Oscar musings

For a woman who used to look so fresh and exquisitely beautiful, Kate Winslet looked deecidedly ugly tonight. What's with that hair? Or is it a hairpiece?

The guy Longinous Danny Boyle mentioned in his acceptance, the one who choreographed Jai Ho. Was it the same Longi who partnered Sweta Salve or somebody on Jhalak Dikhla Ja? Does anybody remember? That small fellow with a big smile? Come a long way, it seems.

Didn't know of Michael Crichton's death before today's ceremony. It was a shock seeing his photo among all those dead people.

The way Mickey Rourke of today looks never ceases to amaze me. What happened to the impish cool cat of 9 1/2 weeks? Poor fellow got worse for wear throughout the 80's and 90's. Apparently some botched up plastic surgery after a broken face in the ring. Bad Bad academy, you should have given the bloke something. Especially since Penn already had a statuette. I've got a thing for epic losers.

Is it for the awards season that so many big names time their releases for the letter part of the year? Isn't it surprising that Slumdog and Button and Frost/Nixon and Milk won so many nominations while for such a big movie, Dark Knight got so few?


I loved Jessica Biel on the red carpet. But then I love Jessica Biel. Period. But the way she carried a largeish bib/washcloth tucked in front pretending it was part of her gown tonight, priceless.

And oh yes, I did the customary Yayyys and high fives for AR. What did he say in Tam?

Ciao' for now. Be back for next year.

Pics source 1,2

sólo el amor puede ser incumplida romántico

The most annoying element of Vicky Cristina Barcelona is the voiceover narration. Sometimes it makes you feel you are watching a documentary on Travel and Living. In an interesting way, it is also the most redeeming feature of the movie. It's like Mr. Woody Allen washing his hands off any glitches in scripting. It's like Mr. Allen is saying, "See, these are my people. I didn't have anything to do with them, they were like this only. Hell I don't have an effing clue what they'd be up to next. I'm only here to tell their story. Watch them if you like. If you don't, I'm sure some plexes are still showing The Dark Knight."



The unusual thing about the narrative is that it reads out in broad detail the nuances of characters rather than allow the script to reveal them slowly through their actions. In fact the action only serves to corroborate what has already been said in the voiceover. I'll give an example.

(This is the voiceover script during the third minute of screen time when Vicky and Cristina make their appearance)
The two had been close since college, and shared the same tastes and opinions on most matters, Yet when it came to the subject of love, it would be hard to find two more dissimilar viewpoints. Vicky had no tolerance for pain, and no lust for combat. She was grounded and realistic. Her requirements in a man were seriousness and stability. She had become engaged to Doug because he was decent and successful, and understood the beauty of commitment. Cristina, on the other hand, expected something very different out of love. She reluctantly accepted suffering as an inevitable component of deep passion and was resigned to putting her feelings at risk. If you asked what she was gambling her emotions on to win, she would have been unable to say. She knew what she didn't want, however. And that was exactly what Vicky valued above all else.

Makes you wonder if you are at a theater or a book reading session, yes, but you have to give him an A for audaciousness. Don't know if it's just me, but the way the movie begins with the narrator launching into character analysis of the protagonists, it reminded me of Springtime a' la Carte. (Now where's the connection? read on, before you jump and shout) It seemed the director's way of saying, like O'Henry did in his time, "look, n00bs, a film is not written like this. Never, never, do this at the beginning of a script that you write. (Of course I can pull it off, because I'm Woody Allen)".

Does it work? Well, after a fashion, to a large extent, give or take a few vagaries of the plot, it does. Me, I'm not your Woody Allen aficionado, but many people in the know are calling this one of his best. To my mind, it has the feel of an European director's film rather than one from an American raised in Brooklyn. Think Bertolucci if you will. Though that may be largely attributable to the backdrop. While watching VCB, I was intermittently reminded of Stealing Beauty, because the central idea of young American women rediscovering themselves among unknown people in a beautiful foreign land is common for both films. Interestingly, within this genre too this one is unique. Here, the life of the protagonists remain exactly the same at the end of 96 minutes of storytelling. Only thing they possibly take away from it are the life-defining experiences of a summertime.

How did the characters play? I love Javier Bardem. It's a pity I've seen very little of him.(only No Country last year, got to watch more espanol movies) He makes it look entirely feasible for an intriguing stranger to walk up to the table of two totally unknown young ladies and propose upfront a weekend tour to another city involving art watching, good wine and food and wholesome sex. His character Juan Antonio the artist does this, and Bardem makes it look completely decent and good-humored. One can only wish one could do that in real life.
Penelope Cruz has been walking away with the awards. She has the author backed role which is the centre piece of this drama, and she plays it with perfect over the top panache'. But it's Scarlett Johansson who really impressed me with understatement. A petite bundle of genius, this young lady is.

If there's anything VCB teaches us, it is this. In life it's not always possible to know what you really want. But if you have a good idea what you don't want, it'll often do.

