superhit Premam and played the young Comrade Krishna Kumar’s sidekick in this year’s Pauly-starrer Sakhavu.

In terms of tone and tenor, Njandukalude Nattil Oridavela is on the same plane as 2017’s Thondimuthalum Driksakshiyumstarring Fahadh Faasil and Nimisha Sajayan.In terms of filmmaking sensibility and talent,Salim is in the sameleague as the likes of Anwar Rasheed, Anjali Menon, Dileesh Pothan (who made Thondimuthalumand last year’s Maheshinte Prathikaaram) and Lijo Jose Pellissery, who have all earned stupendous box-office success with artistically experimental, unconventionally commercial ventures, marking a Malayalam New Wave of sorts in recent years.

The only predictable moment in this film comes in the form of a self-referential joke about Premam that can be seen approaching from a mile. The only awkwardness in the writing comes from the romance between Kurien and Rachel (Aishwarya Lekshmi). Their maiden encounter feels contrived and has obvious pretensions to coolth, while the games she seems to be playing with him in one scene are a cliché. The latter is a disappointing reminder of the suspicion with which so many Malayalam film writers view potential female lovers – the traitorous woman and the tease are staples for them, and Salim, it turns out, is no different.

One of Salim’s many achievements with Njandukalude Nattil Oridavela is that though Pauly is the marquee name in the credits, his character is only a kinda sorta ‘hero’ here. The remaining members of Kurien’s family are all given importance, with Mum being the fulcrum of the proceedings. Pauly must be lauded for not ruining the film by pushing himself forward at the expense of the others. With his star clout, and considering that he is the producer, he could well have done so. Hats off to him too for spotting the potential in this material.

Pauly clearly has a good instinct for scripts. The surprise I felt on watching this film reminded me of my response to Action Hero Biju: I went in assuming it would be a fight fest, what I got was A Day In The Life Of A Sincere Policeman. Again, “expect the unexpected.”

It is also interesting to note Pauly’s seeming self-awareness, evident in the couple of jibes a friend throws at Kurien for his expanding girth. I do not want to indulge in body shaming here, but since cinema is an audio-visual medium, and since this fine actor’s prettiness is an additional source of considerable pleasure in his films, I do hope he does not repeat the mistakes of seniors like Mohanlal and Jayaram by letting himself go as they did.

Njandukalude Nattil Oridavela marks the return of Shanthi Krishna to the screen after almost two decades. She is spot-on as the gutsy Sheela who finds herself supporting her family even as she seeks their support in dealing with her physical and emotional turmoil.

Ms Krishna and the rest of the cast deliver such believable performances, that they come across as a real family that has lived through this hell, rather than a team assembled to present a fiction.

Do not go looking for melodrama, or over-stated twists and turns. The story is told as if cameras have been placed in the Chacko home during a trying phase and we are watching their natural reactions to the curve balls life throws at them. What truly makes Njandukalude credible is that the Chackos are a regular, flawed family – they take each other for granted, some of them are self-centred, some cowardly, some more brave than the others, and with all this, they have fun together and they clearly love each other to kingdom come.

The film has been shot in such a manner that at some point, my hesitation about the choice of treatment for this theme gave way to such a level of immersion in the story, that without realising it, I found myself seated with the Chackos, sharing their feelings, their fears and their worries, even experiencing an occasional pang of guilt when I caught myself laughing at their quirks despite the potential tragedy unfolding in their homes.

Njandukalude Nattil Oridavela’sdeceptive veneer of simplicity is its great strength. It is so sublime and so unexpectedly funny, that I was taken aback when I ended up choking back tears in those final moments. What a pleasantly unusual film.

Rating (out of five stars): ***1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	131 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/njandukalude-nattil-oridavela-movie-review-nivin-pauly-shanthi-krishna-topline-a-pleasant-onam-surprise-4007289.html

Poster courtesy:https://www.facebook.com/njandukaludenaatiloridavela/

Release date:	September 15, 2017
Director:	Hansal Mehta
Cast: Language:	Kangana Ranaut, Sohum Shah, Rupinder Nagra Hindi

Not every intriguing criminal has a grandly tragic back story. Sometimes the ordinariness from which the epic, the brutal or the bizarre emerge is fascinating in itself. Simran, director Hansal Mehta tells me, is inspired by a spate of somewhat run-of-the-mill real-life bank robberies in the US in recent years, including the most prominent of the lot: the drama surrounding the woman who came to be known as America’s Bombshell Bandit, a young, glamorous Punjabi Sikh nurse called Sandeep Kaur who robbed a string of banks over a five-week period in the summer of 2014, before being arrested by the police following a high-speed highway car chase.

This extract from a 2015 BBC article about her encapsulates the reason why she made headlines:

Bank robbers are becoming an extinct species. The rise of electronic payments is creating a cashless society, and since 2003, bank robberies have fallen 47%. The crime is also an overwhelmingly male activity. According to the latest FBI figures, just 8% of America’s 4,347 bank robberies last year were committed by a woman. “Traditionally women have been involved in bank robberies only as getaway drivers, or accomplices to male robbers,” says Dr Richard Schmitt, a US criminal psychologist who has evaluated more than 50 bank robbers. Schmitt says that a robber who is an educated professional female, and a Sikh, is, “a highly unusual case… in the history of the United States you will not find another bank robber with this profile.”

(Possible spoilers ahead if you skipped Simran’s trailer and all its promotions)

In the film, we get Praful Patel (played by Kangana Ranaut), a 30-year-old divorcee of Gujarati origin who is working in the housekeeping services department of an Atlanta hotel. Praful lives with her conservative middle-class parents, a grouchy father who runs a small business and her mother who is a housewife. She is a blithe spirit who does not want to be tied down by tradition and meaningless customs, and she’s feeling suffocated by their narrow vision for her life when we first meet her. Praful is hardworking, and is gradually saving the money needed to buy a house in which she hopes to live unencumbered by Dad’s nagging and the pressure they both place on her to get married (to be as free as the breeze she draws a friend’s attention to – not constrained by buildings, not held down by roads).

A visit to Las Vegas with a cousin changes her life forever. She wins some money at a casino and gets hooked. Before she knows what hit her though, she is on a losing streak and then deeply in debt.

The false hope that is born of beginner’s luck at a gambling table has destroyed many lives. In Praful’s case, a series of little scares, disappointments, frustrations and heartbreaks at home, at work and in her gambler avatar, turns this seemingly ordinary person into a thug.

(Spoiler alert ends)

What I enjoyed most about this film is that it has no pretensions to largeness, nor does it make any effort to lionise or romanticise Praful or her life. To do so would have been easy because it is a natural human reaction to draw consolation from discovering that a criminal emerged from misery. The thing about Praful is that she does not look like the heroine of a crime saga. She is not someone else who you expect to hear of only in the news media or fiction. She is Everywoman. She could well be you or me gone wrong.

This is not to suggest that she has it easy – she does not. Yet it is fair to say that she has not suffered any great pain, poverty, affliction or persecution. Her struggles too could well be yours or mine.

It is interesting then to watch how easily and quickly she turns to crime, beginning with the most naturally written, directed and enacted scene you can imagine of an open window tempting a saint and a tigress getting addicted once she tastes easily available blood – excuse me for the mixed metaphors but you will get what I mean when you watch the film.

