Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall/ Witty remake, he might not suffer a fall!

Humpty, and his Dulhania!

Convinced for another watch, 500^th week  run,

DDLJ for me has always been fun!

Remember that phone-booking, one show at the plex,

No cleavages shown, no muscles to flex,

Yet that aura of silly romance and charm,

Still makes us smile, assuring no harm.

And, almost two decades, there’s a remake of the same,

The rules have changed, but not entirely the game.

The girl from Ambala demands a designer wear,

Moves to Delhi, unknowingly falls in ‘pyaar’!

The guy, garrulous, blessed with happy feet,

Helps her, loves her, and offers a beer treat.

But as destined by the screenplay here,

She has to return home soon,

The hero follows, to her town, to her own room.

He has to compete with the NRI groom to prove his mettle,

The tough ‘bauji’, as usual, would finally settle

The marriage, and give his daughter away,

A patriarch staunch has, after all, the final say.

So the two hours, and almost a half, is woven around this story,

For all the fans of Bollywood by now, know who will get the ‘gori’!

And, if you are a DDLJ freak, you will love the references more,

And, if you aren’t, no problem, for there’s someone else to adore,

A celebration called Alia Bhatt, who shines and shines to glory,

A natural star, ‘hot’ by birth she claims, the star of this story.

She’s no Kajol, nor meant to be, poetic as her name,

And so does Varun, the SRK –part, slowly rising to fame.

The NRI, a doctor, Siddharth puts up his best,

Screen-time short, let down compared to the rest.
Gaurav and Sahil as Humpty's friends, surely steal the show,
The music, in parts is good, some high on spirits, some low.

Still songs galore, but one remains, long after they are gone,

Arijit Singh and Shreya’s duet, heart-melting ‘Samjhawaan’!

Shashank Khaitan’s directorial debut is a tale cleverly crafted,

The source at times well-dissolved and diffused, and dissipated.

The man behind this cunning work is the man, who knows what sells,

Johar catering to a newer generation; he dares, he retells.

No one here takes Hindi films, seriously I can vouch,

Inspite of being a rom-com trash, worth-watching on your couch,

The film here differs vastly from the source from where it takes,

And changes a perception of a daddy-dear, and daringly makes,

Him a loving son, a caring hubby and a father oh, so cute,

Unlike our ‘bauji’ in Amrish Puri, a patriarch, (ah! Such a brute!)

Whose wife laments in a long sequence, how women are deprived in life,

How she had been a victim throughout, as a daughter, a sister or a wife!
The father listens to the daughter; the father, to the wife,
Unlike his former counterpart, where chauvinism ran rife.

Portrayals of clichés and stereotypes change and change so well,

Poised portrayal, and by no means, the script do they fail.

If such a remake, and finer acts, are served with cunning and wit,

None can ‘admit impediments’, ‘Humpty promise’, it will all be a super hit!

And those, in search of ‘good’ Hindli films,

Might now no more wander,

For in three months comes Bharadwaj’s ‘Hamlet’,

Where Shahid avenges in ‘Haidar’!

PC : Google.com

Rhyme-N-Reels

Raas-Leela

The colours and vibrance have inspired me to return to my blog, after a long time. It is clichéd, but time constraint these days hardly force me to a theatre, and I am left with no time to pen down whatever thoughts cross my mind. In that way I should be thankful to Sanjay Leela Bhansali, whose contemporary take on Romeo and Juliet, woven within a  lavish canvas made me write after a sabbatical.

I remember someday in November 2010, when Guzaarish released, and I had rushed to watch it on the first day itself. I wanted to write on the film, but I came up with a very ordinary verse as a tribute to the poetry on screen by the director. And as I think of writing my views on his latest offering titled Goliyon Ka Raasleela Ram-Leela, I think I should revert to that genre of a verse expressing my opinions.

Trash is my verse, not so the film,
A flight of fantasy to an unknown realm,
Praises and blame, Bhansali considers not,
For souls and bodies together are wrought
in a play of passion, lovely and bright,
Bhansali returns to prove his might!

“What's in a name? …a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet;”

In Bhansali’s Goliyon Ka Raasleela, our Montague and Capulet find retreat.

Gulab ko pulao bulate to kha jate kya?