Tauba tera Jalwa

I live in a funny place. Let's see. The other night I got away quiet as a cat, to catch the late show of DevD. I was Desparate. Asking the missus along was out of the question. Firstly, this is the exam season, and she's busy with young Ayushi. Moreover I sensed she might not like it ( I'd heard the second half dragged a bit.) As luck would have it, the screen (screen, is an overstatement. It's actually the friendly neighborhood movie hall) was showing only matinee and evening shows of the flick. For some odd reason, Speed returns(hindi)U/A was showing on the night show. Not amused, I quietly crawled back, to many a jibe from wifey and dear daughter, gleeful at my misadventure. But did I give up? Hell no, I Was desperate.

Thus it happened that this afternoon I played possum and left office early, feeling terribly guilty and all, remembering the hazy old days of bunking school as a kid to watch Shakti . There were, in all, about thirty people in the theater, none of them older than 20. I was in a time warp. I was quite enjoying the film. Then, fifteen minutes from the end, with the story going around in circles, oh, another one of those childhood miracles. Blackout in the theater. Did I mention time warp?

It took inordinately long for the show to resume. After what seemed like a hour and a half(but was actually seven minutes), during which I'd completed two phone conversations and was now seriously weighing my options, action came back on screen. The film dragged to its compromise ending. Am I glad I stayed back till the end? I don't know. But boy did I enjoy my absconding schoolboy act? you bet.

Watch more Dailymotion videos on AOL Video

About the movie. Anurag Kashyap has a way with scripting. Like everybody else is saying, the first half is flawless. If Anurag's treatment has grabbed you by the collar from the very first frame, towards the end of the first half he lifts his craft to such a crescendo, it's like, where do we go from here?

Abhay Deol. One hears Amir Khan has kept a dog named Shahrukh. This lad can raise a kennel full of Khans one of these days. It's a pity his films are hardly getting mass attention. Then maybe it's better this way.

Mahi Gill. What can I say? Watch her to believe. In many ways she became the essence of Paro than in any other version we've seen. You'll say her role has been written too well. But then, you get a feeling she has that ability to redefine every character she plays.

I could go on about every bit player. But the truth is Mr. Kashyap has given his characters so much meat and so little greasepaint, you get to like his folks instantly. I simply loved the three singer/dancers who act as some kind of set prop to Dev's decadence. They reminded of the three balladeers in There's something about Marie, yet so different. It was funny in a very dark sort of way.

If Devdas, as in the original, was essentially about love lost and self-destruction, in the modern day version, he is more about lovelessness and decadence. He can get so bad he'll make SRK's Dev look like a teenager stealing a smoke by the side of the school gym. At the same time he'll be infinitely more vulnerable with his skinny frame curled up in just a pair of dirty jeans on the brothel floor. Coming back to it, that is the whole point of Anurag Kashyap's interpretation. One feels mighty impressed by his work. Towards the denouement of his film he looks a little lost, true, but that's acceptable for somebody with the kind of storyline he has taken on.

I'm afraid I'd given a miss to No Smoking owing to bad reviews. But come March, I'm not going to miss Gulal. It'll be fascinating to watch where Mr. Kashyap goes from here.

Rab and aur sab


Do you see Rab, i.e, God, in Shah Rukh Khan's countenance? Do you, Punk? Because this young lady here, she does. And, of course I don't. But then I've had myopia since about the same time they discovered Ethiopia, which was way before this young lady was even up to the task of wetting her nappies. The lady has a condition, you say? Pity, no? Such a fetching young girl. Like a breeze of fresh air, a friend remarked. Like the girls in breeze soap commercials, I added. Anoushka, her name was. Proficient in every-thing. Dancing, emoting, raising hell on a hyabusa, you name it. Only thing she has a glitch with is her face recognition software. It seems she has difficulty in identifying people every time they change their clothes, don a pair of contacts, or put mousse in their hair. No problemo, I said. You only gotta buy yourself a lenovo, lady, and you're all set. (Wait ! Are those lenovo laptops designed to recognize chhote nawab's mug only? food for ponderance.)

Decades ago, one thirty-something filmmaker had told a story of a couple who got married by circumstances. How they lived the bliss of love blooming haule haule in the surroundings of mundane domesticity until tragedy struck, was the mainstay of his masterpiece, celebrated for decades around the world. Ever afterwards, dozens of films have been made in India with a similar starting point. The premise is a tad frayed at the edges. Umpteen directors good, bad and ugly have grabbed that ball and run with it. Until one day, the ball dropped. With apologies to John Donne, one needn't send to ask on whom the ball dropped, it dropped on Adi.