Director Hansal Mehta must be lauded for his conviction, his confidence in the written material at hand and the clarity he has about how he wishes to tell Praful’s tale – steering clear of seamy, overtly grim territory and driving home the weirdness of it all. The narrative has an easy flow to it, the pace is just right, the humour is unrelenting yet at no point are Praful’s actions normalised. The result is that even while giggling at her eccentricities it is hard to escape the realisation that this is just a regular could-have-been-my-next-door-neighbour kind of woman.

Without an iota of preachiness, Simran also delivers a range of insights into NRI culture, workplace politics, the things that prejudice has done to post-9/11 America and human nature across races. In its choice of title it also throws in a cheeky interpretation of a (highly socially regressive) Hindi film classic.

Even the songs are fitted well into the proceedings, except for the number at a wedding function, Jaddo nachche baby, which does not suit the tone of the rest of the film. Still, it is fun enough to be excused. The closing song with the end credits is a hoot, and a good example of how effective that now-typical Bollywood narrative device can be when well used.

The heartbeat of this project is Ranaut, and she justifies every single frame composed around her. She is extremely funny, but does not at any point allow Praful to be reduced to a comical creature, thus retaining the underlying pathos of her story. The only place where she falters – and this is as much a fault of the direction as her acting – is in a rather silly scene that has her peeping into the window of a bank, where she looks a bit like a cartoon character. The one place where Simran itself falters is in the motivation behind the protagonist’s climactic decision on that highway – it is amusing, but it is not credible. Both are inexplicably farcical breaks in a film that otherwise succeeds in walking a fine line with its air and tenor.

Though the writing is largely focused on Praful, the screenplay does throw up some interesting satellite characters, most especially a young man called Sameer played by the incredibly charismatic Sohum Shah from Ship of Theseus. The rest of the supporting roles are all filled out by talented actors. It is such a relief to see a Hindi film set in a Western country that is not packed with terrible foreign extras – each actor here has been chosen with care.

Simran has come to theatres following an ugly controversy over its writing credits. The final rolls read: story, screenplay and dialogues – Apurva Asrani, additional story and dialogues – Kangana Ranaut. The truth about what went on behind the scenes may never be fully revealed, but what has emerged now that the curtains have been drawn aside is a compact, sweet, unconventional entertainer.

Rating (out of five stars): ***

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	124 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/bollywood/simran-movie-review-kangana-ranaut-is-fantastic-in-hansal-mehtas-engaging-film-4046693.html

Poster courtesy:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simran_(film)

Release date:	September 15, 2017
Director:	Sanjay Chhel
Cast: Language:	Rishi Kapoor, Paresh Rawal, Vir Das, Payal Ghosh, Prem Chopra, Divya Seth, Bharti Achrekar, Tikku Talsania Hindi

A few years back at an informal luncheon meeting in Delhi, a major male Hindi film star tried to convince a bunch of us journalists that Bollywood’s portrayal of the boisterous Punjabi/Sikh is not a stereotype but a 100 per cent reflection of reality. “I am telling you this although I’m a Punjabi myself,” he said in response to our vehement disagreement. “Tell me, can you name even one quiet Sardar?”

“Manmohan Singh,” a lady in the group replied without batting an eyelid, over the din of our collective arguments. Briefly, ever so briefly, the star’s commitment to his cliché was shaken. Then though, as the rest of us fell off our chairs laughing, he smilingly continued to try to persuade us that he was right and that Singh is an exception.

This is the mindset from which emerges a comedy like Patel ki Punjabi Shaadi (PKPS). If you insist on trading in stereotypes then do it as Anees Bazmee did recently with the Anil Kapoor-starrer Mubarakan– with intelligence, imagination and affection. Director Sanjay Chhel’s PKPS is as stale as last week’s bread, as trite as the Hindu-Muslim-Christian trio in the Modi Kaaka short film Pahlaj Nihalani made as Censor Board chief, and loud, oh so exasperatingly loud.

The screenplay of PKPS does not possess a single original bone in its body, not one new thought or idea. The only reason why I am bothering to tell you the story is because I have a job to do.

Gurpreet Singh Tandon a.k.a. Guggi (Rishi Kapoor) moves into an all-Gujarati neighbourhood where the hamari-sanskriti-bachaobrigade is led by the sanskari, penny-pinching owner of Patel Provision Store played by Paresh Rawal.

Gurpreet’s son Monty (Vir Das) immediately sets his sights on Patel’s young daughter Pooja (Payal Ghosh). Rab ne bana di jodimaybe, but first we must have some good old stalking scenes after which, as always, the girl too is smitten but dilwalewill dulhania le jayenge only if Papa says, “Ja Pooja ja, ja jee le apni zindagi.” The baadhaon the road to their milan is that Patel hates Punjabis with a vengeance for a reason that is built up throughout PKPS, but when revealed turns out to be even more boring than everything that came before it.

Sounds so shiny and new, no?

Early in the film, there are a couple of throwaway lines to which Kapoor, Rawal and Das lend their innate charm and comic timing, but after a while even their presence can do nothing to redeem this irredeemable screen offering. I mean, the song Maaro line toh tabiyat fine might have worked as a good illustration of clashing cultures in a more inventive film, but here it just adds to the all-pervading noise.

And what can poor Das do anyway when he is even given a rhyming dialogue of the kind that lazy comedy writers in Bollywood resort to when all else fails? “Pairon mein gobar hai par ab bhi Uncle sobre hai,” he says at one point when Monty is in the neighbourhood of cowdung. If you don’t understand Hindi, please don’t resent me for not troubling myself to translate that line – it is really not worth your effort or mine.

Add to this mix tacky sets, gaudy costumes and an all-round over-the-top colour palette and you have to wonder why the two senior actors – especially Kapoor who is enjoying such an excellent second innings in Bollywood – would lend their names to this film.

The sad part is that Sanjay Chhel – whose filmography consists of some impressive writing credits – appears to be well-intentioned and keen to make a point about the insider-outsider debate currently raging across an India steeped in prejudice. Yet, oddly enough, he appears not to realise that he himself seems to buy into some of the very prejudice he is fighting. In one scene, a Punjabi character tells Patel, not in a moment of merriment but in all seriousness: “Hum (the reference being to Punjabis) ladaaku zaroor hai, lekin lootere nahin.” (We Punjabis may be belligerent, but we are not thieves.) What are they refraining from stealing? Answer: Pooja wants to leave her family for Monty but the Tandons deliver her back to Daddy, like honourable men returning property to its rightful owner because, you know, dilwale dulhania and all that, and why should her opinion matter?

Later, Granddaddy Tandon (Prem Chopra) says gravely: “We Punjabis can break bones but we cannot break hearts.”

Aiyyo!

The stage is set for all this nonsense right at the start when Monty’s initial appearances are accompanied by loud chants of the word “Punjabi” in the background (as we have heard it in a million Hindi films before), and when Gurpreet – who is a used-car salesman and proprietor of Guggi Car Bazar – introduces his wife (Divya Seth) to the Patels thus: “Pachaas saal ki model hai par abhi bhi achha mileage deti hai.” (She’s a50-year-old model but she still gives good mileage.)