Our Bard finds an equivalent in Ram-Leela.

From a grayish palette to a canvas so bright,

Bhansali’s time finally seems right

for a release that’s long awaited post his last,

He excels in story-telling, in his choice of cast.

Gender discourse, instincts and lust,

This retelling of Ishaqzaade, however, is a must.

Passion breathing forth from the beginning of the story

The gunshots, the conflict, the blood and gory,

Passion blooming in the remote village of the West,

In the lip-locks galore, the performers at their best!

Amidst two sects involved in war,

Come two souls to take you far

from the clichéd directors who shy away from sin,

Bhansali here is the genie, he himself is Aladin.

Soaked in red, blue, green, and in yellow,

Coloured is the vision, the content not mellow.

A veteran in Supriya, a ‘killer’ in her look,

She smites, she surprises and excels in her attitude.

Devaiah, Richa, Abhimanyu amaze,

Piercing is Sharad and Barkha’s gaze.

Dare we not praise the majestic queen, a talent so bright?

Undisputed lady with her moves and emotions delight,

Chiseled and versatile Ranveer complements Deepika’s part,

From balcony to bed, till passion rips them apart,

Dejected and doomed, in the hands of fate,

In death they unite, ends their search for a soul-mate.

The story, the plot, and the issues not so novel,

It’s the vision and the valor where the director excels.

He scores the music, harmonious and loud,

Aditi Paul and Shreya’s renditions make us so proud,

So does Aditya, the Narayan son,

The credit song, must say, is a full-on

foot-tapping choice, Osman Mir, ah! What a wondrous voice!

Choreographed by many, and executed by two,

The best in recent times, you agree? For I do!

What falters is a second-half not so tight,

Breath-taking moments rendered light,

Less convincing, action and counter-action follow,

Twists and turns, the editing, a bit hollow!
To add to the hues, is PC's aankh maaro toh pyaar,
She buttons, and sets fire in her new avatar!

Whatever are the views, whatever people say,

At least for once, make your way

To celebrate colours, to indulge in romance,

Give yourself a chance to sing and dance.

Let November be a rhapsody of passion and lust,

Let not this panorama dwindle away in dust,

Let Shakespeare be re-lived amidst the power play,

Let Bhansali bring the tinsel town under his sway.

For me, am truthful to the world of trash,

To the world of songs, party and bash,

To those disturbed at my allegiance to Bollywood,

I apologize, if I appear a little rude

to the grey cells here and there with polished aesthetic view,

And in case you like my verse, is a smile and “Thank You!”

Dil Wala Filim!

Bombay Dreams

“I want to become a pilot” confesses the kid, while his sister looks at him in wonder, fathoming the extent of a lie that he needs to take refuge in, to escape the wrath of an angry father! Ironically, he wants to be “Sheila”, and dance to glory, defying his male-status and plainly refusing to indulge in football, or sports. Zoya Akhtar’s story is the germ of defiance that the anthology celebrates. Here, perhaps is the celebration of deviants, the other side of manliness in the figures of fathers, sons, husbands and singles, that the four short films try to establish within 128 minutes. Again, the anthology is a fight for the directors who leave behind their comfortable zones, and reinforces faith in good cinema, in good Hindi cinema, almost ominously!

The magic begins with Karan Johar. The man behind big budgets, designer clothes and bigger names, with no less than 210-minute directorial ventures, churns his grey cells to carve out a brilliant self, so unknown to the world of cine-goers who still dance to Mahi ve or Radha teri chunri! A revelation in himself, he begins his story with a jolt: a son in his most furious self dashes against his father claiming his homosexuality; mind it, not a “chhakka” but a homosexual. Angst of the characters, the fury within the masked selves of normalcy and the lives living a “lie” (yes, jhoot bolna boori baat hain!) are the hallmarks of Johar here. Complimenting the eloquent silence of Avinash (an adorable and prudent Saqib Saleem) and a layered Randeep Hooda on the railway footbridge is the child singing  Lag jaa gale (Who Kaun Thi?) and one wonders, yes lagja gale…shaayad is janam mein mulakat ho na ho. Ah! Courage my friend, have the courage to steal the moment and live it earnestly! What an idea sir ji, what ethereal moment of proposal! 