Several reviewers have trashed the movie and vent disappointment over Aditya Chopra's fall from grace. I wouldn't dwell on it. Let me list the positives. The sets are good. SRK as the bespectacled John Doe a.k.a Surindar Sahni gets a B- plus for effort. But only as Suri, mind you. In his other avatar he is insufferable. If you can skip the movie but sneak inside the hall at about 70 minutes into the proceedings, you could stay for 5 minutes and watch the Shyamak Davar choreographed Bollywood tribute dance, which I found kind of nice despite ghastly music. Especially Kajol briefly impersonating Nargis which was really something. And surely among positives, young Anoushka too, she's a darling. I can never forgive Adi Chopra for giving her a wrong launch. In spite of being YRF product with an Amritsari backdrop, the film has very little sarson-da-saag and makki-di-roti, like some apprehensive souls had feared.

What else is there? Oh, SRK will walk out of this debacle unscathed. Same for Yash Raj Films, who look like they can take 10 flops for every moderate hit they make. Not so much Aditya Chopra, whose credentials as the midas man should take a serious beating after this.

The year end is drawing nigh. It's been a pathetic year for the big budget vehicles for top league Mumbai stars and directors. The biggest success among which was perhaps Singh is Kingg, a fact that pretty much tells the whole story. I'm, however, going to put my money on the Christmas release. Maybe Amir has a finger on market pulse. Maybe Ghazini will deliver. One lives in hope.

Listen easy

A friend sent the link to a long lost Panchamda number in Bengali. Lost to time, the fallibility of ferromagnetics or spring cleaning. Who would know?

Without preamble I share with you, then, the man and his song.



Surprisingly (it being such a wonderful composition) the hindi version is way lesser known. I don't think it was even a big hit. Maybe RD wasted it on the wrong film. Which film, which song? Quiz, anyone?

This weekend, I've also been listening to a bit of popular music. On that note, let me ask you, as is done in the blogging parlance, how fab is the music of Yuvraj? I would admit to having taken quite a liking to it. Especially the one least heard in promos. The opening of Zindagi Zindagi blew me because it sounds more like Gulzar saab and Panchamda than Rahman. The choice of woodwind, in this case a harmonica, harks back to nostalgia. From the next loop onwards Rahman takes over and it's into familiar territory. But the first four lines, wow, it's gold. The movie I couldn't bother watching. Not a fan of the Subhash the Ghai. The early reviews bear out the wisdom of my decision.

An fabulously enjoyable update on the movie and it's music you'll find here, and I quote....

Yuvraj is a film of Katrina Kaif and Salman Khan 2nd movie and in Yuvraj Movie Salman Khan and Katrina Kaif is going to be married. Everybody everyone in bollywood and salman khan and katrina kaif’s fan want to see they both married and work in films together as much as they can. Yuvraj Movie is one more movie where peoples can watch Salman khan and Katrina kaif Together in Yuvraj Movie.

Speaking of popular music, for some reason I'm unable to stop singing Tha tha karke from Golmaal returns ever since I was forced to watch it. I think it should get an award or something in the most addictive song of the year category.

In early listenings of Rab ne Banadi Jodi, it sounds easily the most lukewarm score ever for a Yashraj film, more so considering the movie presumably involves a lot of dancing.

A follow-up on me and the market meltdown will be out shortly so watch this space.

Other fish to fry

Did you miss me? I guess not.(then proceeds to drink a jug of water and leak from hundreds of bullet holes in his body to demonstrate the point) - The mask

Hello friends. In case you were wondering, which I'm certain you weren't, yours truly had been alive and well and in the meantime attending to generally uninteresting stuff. Been going through a dull phase, with nothing worthwhile to report, and the old creative ying dying a slow death.

On the duller side of things, fish in my daughter's fishbowl had been dropping off at a steady clip. Now, at the very beginning, had I googled a bit on the subject, like I do with most things including finding a proper euphemism for dying, I'd have known instantly that the most suitable fish for keeping in fishbowls are the Siamese betta. They are the piesces equivalent of career convicts who are most at ease inside their 8'x8' cell. The wide open world bothers them so much they keep doing bad things. I've seen a betta live in a wine glass for weeks in perfect contentment. The local pet shops curiously call them the fighter fish. I haven't seen them fight with anybody. In fact, in a multiracial environment, they are most likely to seek a nook and hide in it. We had one in our bowl. That fellow would hide inside a faux bush all day. Coming up for food once in a while seemed for him like too much trouble. One day the pearl gourami killed him. But we'll perhaps come back to that.

Back on the subject of choosing a fish, instead of doing a little research, at first we went by whatever inputs visual media gave us. And beautiful fat goldfish in bowls were all the rage over tv and print. What is it they have against the poor goldfish, these hateful media men, is something I might never understand. They have caused more deaths in the goldfish populace by inducing people to keep them in bowls, than perhaps Henry Ford did among the human race by introducing them to automobiles. Goldfish in a bowl is easily the most unreliable creature on the face of the earth. Now you see them having one helluva party, eating and shitting in wild merriment. You saunter off to the kitchen to fix a little snack, having gotten a little peckish yourself, y'know, just looking at them. What with having a snack, taking a call, catching a TV show, you might get delayed by minutes and next time you look, one of them will be belly up. Happened to me coupla dozen times. I never count on goldfish not to die on me without prior notice. Inconsiderate bunch of quitters, I call them.