I repeat: sometimes you can take an age-old stereotype and still make a refreshing comedy out of it. Patel ki Punjabi Shaadi is not even worthy of being deemed crude or offensive – it is just plain blah.

Rating (out of five stars): 1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	120 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/bollywood/patel-ki-punjabi-shaadi-movie-review-rishi-kapoor-aur-paresh-rawal-ki-loud-movie-4045405.html

Poster courtesy:https://www.facebook.com/PatelkiPunjabiShaadibySanjayChhel/

Release date:	September 22, 2017
Director:	Amit V. Masurkar
Cast: Language:	Rajkummar Rao, Pankaj Tripathi, Anjali Patil, Raghubir Yadav, Danish Husain, Mukesh Prajapati, Krishna Singh Bisht, Pistak Gond, Sanjay Mishra Hindi (with some Gondi dialogues)

“Do you know what your problem is?” a veteran election instructor asks a newbie.

The youngster replies: “My honesty?”

“No,” says the older gentleman, “your problem is your pride in your honesty.”

His point is pretty straightforward, as he continues: Don’t get so hung up on how clean you are, just do your work one step at a time, one day at a time, and in time the country will take care of itself. Read: do not let your ego cause you to obsess to such an extent about your giant role in the big picture, that you forget the old dictum about little drops making the ocean.

The elderly character played by Sanjay Mishra does not appear in the film beyond this conversation he has with the protagonist, but his words put in a nutshell the premise of Newton. Writer-director Amit V. Masurkar’s sophomore venture is the story of a rookie sarkari afsar determined to conduct a free and fair election in a remote, forested Chhattisgarh polling station to which he has been assigned as presiding officer. Newton Kumar (Rajkummar Rao) is a portrait in youthful earnestness. He is inexperienced and innocent enough – some may say naïve – to be startled at the opposition to his efforts by those within the establishment.

His companions on that journey into a Naxalite-ridden conflict zone where everyone is too afraid or too skeptical to vote are senior policeman Atma Singh (Pankaj Tripathi), a local booth level officer Malko Netam (Anjali Patil), an official of indifferent health called Loknath (Raghubir Yadav), and a bunch of cops who are on duty to guard them.

What you see in this mix are a conscientious soul, a corrupt cynic, a woman doing her job while being resigned to her people’s fate, an old man resigned to the harshness of a reality he does little to change and a satellite group flowing with the tide. It takes all kinds to make the world, it takes just one you, me or Newton to be the change we want to see in that world.

Hindi cinema has for long more or less ignored the existence of Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes in our society, with most films being centred around upper-caste, north Indian, Hindu men. Stories of Dalits and women have usually been told by art filmmakers, and that too in weepie form. When Dalits have appeared in mainstream ventures, they have usually been supporting players and victims with no agency, uplifted by kind Brahmin and Kshatriya men. In the matter of caste representation, southern Indian cinema – though far from perfect – is head and shoulders above the north, with Dr Biju’s thoughtful Malayalam film Kaadu Pookunna Neram just this year taking us deep into tribal territory. Marathi cinema too scores high on this front with recent years bringing us the offbeat genius of Chaitanya Tamhane’s Court (2015) and Nagraj Manjule’s commercially conventional yet thematically groundbreaking Sairat (2016).

Masurkar razes multiple Hindi film clichés to the ground in Newton by resorting to low-key black comedy to tell a tale of Adivasis being pulled in different directions by the police and Naxalites on election day, by making an Adivasi – that too a woman – one of the agents of change in the film, and by conceiving Newton as a man of indeterminate caste, even if clearly not an Adivasi himself.

Newton’s story has been credited to Masurkar, the screenplay and dialogues to him and Mayank Tewari. Together, they have managed to keep their tone light throughout, while never once making light of the unnerving situations before us.

Crucial to their effort is the casting, and the fact that a large part of the film is shot on location in the jungles of Chhattisgarh. Casting directors Romil Modi and Tejas Thakkar found many of their artistes in the very region the story inhabits. This explains why, thankfully, nobody is self-consciously ‘playing poor’ or ‘playing tribal’. Of the leads, Rajkummar Rao, Anjali Patil and Raghubir Yadav live up to their track record by delivering immersive performances, with each one lending an endearing touch to the characters they play. (As an aside, it must be said that Patil’s deliberately deglamourised styling in each of the films I have seen her in so far has failed to camouflage her great beauty. She is a stunner.)

To be a scene-stealer in an assembly of such immense talent seems impossible, yet somehow Pankaj Tripathi achieves that. This is an artiste who values our time and makes every second, every flicker of an eyelash count. Nowhere is this more in evidence than in the scene in which Atma Singh is first introduced to Newton Kumar. By then, the latter’s name has already been a butt of many jokes. Atma does not offer a wisecrack, but with an expression so fleeting that you might miss it if you blink an eye at that moment, he wordlessly lets us – and Newton – know that he has noticed, he is taken aback and amused, but he does not care enough to do anything more. Now that he has delivered back to back brilliance in Anaarkali of Aarah, Gurgaon, Bareilly Ki Barfi and Newton, it can be safely said that 2017 is turning out to be The Year of The Tripathi.

Good camerawork and editing are an inextricable part of every good performance – this fact is exemplified by a scene in which Atma sits primly, wearing a floppy hat, and across a large vacant plot of land, observes Newton who stands at the door of the polling station. Atma’s posture, evident even in an extreme long shot where his face is a blur, Atma’s tininess in Newton’s eyes from that distance, and the pace of the cuts going back and forth between them had the combined effect of causing me to giggle, despite the awareness that Newton is disheartened at that point. A salaam here and for the flow of the rest of the narrative to cinematographer Swapnil S. Sonawane and editor Shweta Venkat Mathew.

Masurkar made his directorial debut with the laugh-so-much-that-you-might-die Sulemani Keeda in 2014, which sadly did not get the public attention it deserved. With his second film, it is clear that intelligently used humour is his weapon of choice, irrespective of the battle at hand. It is not often that an Indian filmmaker takes to comedy in a setting this dismal – Masurkar and his co-writer do, without being condescending or trivialising the almost depressing circumstances it chronicles in lands far beyond the India most of us are exposed to.

There is so much that Newton alludes to – the exploitation of tribals by politicians, the ignorance of ‘mainstream’ society, the constraints faced by honest government servants, the apathy or corruption that these constraints trigger even in those not naturally inclined to evil, language politics (I challenge anyone who claims that Hindi is the language of north India as a whole, to decipher the smattering of Gondi dialogues in the film without the help of a translator), the dubious efficacy of all violence (including violence that claims to have noble goals). Yet the film is not a PhD thesis nor is it all bleak. With his emphasis on the almost Darwinian significance of the lone soldier in human civilisation, Masurkar snatches optimism from the jaws of pessimism.

This is a film designed to give us hope that might even be deemed ridiculous in the face of the challenges before India’s many Newtons. One theory is that hope is a compulsion, a choice some of us make to maintain our sanity; the other is that human history bears witness to the value of being that drop in the ocean. In the words of a song from this film (music: Naren Chandavarkar and Benedict Taylor, lyrics: Varun Grover): “Manzil door thhi /Dheemi chaal thhi / Udti dhool mein / Aankhen laal thhi/ Chalte chalte khud rasta mudh gaya / Tujhko dekh ke panchhi udh gaya.” (The road was long, your pace slow, your eyes reddening with the flying dust. As you walked, the path turned, and at the sight of you, the bird took flight.)