There’s violence between the two men. Violence that our society still engages in, as the eternal debate of “come in”/ “come out” continues regarding sexuality. And then there is the woman in her “Dirty Picture” attire who wears “mangal sutra” on her neck and nurtures “kama sutra” in her eyes! Rani Mukherjee is a show-stealer here caught between “happy and gay”, in a conflict between a successful husband and a bisexual-liar, caught between trajectories of truth and lies. The age adding to her beauty and performance, she stands for liberation, freedom from bondage, leaving the men residing in their world of sublime silence and sexuality. Johar, thank you; if there’s a Chitrangada: The Crowning Wish, there will always be your story in our hearts. Surely, Ajeeb daastan hain yeh, kahan shuru kahan khatam. And just for the confrontation scene between the husband and the wife which is aided by the song mubarakein tumhe ki tum, kiseke noor ho gaye, kisike itne paas ho, ke sabse door ho gaye, Johar blissfully becomes the noor for his audience.

As the first film meanders in our thoughts, there is a ten-second fade out (that happens after each story though) leaving the audience in ecstasy. What follows is the brilliant Dibakar Banerjee’s tribute to Ray (Potol Babu: Film Star) and his acute Bangaliana. Incorporating minimalistic use of characters, the story focuses on Nawazuddin Siddique’s one-minute claim to be an actor sharing space with Ranbir Kapoor. The man who mops floors after getting up from bed and feeding Anjali, the emu bird, shares the floor with the star for a moment. Yet, he forgoes his payment only to mime the reminiscences of the day to a bed-ridden daughter who has earlier refused to hear the same old stories of Hrithik Roshan and Om Shanti Om. As she stares at her father’s mime act, we wonder what a piece of work is our director! Tagore plays behind through the tunes of Tobu Mone Rekho, Siddique’s meeting with the dead father (Sadashiv Amrapurkar) and his wife’s words of encouragement that no one can turn him down, work for the story. Joycean in his epiphanic revelations, Ray stamps in the narrative and Tagore in the background are accentuated with the artistic flamboyance of Siddique, Banerjee’s story is an intensely woven narrative within the refreshing format of the anthology.

The failed entrepreneur rises from his ashes to emerge as a doting father. The world surely is in its own place, the film fades out with a shot of the father narrating his day’s events and a neighbour woman in the same chawl in her room, with no stories to tell today. Everyone will come up with a story and a revelation soon, awaiting a moment of realization.

Post-intermission begins Zoya Akhtar’s mastery. Reminding strongly of Sudipto Chattopadhyay’s Paankh, Akhtar’s story treats child psycho-sexuality like never before. For a boy, a father will always want him to be a football or a cricket player. And imagine him robed in his sister’s clothes, wearing his mother’s lipstick and exhibiting his dancing skills to her while in the background Raat hain, jam hain aur hain nasha plays. Yes, Akhtar’s film is a naasha of a sort; a desire to choose, and sometimes keeping the desire behind the veils, nurturing the dreams deep inside, while putting a mask to please the people around, playing football perhaps. There’s intoxication as the little boy (marvelous Naman Jain) watches the girls train themselves at dance, there’s magic when he finds his guardian-angel Katrina Kaif voicing a diktat to keep his dreams going, there’s fun when his sister wants to be a ‘passenger’ instead of being an air-hostess to see the world, and there’s truth when he wants to be a pilot, flying through the turbulent clouds of societal norms, into a world of dance and music! The magical moment is when he asks why, what’s wrong in being a girl? The sheer innocence and the realm of depth that this boy portrays is a moment of finesse. Akhtar surely knows Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, and the last frame where this boy dances to Sheila Ki Jawani, we pray that he lives to fulfill a dream. Half the life, we fulfill the dreams of our parents, we just pray that he does not fall a victim to the wrath of a father who spends two thousand rupees on his football coaching classes, and fails to send her daughter on a history trip, who can afford to nurture a futile dream for his ‘son’, and buys a consolation gift, a Kaif doll to please his daughter! Vicky (Naman Jain) in his glorious performance reminds me of Dedalus: “When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets”, and the story ushers in an epoch of a progressive cinema and a language hitherto uncovered. Tere haath kabhi na aani, is what Vicky’s predicament will be!