Nowadays, we've gotten wise. We now keep only those fish which the pet shop boys call hard fish. I think they mean hard to kill. The Steven Seagulls and Bruce Willes of the fishworld, y'know? We keep Gouramis, tetra, assorted colored carp etc. Even these manage to die under mysterious circumstances. I suspect there are evil spirits of dead fish haunting that bowl. My daughter is keeping a headcount. The day we kill our 50th fish, we'll throw a party and feed them all some pork chops and tuna salad.

All these talk about fish reminds me of a scene from You don't mess with the Zohan, the new kickass comedy caper from Adam Sandler, ideally watched on the home theater on some evening when the kids have gone to some birthday party or something. It's not actually sexually explicit, but many scenes may not be fit for family viewing. Watch this where Zohan the crack agent of Mossad is about to capture a Palestinian terrorist, and they are challenging each other's pain endurance. Enjoy!

Khaak-sar



I often enjoy watching films that no one else seem to bother with. Like these two films I caught lately. One, with great potential, competent cast, some sort of an improbable storyline that's the stuff of most great comedy, some witty one-liners and smart scenes here and there, but altogether a waste of effort. Another, the second from a line of awfully fucking disrespectful films that have come to define a genre. The genre which is neither ABCD nor American Pie. But first let's talk about Mallicka Sherawat.

Ooh, the way she turns at the door, makes a face and throws Khaak-sar at Kay Kay Menon ! Maybe Maan gaye Mughal-e-azam could be endured once just for that moment. And all that at the end of a spate of hilarity from good old Sanjay Chhel, where he does 'fun with Urdu', an oft-visited terrain in Bollywood, but still manages to turn out some originals. Consider this.

Kay Kay (to Pawan Malhotra) : Thode Mashruf hain bhai, kal baat karte hain.
Pawan : Mushroom kha rahela hai to kya hua re?

Kay Kay: Don bhai to bahut bade fan hain hamare mausiki ke
Mallicka: Kiski mausi? Aap ki mausi bhi singer hain? Meri mausi bhi gaati hain. Bhajan.

While Mallicka and Sanjay Chhel keep the show running, Paresh Rawal and Rahul Bose keep ruining it. About Paresh, we needn't elaborate. Nowadays he unfailingly gets into this loud bigger-than-the-script mode. So extremely annoying, everybody hates him for it. About Rahul, I think he is a misfit for this sort of a game. Not his forte. He's much better understated. His flaws with comic timing is exposed here every now and then.

In the end, it's Ms. Sherawat's film. Say what you will, but I can't help feeling sorry for her. She needed a hit at this point, and God knows she did all she could, and then some. But all her efforts lay wasted in a product put together in a hurry, a product running frequently out of funds by the looks of it, a sad mishmash in all hues of brilliance and shoddiness. Sigh!




When you are among the presence of the great Kumar Patel, you tell your sensibilities go see a man about a dog. Or some other animal.

In this, their second outing, Harold and Kumar are a much improved lot. They are no longer gawky undergrads posturing as adults. Now they've come of age. Now they aren't out of their depths even while smoking weed with Dubya. Then they have this conversation with the Prez.

-Dude, this is weed.
-That's Alabama Kush. That's only the finest.
-So you get high and then you put other people who smoke weed in jail? That's so hypocritical.
-Yeah? Well, let me ask you something, Kumar. You like giving hand jobs?
- No, sir.
- You like getting hand jobs?
- Yeah.
-All right. Well, that makes you a fucking hypocriticizer too. So shut the fuck up and smoke my weed.

Exceptional vision has gone behind that scene. Makes you see why everybody loves America. By the way, if you haven't heard Micky Avalon's brand of genital-bragging rap yet, do click the above utube link. Awe inspiring, I should say. All in all, a coupla hours well spent. To hell with propriety.

God Tussi Great Ho- the review
(Another one bites the dust)

Bruce : Lord, feed the hungry, and bring peace to all of mankind. How's that?
God : Great... If you wanna be Miss America.

God : Bruce, you have a divine spark. You have a gift for bringing joy and laughter to the world. I know, I created you.
Bruce : Quit bragging.

Say you were Rumi Jaffrey for a half-year. No, let's say God gave you the kind of resources and laissez faire Mr. Jaffrey had while he tried to reproduce Bruce Almighty in amchi Mumbai. Now, the first thing you'd probably want to do is exclude the brand of humor in the original movie that you believe your Indian audience might not appreciate. For example, like in the lines above. Mark it, I said it's what you believe, not I. And definitely not your viewers, who, according to you, are from Ulhasnagar and Jhumri Talaiya and such like, and they are so crass that a brilliantly impossible story and kickass punchlines can't hold their attention for one hundred and sixty odd minutes unless your vertically challenged club bouncer of a hero struts in wearing his form hugging floral shirt and breaks into a vulgar jig every now and then to the tune of some asinine music. You'd also feel somehow that the God-meets-man-and-shows-some-tricks scenario can only appeal to the audience if presented with the right sort of special effects,e.g, melting skies, a road on the clouds, folks walking on air and vaporising at will, that sort of stuff. You'd moreover, doubtless require that between your bouncer and his girl, there should be a rival lover angle for comic relief. Hell, it worked in Mujhse Shaadi Karogi, and it worked in MPKK, didn't it? It always works man, and you know how to do it. In fact, your first half should only comprise your brand of triangular fun, right? God? Oh He'll wait. You know your crowd too well. Hell, you can twist them around your middle finger, huh, Rumi?