Newton’s music wafts so gently in and out of the narrative, that you almost do not notice when it is not there. When it is though, it makes its presence felt without rubbing itself in our faces.

Newton was premiered early this year at the Berlin Film Festival where it won a top award. The cleverness of Masurkar’s film is that it is designed to appeal to audiences beyond the already converted and beyond the artistically inclined fest circuit.

It takes us to a region rarely explored by Bollywood, and to a scenario so bizarre that as viewers we are left with just three options: laugh, cry or be furious. Option 4: all the above combined.

If you do watch this film, I strongly suggest that you stay till the very last credit has rolled off the screen. You do not want to deprive yourself of the pleasure of listening to the closing song Kar, in which lyricist Irshad Kamil writes: “…Paas pados mein kya banta hai / Kya hai masala kya hai tel / Tune isse kya lena hai? / Raajneeti ki shop hai, mitron / Sabhi emotion hote sale / Border pe apni sena hai / Tu Twitter pe chhod missile / Subah baitth aur shaam kar / Dil bola / Dil bola / Dil bola apna kaam kar / Chal tu apna kaam kar.” (Roughly: Why bother with what’s cooking in the neighbour’s house? In the business of politics, my friend, every emotion is for sale. Our Army is on the border, but you launch missiles day and night on Twitter. Still, my heart says, focus on your job. Come, play your part.)

Mitron, the world will take care of itself, as long as you do your bit.

I love Newton. I do, I do.

Rating (out of five stars): ****

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	106 minutes 27 seconds

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/newton-movie-review-rajkummar-rao-pankaj-tripathi-anjali-patil-shine-in-a-dazzlingly-low-key-dramedy-4059425.html

Poster courtesy:https://www.facebook.com/drishyamfilms/

Release date:	September 22, 2017
Director:	Apoorva Lakhia
Cast: Language:	Shraddha Kapoor, SiddhanthKapoor, Ankur Bhatia, Priyanka Setia, Rajesh Tailang Hindi

Sometimes real life offers you more promotional opportunities than a marketing genius could imagine. The Thane police’s arrest this week of underworld kingpin Dawood Ibrahim’s brother Iqbal Kaskar on charges of running an extortion racket against builders and others, could not have been more timely: it came just days before today’s release of director Apoorva Lakhia’s Haseena Parkar, based on the life of Ibrahim’s late sister.

The eponymous film takes us from the siblings’ impoverished childhood to his rise as a criminal, his escape to Dubai, the Babri Masjid demolition in 1992, the 1992-’93 Mumbai riots, her ascent in the 1990s to the position of the dreaded Haseena Aapa, all the way to this decade. The role of sutradharis played jointly by Parkar (Shraddha Kapoor) and public prosecutor Rohini Satam (Priyanka Setia), during the former’s courtroom interrogation while she is on trial for extortion in the near-present day. Some flashbacks come in the form of Parkar’s answers, some come when we are allowed access to her memory bank while she refuses to answer certain probing questions.

This is a true story with staggering potential. As one character in the film says, “There have been many Bhais in Bombay but only one Aapa.” Who was this woman who took to organised crime in a way we usually associate with men? According to a recently published profile in Hindustan Times, Parkar muddied her hands after her husband Ismail was murdered by Arun Gawli’s gang in 1991.Thereafter she apparently took “control of D-Company’s operations in Mumbai” following which she “grabbed land, extorted money, kidnapped, ordered killings...” Hers is an intriguing tale crying out to be told.

Not this way though. Notwithstanding the real life drama surrounding its release, Haseena Parkar is dull in the overall analysis. The first half has promise with its atmospheric recreation of the grubby Mumbai locality where one of the world’s most wanted men and his sister spent their early years in financial struggle. The costumes, styling and production design are effective, though I will leave it to experts on 1960s-80sMumbai to comment on the accuracy of the nitty gritty.

Kapoor is sweet for the most part as the younger Parkar, mining her natural child-like charm to portray her character’s youthful innocence – sweet enough that I am willing to look past that irritating suhag raatscene, and that other scene where a terrified Parkar rushes home to swab the floor of her house, fearing the wrath, it seems, of her cleanliness-obsessed spouse (an oddly inconsistent piece of writing considering that he comes across as a sweetheart who treats his wife with love and affection until then). The star’s brother Siddhanth Kapoor too makes an impression in the role of Dawood Ibrahim, and Ankur Bhatia as Parkar’s husband is noticeable for his strapping physique.

After a point though, it is clear that the script is going nowhere as it avoids taking a position on any of the parties involved. And so, the dominant image of Ibrahim here is of a thoughtful elder brother, what we get of Parkar too is a rose-tinted view, neither is projected as being particularly evil or culpable, and the film does not offer a single bit of information or a new insight to justify its take on them, nothing about the duo that you would not gather from news reports and editorials. In fact, Haseena Parkar is so gentle on its protagonists, that you might be forgiven for assuming that they are/were amateur pickpockets and shoplifters, not hardened criminals.

Following a series of calls to a local police station after the 1993 Mumbai bomb blasts, Parkar explodes in anger at one point. “Ek hafte se unko waqt par khana milta hai ya nahin, mere bachche school tak sahi salaamat pahunchte hai ya nahin, kuchh nahin pata, kyunki meri galti na honey ke bavjood, main yahaan ke chakkar kaat rahi hoon (For an entire week now, I have had no clue whether my kids are being fed or are getting to school safe and sound, because despite being blameless I am being repeatedly summoned here),” she yells at a senior policeman.

He yells back: “Chup! ... Ek hafta kya, ek mahina aana padega agar bulaaoo toh. Blast ka ilzaam hai tumhare bhai par, koi deshbhakti ke kaam ka nahin.” (Shut up! ... Why just one week? If I choose to summon you for an entire month you had better come. Your brother is accused of bomb blasts, not of executing a patriotic duty.)

This exchange reminded me of a sequence from a monumentally superior film, Onir’s I Am, in which a Kashmiri Muslim woman expresses her frustration at the constant visits to her home by Army personnel, at which her Kashmiri Hindu friend snaps back after listening to her complaints for a while, reminding her that her brother, who lives in the same house is, after all, a surrendered terrorist. The implication, of course, being that the Army’s eye on the family is justified. That scene in I Am, the build-up to it and what follows unarguably rank among the most intelligently, sensitively written and directed passages ever seen in a Hindi film. In Haseena Parkarthough, the back and forth between Parkar and the cop remain hanging there without offering the viewer any food for thought.

As it rolls along, Haseena Parkar ends up being a staccato narration of facts, rather than a story pulsating with life. Even while seeming to state those facts, it uses kid gloves on the parties involved, with one exception: Muslims are clearly identified as the initiators of the violence in the Mumbai riots, after which blame is equally apportioned between communities – the narrative is careful not to single out majority community leaders such as Bal Thackeray and his Shiv Sena whose role in the riots is chronicled by the Justice Srikrishna Commission Report. I am not for a second saying Muslims played no role in Mumbai 1992-93, I am merely pointing out the cowardice in pinpointing Muslim culpability while skipping any mention of how some prominent Hindu names, as per records, openly incited mobs at the time. Why make a film on a prickly subject if you lack courage to say it like it is almost every step of the way?