Last in the tribute is Anurag Kashyap, and unfortunately, his story remains somewhat half-eaten, just like the Murabba. There’s a sense of drudgery and repetitive moments adding to the vivid waiting of Vijay (Vineet Kumar) outside Big B’s home, but it gets tiresome after a while. But such a tiring wait is life after all! Contrary to the stern father-figure in Akhtar’s narrative, is a humane father here; Sudhir Pandey mimicking Dilip Kumar is an amazing act to watch out for. What this man wants is a bite of the murabba from Amitabh Bachchan, and what follows is his naïve son moving to the city of dreams, leaving no stone unturned to get his father’s wish come true. It does. But is that the end? Well, there’s more to it, and the fun is better revealed at the theatres than this writing here. Kashyap’s is the icing on the cake!

Hero-worship is the driving force to all the cinema lovers. The story builds up this narrative only to realize how facts differ from fiction, how real and reel are the two poles. There’s a sense of mystery, there’s innocence, and then there’s truth. Kashyap’s is a blend of fun and pathos, and becomes a befitting dénouement to the ongoing collage of emotions dedicated to the likes of us who have been brought up on Hindi films, a slice of songs, dances, fights and emotions just like the murabba.

100 years of Indian Cinema. That’s the reason why the four crafted story-tellers weave their dreams together. There is every reason to like the film in its entirety. The crew definitely needs a vote of thanks for creating an almost perfect work of magic. But what is most interesting in the tales is the way the directors have re-defined the question of manliness. It celebrates male-dominated industry but with a pinch of salt! Ironically, it celebrates a group of deviant males, who refuse to submit to society, men who shed their masks of glorified machismo, only to re-emerge as human beings and not just catering to the masses through their “rough-tough Gold Gym” avatars! What sadly remains unexplored, rather unchanged is the portrayal of women. 100 years, and still there are docile, uncomplaining, submissive mothers, a very affectionate and understanding sister, and an unquestioning wife. Besides Johar’s story, no other story captures feminine intricacies. A strategy perhaps, or a liberty on the part of the directors to satirize the patriarchal world, and as for the chick-world, we have to wait for a Gippi perhaps.

Bombay Talkies is the “dhakka” film that so effortlessly creates ripples inside us, it is as sweet as the murabba whose taste lingers long after one has left the theatre, it is that dream that every director wants to transform into reality and every sensible viewer nurtures, and finally it is the passion for cinema, passion as powerful as the lip-lock! 

Thank you Bollywood! There’s no life without Hindi films. Bombay Talkies is a re-affirmation of my dogged devotion. I AM ALIVE!

Picture Courtesy: Wikipedia

A Refreshing Change in Taste!

There’s a spark. A spark at the point of intersection of two streams of urinating men. There’s a gross visual of katakuti khela as these men urinate, vernacular verbal abuses galore and lo, the spark is electrifying enough to exchange their souls!

A still from Hawa Bodol

Prambrata Chattopadhyay’s second directorial venture (after a disastrous Jiyo Kaka) is a harmless comedy of errors. A corporate ‘rascal’ Satrajit (Parambrata) dons jackets and suits, drives an expensive car, nurtures an always ‘angry’ wife Tanuka (Raima Sen) who is stricter than a nurse in a primary school, and fathers a cute kid Tojo (a marvellous Kabir Bhattacharya). An otherwise well-settled epitome of an upper class Bong family, no one knows how he craves for more drinks and freedom until he meets his childhood friend Rajarshi (Rudranil Ghosh). A foil to sophisticated Satrajit, Rajarshi is a Casanova, an upcoming musician, who thrives on drinks, hash and his sharp wit.  And then at a fatal moment when the two return to their golden memories at the saheb para on a deserted road, cursing their own lives and praying if they could exchange the shoes, things get upturned; and the next morning arrives with their wish being granted, and then begins the story of living another man’s life.

Reminding you of the latest advertisement of exchanging phones, Parambrata employs an interesting idea to cater to his audience. What follows is a series of events as they try to cope with their new lives, new people and new avenues. Even the director’s take on old age and parents is also treated effectively as the film proceeds. Flourishing in the entire screenplay is Rudranil’s one-liners, tailor-made for the applauses in the theatre. The film thrives on the interactions between the two wonderful actors, and the supporting cast which include Sudipa Basu, Kamalika and Kaushik Ganguly (after his brilliant elder brother portrayal in Aborto). In the female leads, if they are to be so called, Raima Sen in her limited screen presence is good, and so is Neha Panda.