(But guess what, Rumi Almighty? While you were busy touching up the special effects, somebody's gone and changed the rules. The audience now, most unfair of them, are hardly pining for an item number on Aksa beach. Even your mentor doesn't know what the viewer wants anymore. Yes, the formidable Dhawan grapples today with the balancing game between the republic of Barka kana and the plex crowds. And you thought you had it all made, didn't you?)

Nuff said. If you were Rumi you wouldn't make these mistakes, I'm sure. I know I wouldn't. The trick here was making it with minimal creative liberties. One had perhaps one of a dozen greatest original comedies of all times, and all one needed to do was add small desi touches here and there. One needn't let loose a creative diarrhea. One certainly needn't select a lead actor who plays all his roles like he is on stage doing a live show (my choice was Arshad Warsi, remember?) and a former beauty queen who looks like she hasn't slept in a week (Priyanka, go spend a month at some spa, please, and quit worrying how Katrina is moving ahead). Speaking of mistakes one shouldn't make, one should also never, never include that mad monkey Sohail Khan in any sort of cinematic enterprise.

In the original film, the homeless man never talks to Bruce Nolan. He does it with his puns on the placard. In the last scene, his board reads: Armageddon outta here. And his face morphs into God's (Morgan Freeman's) as he walks away. In Rumi's edition, he's made that man Salman's chummy and confidante. Towards the end, he is granted a long denied wish, and turns into a barking dog. They put him in a cage and take him away. An eye-opener on how far backwards Rumi had got it all.

Revisiting a dear cousin

No one pulls the wool over the eyes of a Gambini. Especially this one.

This piece of news. Somehow it doesn't make me too happy. Maybe because the film about to be remade is a great big personal favorite. Maybe because I'd wanted to make it in Bollywood when I grew up. Maybe because I just cannot look at Ravi Chopra without a certain amount of disdain. He of the B-films. (This is something I just noticed, but all Mr. Chopra's films now seem to start with a B, not unlike Ms. eKta K-apoor.)



But first things first. Do I have reservations against Govinda playing Joe Pesci's role? Let's see, in all of Joe's illustrated career, this will perhaps be rated as one of his two finest roles (the other of course, being Goodfellas). Can Chi-Chi be quite as good? (Will he look too old? C'mon, surely nobody can look older than Joe?) Well, I'm prepared to give him a proper go at it, with a proper director and all. I have faith in him, I do. Not in Mr. Chopra's sensibilities, I don't.

Up next. Is that Lara there playing Marisa Tomei's character, or Tabu? Either way, where is the role for the other? I can't conceive of one. Another sweet brainwave of Mr. Chopra? Look, we can't play much with Ms. Tomei's role here, can we? It was her winning the Academy on an outside chance for this role, remember?



Remember these immortal lines?

Vinny Gambini: What about these pants I got on? You think they're okay?
Mona Lisa Vito: Imagine you're a deer. You're prancing along. You get thirsty. You spot a little brook. You put your little deer lips down to the cool, clear water - BAM. A fuckin' bullet rips off part of your head. Your brains are lying on the ground in little bloody pieces. Now I ask ya, would you give a fuck what kind of pants the son-of-a-bitch who shot you was wearing?

Delicate delicate stuff, constructing this character. Doesn't make it any easier when you want to distribute footage between the lawyer's fiancee' and the defendant's girlfriend.Or is Tabu playing Judge Chamberlain Haller, by an wild stretch of imagination? That, would be fun to watch.

Apart from the lead actors, then, and every other peripheral detail, the film is about two Americas looking at each other with a lot of distrust and hostility. The southerner's attitude to the big city slickers who, as a matter of fact, are Italian-Americans, or worse, Jews, borders on xenophobia. And the City slickers? Their take on these hicks is best summed up by this line:

Vinny Gambini: Hey Stan, you're in Ala-Fuckin-Bama. You come from New York. You killed a good old boy. There is no way this is not going to trial.

Hard to be set into an Indian context, but then, you're reminded of our own north-south divide and you're reminded of Ek Duje Ke Liye and you say, OK, not that hard.

On another level, this is the story of the underdog winning against unsurmountable odds. Because he has truth on his side. Because of John 8.32."ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free". Whenever in my limited power of appreciation for works of art I've had doubts about the quality of something, I've asked myself this:

Does it bring a lump to my throat? Did I come back with a tear in my eyes?