Early positives are thus soon overshadowed in Haseena Parkar. The film’s lack of nuance in places is painfully literal. When a character says Parkar became an outlaw because she was tired of the fingerpointing she was subjected to merely for being Ibrahim’s sister, the director feels the need to actually show us a montage of people pointing fingers. Uff!

The court scenes become boring too, as Satam makes allegations without presenting any evidence, so that when at one point the defence lawyer asks, “Are you a lawyer or a news reporter?” it feels like a slap in the face of good investigative journalists.

As the older Parkar, Ms Kapoor is as bland as the screenplay. She tries to appear mature and menacing, but the effort shows too much. Besides, it is almost amusing to see the aging process being depicted by sticking ping pong balls inside each of her cheeks (I’m kidding but you know what I mean), while her skin remains as smooth as a baby’s bottom over several decades. After his initial spark, Mr Kapoor gets little chance to show off his acting chops since Ibrahim fades into the distant background.

The most interesting part of the film comes right in the end when, accompanying the closing credits, we get a sepia-tinted series of photographs of the real people depicted in this story. Those pictures would have held far more meaning for us though if Haseena Parkar had breathed life into its characters. Sadly, we don't learn much more about them from watching the film in its entirety, than if we had spent about two hours scouring newspaper archives or just staring at those pics.

Rating (out of five stars): *1/2

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	124 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/bollywood/haseena-parkar-movie-review-shraddha-kapoor-is-bland-in-a-film-that-lacks-courage-and-depth-4070047.html

Poster courtesy: Epigram Digital PR

Release date:	September 21, 2017
Director:	Soubin Shahir
Cast: Language:	Amal Shah, Govind V. Pai, Dulquer Salmaan, Shane Nigam, Jacob Gregory, Srinda Arhaan, Arjun Ashokan, Zinil Zainudeen, Soubin Shahir, Sreenath Bhasi, Indrans, Siddique Malayalam

Unless every single Hindi film released in the coming three months turns out to be a work of genius, I am sticking my neck out and saying this has been annus miserabilis for Bollywood buffs. Relief for serious Hindi viewers has come from indies. Relief for me as a critic reviewing both Bollywood and Mollywood works has come from blessed, beloved Mollywood. Malayalam cinema’s affair with experimentation has continued in 2017, with avant-garde projects featuring both unknowns and established stars striking gold at the box office.

It is in this context that actor Soubin Shahir makes his directorial debut. Parava (Bird) – which he has also co-written with Muneer Ali – is the story of two teenaged boys in Mattancherry juxtaposed against a tragedy in the neighbourhood that tore apart a gang of men friends, including the brother of one of those teens. Irshad (played by Amal Shah) and Haseeb (Govind V. Pai) are best buds barely surviving academic challenges and blossoming hormones while they devote themselves to the sport of pigeon racing. This is no innocent pastime. When we first meet them, they are coping with the disappearance of one of their feathered charges and with an aggressive rival played by Shine Tom Chacko.

(Possible spoilers ahead)

As we spend time with these youngsters, another story emerges, of Irshad’s brother Shane (Shane Nigam) and his pals. Imran (Dulquer Salmaan) is the mature one of the lot, and popular among their elders. They are a group of five, the rest played by Jacob Gregory, Arjun Ashokan and Zinil Zainudeen. Cricket and frivolous squabbles are their favourite games.

As separates, both segments are interesting. The pigeons in flight are a visual novelty, we are given a bird’s-eye view – pardon the easy pun – of the local culture, and a vein of pleasant humour runs through the narrative along with a throbbing soundtrack.

Shah and Pai are darlings – Pai, in particular, is a live wire to watch out for. As it happens, they have excellent on-camera chemistry, and their classroom interactions and schoolyard pre-occupations are a hoot. If you want to portray gender segregation in educational institutions, this is how you do it, not with the ugly misogyny that we saw just recently in Chunkzz. Make no mistake about it: Shahir views the community through a narrow male gaze (as, unfortunately, do most Malayalam filmmakers), all his primary and secondary characters are male, and women here are mere adjuncts to men, but at least it can be said that he does not treat the female half of the population with contempt or suspicion.

The rest of the cast is immensely likeable. And Salmaan is a joy to watch, as always, in an extended cameo designed to dominate the others while it lasts.

There are also two truly OMG moments in Parava: one involves the fate of a good-looking girl at school, which tells us so much about the social setting of the film; the other is the poignant reason why the older lot split up.

With so much going for it, it is impossible not to be attracted to Parava. Yet, the film does not quite come together. The engagement with its characters remains superficial because they are overwhelmed by the director’s extreme awareness of his artistic inclinations and his transparent ambition to be another Dileesh Pothan. Thondimuthalum Driksakshiyum and Maheshinte Prathikaaram worked because their style clearly came naturally to Pothan. In Parava though, Shahir appears to be trying too hard to be whatever it is he wants us to believe he is. The result is self-conscious writing and direction beyond a point, leading to inconsistencies in tone and pretentious over-stretching.

Initially, the connection between Irshad-Haseeb and Team Shane is revealed bit by bit in an intriguing fashion. Once Shane & Co gain primacy in the narrative though, the film starts sinking, as Shahir struggles to balance the two threads and sustain his tone.

Irshad and Haseeb get the benefit of well-rounded characterisation. The older chaps – with the somewhat exception of Imran – are products of sketchy writing, and the evident effort to give pride of place to the big commercial star in the cast, Dulquer Salmaan, strains at the cohesiveness of the narrative.

The last straw is the highly melodramatised choreography of a needlessly elongated fight towards the end, which is a complete departure from the general tenor of the film.

In the overall analysis then, Parava comes across as a pretty patchwork blanket rather than a smooth jacquard weave. The concept and narrative structure have potential, but Shahir drowns in his own failure to keep it simple. I liked many elements in this film, and the film itself in parts, but at no point did I find myself completely lost in its flow.

Still, it is nice to see a producer with Anwar Rasheed’s box-office track record risk his neck on this experimental venture, and the spark Shahir shows here makes him a directorial talent definitely not to be brushed aside. Here’s hoping Mollywood gives him a second chance at the reins.

Rating (out of five stars): **

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	147 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/parava-movie-review-dulquer-salmaan-and-a-sweet-story-are-overwhelmed-by-transparent-ambition-4073543.html

Poster courtesy:https://www.facebook.com/paravamovie/

Release date:	September 22, 2017
Director:	Jijo Antony
Cast: Language:	Sunny Wayne, Sarath Kumar, Jacob Gregory, Prayaga Martin, Srinda Arhaan, Saiju Kurup, Dileesh Pothan Malayalam

If you are looking for a ruminative film on the nature of stardom and fandom, skip this one.