The film is basically a ‘guy’ film, an aftermath of our Western counterparts like Hangover. An alcoholic man bent on mischief and a henpecked husband exemplify the notions of a buddy film, apart from reasserting gender stereotypes. However, the real assets of the film remain its novelty and the performances. Indradeep Dasgupta’s music is average, although Sahana Bajpayee and Saptarshi Mukherjee’s rendition of Mor bhabonare uplifts the film just before the intermission. Supriyo Dutta’s cinematography and Sujoy Dutta Roy’s editing are worth mentioning too.

The film is not a classic, nor is it meant to be one. Yet it is a journey, an attempt to re-discover the nuances of relationships. Din kshon mapa ache for every man/woman, and however greener the grass appears on the other side, one has to bear the burden of one’s life. Hawa Bodol, almost entirely wrapped in comic essence, tells a story of commoners and the desires they nourish, undergoing a transformation only to realize the contrary. One time watch, but Hawa Bodol definitely calls for a change in the taste of the cine-goers. 

Five Chapters, One lifetime!

       “For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love,

                      Or chide my palsy, or my gout,

                  My five gray hairs, or ruined fortune flout,

                     With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve”

Priyanshu and Dia in Paanch Adhyay

At one point in the movie, Arindam (Priyanshu Chatterjee) asks his wife Ishita (Dia Mirza), “is that you?” He was referring to the perfume she had used, which somehow seemed to him new and ‘strong’. But the essence of the choric question lies in the fact that the perfume is just a pretext; we fail to know the person next to us, even years after staying together. Pratim D. Gupta’s debut shines in the eloquence of sublime silence. Silence, which builds up the tension between the married couple and silence that is beautiful. A promising plot, subtle literary angles, minimalistic use of characters, musical rhapsodies, commendable cinematography and a crafted finesse make Paanch Adhyay a lyrical montage of sounds, sights and colours, not lacking an iota of soul in this modern tragedy.

Divided into five chapters, each named after a Tagore song, Sedin dujone, Ogo bideshini, Amar e path, Amar raat pohalo and Tomay notun kore pabo bole, the film has traces of Tagoreana pervading throughout the film. Arindam even goes on to make Charukatha, his take on Charulata. The film excels in its leit-motif of literary angles. It opens with the beautiful words from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind:  “Clementine: This is it, Joel. It's going to be gone soon. Joel: I know. Clementine: What do we do? Joel: Enjoy it”, and the director opens up a world of a Clementine and Joel, who try hard to erase and evade their predicament, but end up enjoying the little moment of togetherness, that has been allotted to them. One of the finest citations has been that of the Black Swan. As Ranjabati (Sampurna), falters in her first shot, as she fails to portray her passion for her lover in the new version of Charukatha with her Black Swan make-up, Arindam, her director emerges as Thomas Leroy, albeit in a new avatar, to arouse the beloved in her. Ishita reading Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway and Arindam buying a copy of the same in the final frame of the film, subliminally touches upon the crux of the entire story. The short glimpse of the poster of the film Sweet Rush, the idea of Beauty and Truth from Robert Frost's The Rose Family and Priyanshu’s Arindam named after one of the best screen names of Uttam Kumar in Satyajit Ray’s Nayak speak of the director’s penchant for ‘intertextuality’, notwithstanding his long career as a renowned film critic. Paanch Adhyay excels in creating a poem through the references and the adept use of symbolism.

Gupta proves that a film can thrive only with its content, and its technical aspects. Moreover, I don’t remember a single film in the recent past that has only two major characters pulling off the entire film only through their nuanced performances. Priyanshu Chatterjee and Dia Mirza could not have asked for meatier and meaningful roles. A film does not need big names to attract audience and the director uses his available resources at his best in this Kaustuv Roy production. Priyanshu captures Arindam’s dilemma, his pains and his angst in his beautiful eyes. Dia Mirza delivers her best performance. The moment Ishita reveals her secret to Arindam is perhaps one of the finest performances of Mirza, elegant and graceful, effortless yet ethereal. Her Bengali diction is way better than many of her Bollywood counterparts.