Yes, it does. In more ways than one. And I'd always wanted this dear cousin to be revisited like that. With a tear of joy. Somehow, I find it hard to believe Mr. Chopra and team will be able to recreate that ethos.

You have freed me traveler, now go free yourself.

To reach the castle of the Zade emperor, you must take the north road. And cross the border between Heaven and Earth. Then you'll have to pass through the gate of no-gate. (Which means you either have to be a Zen master or you must be carrying something very special.) On to the Five Elements Mountains, land of the Immortals. Where, once every 500 years, the Jade Emperor hosts the Peach Banquet. It is here that the Heavenly Ministers gather to celebrate the longevity and drink the elixir of immortality.

Don't know about you people, but me, I'm a sucker for such crypto-Confucian nonsense. Over the weekend, I'd been watching The Forbidden Kingdom. As usual, late to the party. But having a whale of a time.

It is said in enlightened circles that even the greatest Zen masters and Taoist immortals could not actually defy the laws of gravity until a genius named Yuen Woo-Ping came along and introduced them to the invisible wire trick. You see, the no shadow kick, the Buddha palm technique and the one finger death touch were all very fine maneuvers to have in your repertoire, but when push came to shove, they just couldn't make you fly. Only when they learned how to give a fuck for physics, did they become the stuff of Academy awards. To borrow an expression from the movie, their ch'i became like fire. And I became a true fan ever since.



I hear the biggest action flicks of today question the very demarcation of right and wrong. They delve deep into the mind of the evil and try to find out what drives him. Logistics not permitting, I have not yet watched the greatest superhero/action movie ever made, so you can call it a case of sour grapes, but I still doubt if I'll be equal to the task. Given a choice, I'd pick the simple Amrish Puri type villains over the uber-complex Joker any day. In this regard, the Chinese hardly ever disappoint. Their villainous warlords are straightforward and true to imagination. Take a regular despot like Mao Zedong. Throw in the flowing tresses and some high kicks. Add a goatee for effect, and you're pretty much done.

A good villain is a good start. However, he alone is often not enough for a good evening's entertainment. You need to have a silent monk doubling as the crazy monkey, a drunken immortal who mouths the most confounding Zen philosophy, but as it turned out, was not really immortal to begin with, and an orphaned kid prodigy mysteriously named the Southern Sparrow, who for some unknown reason shifts back and forth between the first and the third person while alluding to herself. A witch who performs most of her sorcery with the aid of a mile-long whip, or, in the absence of it, her silver white wig, which can magically grow to, like, a length of fifty yards instantly at the moment such need may arise. That is to say nothing of the misfit hero who has little to do except looking lost and acting dumb. Only then you can look forward to time well spent.

What else? Oh there's plenty. Gems like this when Jackie Chan (Lu Yan) gets the wrong side of an arrow and is looking at slim chance of survival without his elixir.

Jason : He needs wine. It's his elixir.
Medicine man : We will send a walking monk.
Lu (From the bed) : Don't you have a running monk?

Or during the famous fight scene between Chan and Jet Li ( the monk):

Lu Yan : [the Silent Monk does a Praying Mantis stance] Praying Mantis! Very good... for catching bugs! But not Tiger!
[does a Tiger Stance]

Paisa wasool. Plus I also learned the Mandarin for "Cheers". Which is, Tamb'ei!
I recommend. But then, I'm shallow. You watch at your own risk.

In other news, we'd been at work studiously perfecting the Moj'ito. Wonderful drink for warm monsoon evenings. A little birdie tells me that Castro had once remarked, " Moj'ito ergo sum".

The idea-raising campaign

The other night I was trying to watch an abomination of a comedy called Mere Baap Pehle Aap. It made me somewhat sad and pensive. It made me wonder what happened to good old storytelling in Hindi films. What happened to originality of thought, and most importantly, whatever happened to the healthy Bollywood tradition of wholesome plagiarism? I look at the releases of this year, and they are a very sad bunch. The Mumbai Film Industry is having a bad day at office.

So here's something I thought of doing. Something close to my heart. Now, I may not have revealed it to a lot of people, but I've wanted to make movies all my life. Yes, I'd also wanted to meet Santa Claus, but those were really early days. The moviemaking wish has been a consistently strong one ever since I learnt to put my fingers together and frame a shot, which was pretty early too (I was all of 15 I think). As I grew older, I learned to appreciate that writing an original screenplay and directing it is too much hard work for anybody's good, unless you are Quentin Tarantino, who I knew I wasn't (Y'know, for a brief moment there, RGV thought he was, but then, everybody now knows the score.)

So here's what I'd do instead. I'd settle on playing the movie producer. My duties will include selecting an working title, an original story idea, deciding on the chaps to direct and play the characters and hopefully find finance for the party to begin. (this will be the tough part, but here I'm counting on my blaudience, whose number now threatens to touch double figures. But I brag, and digress...)