Pokkiri Simon: Oru Kadutha Aaradhakan revolves around a bunch of crazed Malayali devotees of the Tamil megastar Vijay. They are the sort of guys who run fan clubs with the enthusiasm regular folk would invest in a professional enterprise, bathe the actor’s giant cutouts in milk before his theatrical releases, dance madly in the hall, watch each film repeatedly until they know the dialogues by heart, and then make so much noise repeating those lines in subsequent viewings that other members of the audience cannot hear a word of what is going on. In short, just the kind who solemnly address Vijay as Ilayathalapathy (Young Commander).

At first, this is fair enough, as a rather nice cast’s energy spills over from the screen and humour flies about in the film. Sunny Wayne plays Simon, nicknamed Pokkiri Simon after one of his idol’s hits that the north knows in the form of its Hindi remake Wanted with Salman Khan and Ayesha Takia.

Simon and his friends – Hanuman Biju (Jacob Gregory) and Love Today Ganesh (Sarath Kumar) – seem to want nothing more in life than to be photographed with Vijay. Towards this end they work hard to outshine rival clubs both in Kerala and Tamil Nadu, including one commandeered by Naushad (Saiju Kurup). Their families are anxious about their unhealthy obsession with their god, but lest we viewers too view their pursuit as frivolous, they put their network to good use to nab criminals that the establishment is too afraid to touch.

A light-hearted take on filmaniacs would have been fine, but Pokkiri Simon becomes a victim of its desire to prove that it is more than that, just as the story’s Vijay worshippers are determined not to be seen as aimless empty heads. And so after a fun – even if cliched – first half hour, in which director Jijo Antony and writer K. Ampady imply that they are up for a spot of spoofing, it turns out they want their film to be taken seriously. They then start packing too much into the plot, ranging from a discussion on the profound significance of the protagonists’ film fanaticism to household challenges, unemployment, classism and a romance before switching dramatically somewhere in the second half from the comedy genre to thriller mode.

It is not that Ampady completely lacks imagination. There is a point being made in the fans’ irreverence towards holy cows such as religion and the national anthem, in sharp contrast to their unquestioning zeal for Vijay. That said, these instances of nuance in the script are fleeting.

The post-interval portion does not work at all for the simple reason that by then the film is already overly long and over-stuffed. Though Pokkiri Simon focuses on an important issue – child trafficking – after the break, and to be fair, Antony does not treat the subject lightly, the theme does not sit well with the narrative because it comes so late in the day that it feels like an afterthought: not a concern to which the team is committed, but a device to introduce unexpected twists and sustain audience interest.

It is worth mentioning that a character in the film claims that Vijay fans respect women. Baah! Witness the abuse they spew at women who critique the star on the social media in real life. Their misogyny is reflected in Pokkiri Simon, which becomes increasingly sexist and venomous as it moves along. A man in the film discusses a cow’s udders swollen with milk, then looks meaningfully at a buxom woman. While it may well be argued that this crudeness comes from the principal villain, and therefore cannot be seen as a trivialisation of degrading objectification, someone please explain what we are to make of one of the ‘nice guys’, played by no less a personage than Nedumudi Venu, telling a stranger on a beach that her “body shape” is good? The creepy old chap is a retired rocket scientist and one of Simon’s friends.

That is not all. The camera leers at the heroine as she jogs. Later, the hero stalks her. Elsewhere, a snide remark about learning to cut fish aimed at Simon by his mother reveals the writer’s amusement at the thought of a husband managing his house while his wife goes out to work.

Most unnerving though is the casualness with which the supposedly good men in this film threaten to beat their female partners. Ganesh’s wife Jaya (Srinda Arhaan) storms off in the middle of a fight when he raises his hand to hit her, but she does not specifically object to his action. Worse, Simon’s otherwise feisty mother falls silent and quakes in fear when his father – an honest police constable – hollers at her with threats.

This, by the way, is a regular feature in a certain kind of Malayalam commercial cinema. Indulgent viewers may argue that such films do nothing more than hold up a mirror to a state where domestic violence is known to be prevalent. Stop making excuses. The objection here is not to the portrayal of a reality, but to the normalisation of that condemnable reality.

As far as performances go, the cast does as well as they possibly can with such average written material. Saiju Kurup is funny while he is around, which is not enough. Prayaga Martin serves no other purpose than to be the hero’s eye candy. He seems to need a greater incentive than her good looks to fall for her, which is the only the reason I could imagine for why the makeup artist slaps so much blush-on on to her chubby cheeks.

This brings me to Pokkiri Simon’s unnaturally cheery colour palette, starting with a grand opening aerial shot of the town in which it is set, where the rooftops look so bright, spotless and picture-book-like that even a novice might spot the extent of mindless colour correction that has gone into that frame. To what end?

If that effort had been invested in the writing instead, it might have made sense. It would have also made sense for a Malayalam film featuring so many Tamil dialogues to carry subtitles for its Tamil lines. In that department as in the rest of the film, it seems like no one wanted to tax their grey cells too much while making Pokkiri Simon. Such an insipid tribute to Vijay is as good asan insult.

Rating (out of five stars): *

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	146 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/pokkiri-simon-movie-review-over-stuffed-and-misogynistic-bow-to-ilayathalapathy-vijay-4075747.html

Poster courtesy:IMDB

Release date:	September 29, 2017
Director:	David Dhawan
Cast: Language:	Varun Dhawan, TaapseePannu, Jacqueline Fernandez, Rajpal Yadav,VivanBhathena, Pavan Raj Malhotra, Vikas Verma, Ali Asgar, Manoj Joshi, Anupam Kher, Johnny Lever, Manoj Pahwa, Cameo: Salman Khan Hindi

Since Judwaa was an unapologetically slapstick comedy of errors, and the goal of this new release is to cash in on the recall value of that brand, it could have been safely assumed without visiting a theatre today that director David Dhawan would not go all cerebral on us with Judwaa 2. A new generation will perhaps watch this film as a standalone venture, but two questions are inevitable for those who have seen the original. One, which is better? Two, more important: who is better, Varun or the earlier hero, the then successful and now phenomenal Salman Khan?

Dhawan has positioned Judwaa 2 as a contemporary reboot of his 1997 film featuring Khan in a double role with Karisma Kapoor and Rambha as the female romantic leads. It is the closest to a carbon copy that a remake can get, with his son Varun Dhawan reprising the characters played by the superstar back then. So what we get is Dhawan Junior as Raja and Prem Malhotra, conjoined twins whose surgical separation at birth results in a unique biological phenomenon seen in one in eight million cases according to the Bollywood Book of Judwaa Bachchas – when they are in geographically nearby locations, each experiences the sensations the other is going through and unwittingly clones the other’s actions.

Before you can digest that educational moment, the villain of the story kidnaps one, and through a series of circumstances you would be familiar with if you have watched the earlier Judwaa, Prem is brought up in London by wealthy parents and Raja by a poor woman in Mumbai.

Of course the brothers end up in the same city at some point (London, nicely shot by cinematographer Ayananka Bose). Prem falls for Samara (Taapsee Pannu), while Raja is smitten by Alyshka Bakshi (Jacqueline Fernandez). The confusion caused by their respective lovers and respective enemies being in the same area leads to a chain of mix-ups and mess-ups that Shakespeare might have approved of.

Given that this is the premise, obviously Judwaa 2, like Judwaa, is not an intellectual enterprise. Fair enough. We all need to occasionally let our hair down with a dose of old-fashioned stupidity, and large parts of Judwaa 2offer silly, mindless laughs.