You can say my choice of story inspirations are shallow. To which I shall say, "Oh yes I'm Shallow Hal, what the fug is your problem? Who wants to watch DEEP anyway? "

Without further prelude, then, dear friends, we present the line-up of the first 5 ventures from Digdowndeep Productions. Don't get fooled by the frivolous tone. These are serious business proposals, worthy of top-dollar investments. These five original films have been long time favorites, and I'm ready to bet on their viability in an Indian adaptation. I'm sure there are countless other Hollywood and European films waiting to get inspired by. But these are, to my mind, like infant orphans screaming their hearts out begging to be adopted. We'll start at the shallow end of the pool, and gradually go deeper.

1. Ane Wala Pal (Next)



There's the thing about the future. Every time you look at, it changes. Because you looked at it. And that changes everything else.
This is a sci-fi, and not the 2050 sort. It seems the character played by John Abraham has the magical power to see two minutes ahead into the future. Into his own future. When he meets the Jiah Khan character, his abilities dramatically improve. a terrorist group gets involved in the story, and all all sorts of excitement ensue. For further details, visit imdb. To be directed by Abbas Tyrewala. (I'd have loved to rope in Shekhar kapur, but I want to finish it before 2050.) The film will be equally viable with Emraan Has me and Neha Uberoi, but it will have to bear the dubious Bhatt tag.

2. Achambit ( Bedazzled)



Fair? Who do you think you're talking to? I don't recall anybody ever accusing me of being fair before. I think I'm insulted.
A deal with the Devil. Going hilariously wrong. I don't believe anybody else in India can look and walk the role played by Liz Hurley other than Malaika Arora Khan. Casting her is 80% of the job done. The male lead will be up for grabs. My preference is Shahid Kapoor. Aftab Shivdasani would fit just as well, but lack the presence and the innocence. Sohail Khan will do the honors at the megaphone for two reasons. He' s had experience in supernatural comedy with the disastrous Hello Brother. And he might be comfortable in directing the devil, 'cause she's family. The love interest? Somebody giggly and stupid. Genelia if Shahid plays the lead.

3. Gattu Parmeswar (Bruce Almighty)



Hood: Okay Cool, man, the day a monkey comes out of my butt is the day you'll get your sorry.
Bruce: What a coincidence, because that's TODAY.
Man is unhappy with God. God meets him and hands over his reign. Just to show where it pinches. Who do I want to play Jim Carrey? Let's see, Govinda did a first rate job in Kiyunki main Jhooth Nahin Bolta (Liar, Liar), but the Chi-Chi of today won't look credible. Akshaye Khanna does decent comedy, I'll only have to get him a decent hairpiece. The only other choice is Akshay Kumar. While he has the gift of timing, he may not be adequate in the motormouth blabbering department. Then again, there's Arshad Warsi. Looks to me the most suitable.
For Jennifer Aniston's role, I would take Ayesha Takia without hesitation. But we need somebody with a smaller rack. For that one scene, remember? Well then, Aarti Chhabria it is. Competent and underrated.
Amitabh as God? Of course that would be the most unimaginative choice. We'll try Nana patekar instead. he even looks a lot like Morgan Freeman.
And no other director for me please. Has to be David Dhawan.

4. Machhli Jal Ki Rani Hai ( Like a Fish out of water)

It's different. They don't make films more different than this. A heist for, of all things, a rare tropical fish. Cynical plotters. A femme fatale. Bloodbath. The meek inherits the earth. Bible couldn't have been more profound.
Important thing here is to choose our femme fatale. I'd leave the spot open for Monica Bellucci's character. It'll be a toss-up between Kajol And Sush. Kajol, a tad easy on eye make-up. Sush, with a bit of a makeover, to look her actual age. Whoever has the dates. Needless to say it'll be the role of a lifetime for both.
I'm not too choosy about the hoods. One of them should be Naseruddin Shah. And the meek fish expert, the protagonist? Rajpal Yadav, anyone? Remember Main Meri Patni aur Woh?
Nobody in Mumbai can make it better than Sanjay F. Gupta. Let's not look any further.











5. Kahan Ho Malik? ( O brother, where art thou?)



They have a plan, but not a clue.

Three jailbreak fugitives. A stashed away treasure. A fast-paced road movie. American deep south in the '30s. Backdrop of racial strife, religion and an upcoming election in backstate Mississippi. A plethora of colorful characters. I don't know how my Odyssey will be Indianised. But I do want to get this movie made in Mumbai.
We'll have to think on the lines of the freedom struggle and Hindu-Muslim riots. And at the same time, make a classy, fast, light-hearted and fun film. Tough ask. We might go to Vidhu Vinod Chopra and ask him to take charge. He should also bring on board his immensely talented director Rajkumar Hirani. Vidhu did a great job with 1942, he should be able to replicate it here. Or we can approach Vishal Varadwaj. Since he's been so good with Shakespeare, Homer for him should be home turf.
I don't care much who play the characters. I only want Saif to play George Clooney's role. Suave and rakish at the same time, Saif can.
Who will provide Soggy Bottom Boys' Music? Who will sing "Man of Constant sorrow?" Well, the issue will be settled at leisure.

That, then, will be my gift to Bollywood this summer. Anyone wishes to make such gifts is most welcome. We are about to start a campaign to raise the maximum number of story ideas. If you are reading this, if you're into films and Bollywood, and if you keep a blog (too many ifs?), you must also think of doing a tag. In fact I can readily think of three people, Amrita, Arnab and Ramsu who'll easily make a more handsome contribution to our campaign.

Mujer de mi hermano,La

Does eating exactly 20 grapes for breakfast make you radiant and succulent like Barbara Mori? Must it take an impotent man to be cold in what is obviously a heated pool at night with his horny young wife, who has recently rediscovered her sexuality through an adulterous affair? Can fornicating only on Saturday nights raise your ying or something? Isn't it odd that “Soy alérgico a los peces” is an expression you learn early in Spanish classes? (Is it a genetic thing in the Hispanic race which makes them largely allergic to fish?) Why should the walls in the master bedroom of a wealthy entrepreneur (where much of the action take place) look like the walls of a warehouse? What will make a man piss in the pool in his older brother's home after having sex with the brother's wife?

A barrage of such questions, and more, raced through my mind as I sat watching La Mujer De Mi Hermano . And Peanuts man that I am, I was like " no,yes,no,yes,maybe, what do I care?" Y'know, Peppermint Patty and Sally Brown rolled into one.
It's a bit late in the day writing some review for a three-year-old film. But some things just have to be done and be away with. Ever since I heard of barbara Mori and utubed her, I'd been looking for her much talked about bona fide movie debut. Then, they say, if you really really want something, the whole universe, and the torrent networks, will come together to get it for you. They are right. So I've had the film on my hard disk about a month now but since I waste so much time moonlighting on other peoples' blogs, I could finish watching it only this evening.

With a title like My Brother's Woman, can you expect anything more than an arty skin flick? Does the film raise profound ghosts on subjects of Catholicism, abortion, homosexuality? Is the backdrop of a Latin American society and their family values essential to the narrative? Have I ever seen an issue like sibling homosexual exploitation being brought out in a movie? Is there any other surprise in the storyline? Did the predictable ending disappoint? Does the film work, as any sort of meaningful cinema?

Why not, yes, very much, nope, none, no, and yes, sort of.

And finally, does Barbara Mori rock? Am I fan now? Am I looking for her other films too? Do I think casting her in Kites was a good idea?

YESSSSS! Yes,yes and I don't think so.

While finishing, the best piece of dialogue : ( On the morning after)

Zoe's gay friend : For the love of God! Wipe that guilty look off your face. I wish I woke up with something to feeI guilty about.

Zoe( Mori) : Look at how he left, that is--
ZGF : Who cares how he left? What matters is how you came.

Stupendous! Four stars.

Parting Shot


Couldn't help it. Had to utube Barbara Mori. Hottie alright. From the clip she appears to have a propensity towards falling into water. Let's hope she gives us reason to ogle while flying a kite with Hrithik. Also trying to find La Mujer de mi hermano.

Your pajamas... were stolen?
Yep. I wonder what this city is coming to if a bloke's pajamas are no longer safe.
( Lt. Kellaway & Stanley Ipkiss, The Mask)

My sentiments somewhat. I wondered the same wonderment last evening (with a different if) when I asked three friends, one after another, to come over and let's drink some fine whiskey and spend a great evening watching the DVD of No Country. (Ok, quite mediocre whiskey actually, but that's beside the point.) Each one of them declined, citing lame reasons. So here was I, and there was Anton Chigurh and all that gore. And my wife somewhere in the background constantly jabbering at me for exposing the kiddo to such mad violence.
.... Caught in that sensual music all neglect/Monuments of unageing intellect.
I won't try to review the movie. It's been reviewed enough. Apparently there's a raging debate on about who killed Llewelyn Moss, the Mexicans or Chigur. I really couldn't figure out, though I might just go with the former. And then again, if Chigur really was inside that motel room when the Sheriff entered, or, the Sheriff was just trying to picture him inside. I figured the later.
The point everybody seems to have converged on is that The Brothers Coen have come out of their creative rut back into the noir zone and dark humor. Well I dunno. The movie felt more dark than humorous. Although there were some brilliant flashes like this..
-Don't put it in your pocket.
It's your lucky quarter.
-Where you want me to put it then?
- Anywhere. Not in your pocket.
Or it'll be mixed in with the others
and become just a coin.
Which it is.
Priceless. But mostly it got so dark you could use a flashlight to catch that humor. I'll take their bright humor any day. Think O Brother. Or even Big Lebowski.
Having said that, it's a nicely crafted film all the way. Sort of grows on you. But it's not overwhelming. It certainly stays longer with you than Departed. But nowhere near as long as A Beautiful Mind, or Forrest Gump.
I'm drinking more of that mediocre stuff tonight and trying to watch George Clooney. It's my oscar week.