Even silliness must evolve though, and this would have been a better film if the screenplay by Yunus Sajawal (with dialogues by Farhad-Sajid) had, while retaining the same concept, moved beyond some of the stereotypes and insensitivity that once dominated Bollywood and occasionally lingers in projects such as this. For instance, the main antagonist Charles (Zakir Hussain) conforms to the irritating Bollywood stereotype of the Christian who cannot speak Hindi without saying “God” in place of “Bhagwan”, while a Hindu who visits a church says “God” in the middle of Hindi dialogues, as though “God” is not a common noun but the name of a specific Christian being seated somewhere upstairs in the clouds. This kind of stuff is bearable though – idiotic but not offensive. Far less tolerable is the re-use of a once-popular cliché: a “totla” character as a butt of jokes.

I am not getting all hoity-toity here and saying a speech defect may not lead to amusing situations, but that this team lacks the finesse that, say, Vishal Bhardwaj & Co employed while writing their “main ‘ph’ ko ‘ph’ bolta hoon” protagonist in Kaminey, marvelously balancing humour with sensitivity.

There is a fine line between portraying a person with a disability and turning that person into a caricature. Nandu, played by Rajpal Yadav, crosses that line. To be fair though, Yadav’s Nandu is a toned-down version of Judwaa’s over-the-top Rangeela delivered to us in yet another cringe-worthy performance by Shakti Kapoor. Thankfully too, Nandu gets limited screen time.

The rest of the film is harmless fun for the most part, except when it ventures occasionally again into crude clichés revolving around Dhawan’s assumption that the mere sight of black people should be a cause of laughter, and the abominable terms in which a middle-aged woman – Samara’s mother – is repeatedly described. In one scene, Raja calls her a “khataara gaadi” (dilapidated car) and consoles her because “tu murjha gayee hai” (you have withered).

Sigh. Is there any point in explaining ageism and sexism to David Dhawan? Does he care? Well, never mind him. We should.

With the recent Mubarakan, director Anees Bazmee showed us how it is possible to hark back to the comedies of an era gone by, even dip into stereotypes and trite comedic devices – boisterous Punjabis, twins separated at birth – without resorting to those that should have been retired in the Stone Age. Judwaa skates on thin ice on occasion, but for the most part passes muster without being earth-shatteringly good anywhere.

There are conversations that are genuinely funny, some because they are so hare-brained, and some because the actors make it work with their comic timing. Except for one-off blandness in the form of “Iski jack lag gayee aur main handle nahin kar paa raha hoon” (a line bestowed on Varun) and “Rustom ke Akshay Kumar ki tarah tum chhupe rustom nikle” (which Fernandez is forced to pull off), Judwaa 2 is a fair enough visit to the slapstick genre.

Still, the question arises: why was this film made at all, when David Dhawan could as well have re-released Judwaa on DVD, Blu-Ray etc with added features? (I mean, c’mon, Judwaa 2 even borrows two songs from the earlier film, Oonchi hai building and Chalti hai kya nau se baarah. They are the most attractive part of an ordinary soundtrack.)

The answer lies in two words: Varun Dhawan. This format gives Junior the opportunity to showcase his acting talent by playing two characters with vastly different backgrounds and demeanours in the same film and sometimes in the same frame, display his action skills in a bunch of fight scenes, and dance. Smart move, Daddy. ’Cos your son does all three well.

I’ve enjoyed watching Varun from his first film: he is attractive, has a nice body that goes well with his sweet face (the currently fashionable body-builder look would not suit him), and dances with passion. Though he still does not manage to erase his own personality for his roles (the London-based Prem in Judwaa, for instance, speaks English with an out-and-out Varun Dhawan-style Mumbaiyya accent and diction right down to pronouncing “miracle” as “miricle” and “violent” as “viylent”), he seems like the kind of actor who has what it takes to get there and the desire to work towards it.

The women of Judwaa are of course secondary to Varun. Still, within the limited space they get, they make a mark. Pannu, whose calling card in Hindi cinema right now is her brilliant performance in last year’s Pink, shows here that she is suited to the singing-dancing-swimsuit-wearing-glamour-doll routine too. She is outshone though by Fernandez who has spent most of her short career doing precisely that, but reminds us in Judwaa 2 that she is not the frozen-faced non-actor that too many people take her for. As we saw in 2016’s Dishoom, it is clear here too that this gorgeous young woman deserves a shot at larger roles in comedy.

The fabulous Pavan Raj Malhotra is wasted in a film where the gifted supporting cast is marginal and the focus is entirely on Varun.

Which brings me back to my earlier comment about Varun being the reason why this film was made. The point is underlined by Salman Khan’s cameo in Judwaa 2. It is a separate matter that that scene must rank as the most poorly conceived, amateurishly executed guest appearance by a major star ever, with jarringly bad sound quality to boot. What Dhawan Senior seems to be hinting at through the weird conversation there is that he sees Varun as a future Salman Khan.

Well, I am sticking my neck out and saying the father is shortselling his son with the comparison. Whether or not Varun becomes as big a star as Khan is not something anyone can predict, but he clearly does have the potential. More to the point, he is a better actor and a more flexible dancer than the Khan. Now Daddy, give him a more imaginative film to work in. Those of us who have enjoyed you at your best, know that you are capable of so much more than just “not bad” which is what Judwaa 2 is.

Footnote: The Censor Board asked Dhawan to remove a shot of Lord Krishna dancing and playing the saxophone in the song Suno Ganpati BappaMorya. It is clear from their directive that they have not understood the ABC of the playful down-to-earthness that is the hallmark of Hindu mythology.

Rating (out of five stars): **

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	149 minutes 46 seconds

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/judwaa-2-movie-review-varun-dhawans-team-up-with-his-dad-trumps-salman-david-dhawan-combo-4094681.html

Poster 1 courtesy: IMDB

Poster 2 courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judwaa_2

Release date:	September 28, 2017
Director:	Arun Gopy
Cast: Language:	Dileep, Kalabhavan Shajohn, Mukesh, Prayaga Martin, Radhikaa Sarathkumar, Siddique, Renji Panicker, Suresh Krishna, Leena Malayalam

A young politician is expelled from Kerala’s Communist Democratic Party (CDP) and joins a rival front. He fights a candidate from his original organisation to win back the seat he had to vacate when he switched parties. In the midst of the machinations against and by him, comes a crime of great daring, and all clues appear to point towards the same individual.

Will an innocent person be framed? Is the guilty person feigning innocence? These are the questions that occupy us through the two hours and 38 minutes running time of Ramaleela, a new release directed by debutant Arun Gopy and starring Dileep in the lead.

Ramaleela has made news for ugly reasons so far, since it comes to theatres while its main star is in jail on charges of conspiring in the abduction and molestation of a top woman actor in Kerala. Dileep plays Ramanunni Raghavan, a youth leader and rising politician at the centre of the action in the film. The casting choice is an unwittingly appropriate reflection of the Indian reality where 49 for a man is indeed seen as youth in both cinema and politics, while women in cinema are compulsorily retired 10-15 years before that or relegated to playing sister and Mommy to men of Dileep’s age.

So anyway, Ramanunni’s father was assassinated by forces unknown to the world at the start of Ramaleela. His exit from CDP causes his mother, Comrade Ragini Raghavan, to label him a traitor, while his entry into NSF ruffles feathers there too. Ramanunni’s bête noir in CDP is Ambady Mohanan (Vijayaraghavan)while his Enemy No. 1 in NSF is Udayabhanu (Siddique)

As Ramanunni grapples with these opposing pulls, the police are called in, first to provide him with protection and later to investigate the crime mentioned at the start of this review.

Like this year’s Oru Mexican Aparatha and Sakhavu, Ramaleela too, in its own way, is an ode to Communism. Primarily though, it is a mystery story. Arun Gopy and writer Sachy complement each other well. While Sachy has a surprise for us at every turn, Gopy is confident in his direction. This is a thriller written and shot on an epic scale yet, for the most part, attention has been paid to the characters’ motivations, not the lavish cinematography and art design alone.

There are intermittent missteps, but the overall pace is so unrelenting that there is little time to think about the improbabilities and far-fetched scenarios in the film. For instance, a key character hatches an elaborate scheme, but it is unclear how that person or their collaborators found the resources for such a plan and implemented it at such short notice. A fugitive easily crosses state borders despite heavy police patrolling. Also, Ramanunni’s intention in meeting politician-turned-columnist Madhavan (Renji Panicker) is tenuous. It is as if Sachy could not think of a more credible way to introduce Ramanunni to Madhavan’s daughter Helena (Prayaga Martin).

Dileep’s insipid personality is well-suited to a role where it is important that his physicality not come across as larger-than-life and where he is to be seen as a little man, a beleaguered lone warrior, a common person who one might easily underestimate. Equally to the point, his is a clever performance – he does not set a foot wrong for even a moment in Ramaleela.

The cast is packed to the brim with artistes more charismatic than he is, but Dileep’s limited charisma serves to heighten the impact of his character’s towering intelligence and actions.

It is nice to see Prayaga Martin looking more natural here than in her dolled-up avatar in last week’s Pokkiri Simon and to see her Helena – an architect-turned-reality-TV-set-designer – serve a purpose other than to be a pretty appendage to the hero. And while the nearly 30-year age difference between Martin and Dileep conforms to Mollywood standards, what does not is Helena’s unconventional relationship with Ramanunni.

That said, it is irritating that any time a good-looking single woman and a Malayalam film’s hero share a frame, the surrounding characters compulsorily envision romance or marriage in their future. Unlike those characters, Sachy himself shows that rare hero-heroine partnership where she at least does not see matrimony as the only route to a happily ever after in her life and he too is not single-minded in the matter of his association with her. That said – yes, again – Martin’s impact is curiously feeble though Helena has a crucial hand in the proceedings.

This is a seemingly secondary element in Ramaleela. The overtly overriding factors are the games politicians play with each other and the media. Here too Team Gopy-Sachy score by not caricaturing either the netas or the journalists involved. The one slip here is a scene in which a flunkey who is trying to manipulate the media against Ramanunni is so stupid as to be caught with a phone on his person that he had used seconds earlier to leak information to the press.

Ramaleela also offers more scenes of routine policework than we are used to seeing in Indian films, which tend to either lionise or demonise cops (more the former). DySP Paulson Devassy (Mukesh), the lead investigator in the case, and his team are portrayed as real people going about their work with the constraints all Indian police face, not shorn of their own prejudices and ambitions, but also – thankfully – not sounding idiotic or ignorant to a viewer fed a diet of TV shows such as CSI and Law & Order supplemented with common sense.

Of the supporting artistes, it is only fair to single out Kalabhavan Shajohn who is highly effective – and hilarious – as Ramanunni’s secretary and shadow. The weak link is Radhikaa Sarathkumar whose turn as Comrade Ragini lacks spark.

The rape joke in Ramaleela is a tricky one. Real people in such situations do speak lightly of rape, but – unlike in other films – here it is unclear whether the film itself takes sexual violence lightly. In a situation of doubt, I am choosing to err on the side of caution and Gopy.

Ramaleela has been marketed as an expensive venture. The monetary investment is evident in the polished production and Shaji Kumar’s swish camerawork. One of the earliest scenes in the film features a particularly striking frame of Ramanunni at the centre of scores of TV news cameras and mikes covering every inch on all sides of the screen. Another, not long after, gives us an overhead night-time shot of CDP members carrying red flags and flaming torches gathered outside the gate of Ramanunni’s house while the compound itself is filled with police in uniform. It is one of several visually rich scenes in Ramaleela.

Kumar over-uses overhead shots and aerial shots after a while, but the result is so eye-catching that he can be forgiven for succumbing to temptation.

At the end of the day, grand images would have mattered little if it weren’t for the excellent execution of the suspense in Ramaleela. Gopy has delivered a gripping thriller set in Kerala’s political establishment, and succeeds in keeping the viewer guessing every step of the way. When you have a good thing going, it is important to know where to stop though. The biggest folly of his direction and Sachy’s script – both at an ideological and cinematic level – comes after the big reveal in Ramaleela. Far from being satisfied with that gasp-inducing climax, they proceed to needlessly raise the film’s pitch from that point, thus subtracting from the impact.

Worse, what follows is a leading character in the film advocating taking the law into our own hands, not merely to settle personal scores, but for the ‘larger good’, and articulating a bizarre view of what makes a Communist. Instead of a dissenting voice in the narrative, we get instead an endorsement of that anarchic stance by the most upright person in the entire saga.

That populist conversation was absolutely unnecessary, designed to tap the audience’s bloodlust and elicit cheap applause.

The caveat to this review then is that as a political commentary, Ramaleelamakes sense until that disturbing discussion in the end. As a thriller though, it is thoroughly enjoyable – not in the league of, say, Drishyam but entertaining all the same.

Rating (out of five stars): **3/4

CBFC Rating (India):	U
Running time:	158 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

http://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/ramaleela-movie-review-dileep-holds-centre-stage-in-an-entertaining-though-ideologically-iffy-thriller-4097169.html

Poster courtesy:https://www.facebook.com/RamaleelaMovie/

REVIEW 513: JAB HARRY MET SEJAL

REVIEW 514: RAAG DESH

REVIEW 515: GURGAON

REVIEW 516: TOILET – EK PREM KATHA

REVIEW 517: CLINT

REVIEW 518: CHUNKZZ

REVIEW 519: BAREILLY KI BARFI

REVIEW 520: BABUMOSHAI BANDOOKBAAZ

REVIEW 521: SHUBH MANGAL SAAVDHAN

REVIEW 522: PULLIKKARAN STARAA

REVIEW 523: VELIPADINTE PUSTHAKAM

REVIEW 524: NJANDUKALUDE NATTIL ORIDAVELA

REVIEW 525: SIMRAN

REVIEW 526: PATEL KI PUNJABI SHAADI

REVIEW 527: NEWTON

REVIEW 528: HASEENA PARKAR

REVIEW 529: PARAVA

REVIEW 530: POKKIRI SIMON – ORU KADUTHA AARADHAKAN

REVIEW 531: JUDWAA 2

REVIEW 532: RAMALEELA