Apart from the sensitive story (Pratim D. Gupta) aided by heart-wrenching performances, Paanch Adhyay needs to be praised for its music and its magical cinematography. Santanu Moitra’s harmony reaches its apotheosis in Subha Mudgal and Swanand Kirkire’s renditions of Ure Jay and Uda Jaye placed strategically in the second and the third chapters of the film, capturing the glorified solitude and loneliness of Arindam and Ishita. Agantuk and Baavri are equally impressive. Ananda Chakroborty, the DOP of the film, weaves a magical saga through his sepia tones and aesthetic use of gray shades keeping the ‘tension’ taut.

Bengalees can’t do without either Tagore or Satyajit Ray, and audience today, can’t take the ‘tension’ for too long. Such comments from Hrishi da (Soumitro Chatterjee in a cameo) echo the sources of inspiration for Gupta’s debut.  Paanch Adhyay definitely meanders around a ‘Tagoreana and a Ray gharana that is so deep rooted that one cannot ignore the traces; and the 113 minutes  of the film is an ode to Arghakamal Mitra’s editing skills.

A stranger, an agantuk becomes a dosar for a life time. Yet it takes a lifetime to know the person on whom you “had once built an absolute trust”, bringing home the reality that even a lifetime is not enough. Seize the day, enjoy every moment of togetherness, no matter what trials you have to go through. Paanch Adhyay is a tragic tale of an urban relationship with an uncanny turn of fate that makes you count every moment of your life. It makes you want to shout to the world Dohai toder ektuku chup kor, Bhalobasibare amare de obosor.

     

Sweeter as it Melts!

A Slice of Life!

A deaf and mute protagonist, named after Murphy radio has, for his first flame, a girl called “Shruti” and for his life, an autistic charmer named “Jhilmil” who brings things, all bright and gay, into his life. Interestingly ironical! Anurag Basu’s episodic film is a celebration and felicitation of love. Last week, we have celebrated the relationship of two men who “suffer” “psychological” aberrations in Chitrangada: The Crowning Wish, and this week we delve into the world of two characters who are, otherwise again, marginalized. The common point of reference: liberation. As Jhilmil enjoys the fireflies through the soap bubbles at night, as she looks at the white rat, as she tries to run after the butterfly and as she pampers the “little lamb”, we wonder at the film, “Anurag Basu, Did he who made Kites, made thee?” Animal metaphors run for that sense of liberation, miles away into the world of three people, who can defy conventions, knowingly or unknowingly, and are not “boxed” up in their world of challenges. Barfi, at the end of the day, is a tale of love that doesn’t alter even when “its alteration finds” or “bends with the remover to remove”.

A movie can thrive only on its cast and Barfi proves it again. The lineage of Ranbir Kapoor is deliciously put on fire by the performance of this Ghazab Prem. Smiling all the way is this actor who was once so vehemently criticized for his towel-debut in Sawaariya. He proves his mettle again as he dwells in his world of eloquent silence. Priyanka Chopra delivers a flawless performance, well almost, as autistic Jhilmil. Her movements are Khan-inspired, but her vibrancy and innocence light up the second-half. But cheers to this lady called Ileana D’Cruz. As the sutradhar of the film, she is a natural talent throughout. Her charming smile, her saree-clad appearances and her endearing calmness on that face add to her performance. Basu surely deserves praise for this wonderful search.

Barfi is a delight to the senses. Acoustically, the background score and the music are its assets. The orchestra that lingers in the camera-frame now and then, reminding you of Basu’s Metro, is as tasty as the bite of a kaju-Barfi. Pritam has always the best for two people in Bollywood, Emran Hashmi and Anurag Basu. Barfi is no exception. And yes, Darjeeling, Ghoom to be precise and Kolkata streets perhaps never looked so ethereal in the recent past. North Bengal’s flora is captured brilliantly in Barfi and Chhau dance and Jhilmil’s dream sequence are indeed a mid-Autumn's evening’s dream! Thanks to Ravi Varman, who weaves magic throughout the one fifty minutes of the saga of love. A particular scene just flashes across my mind: Jhilmil hides in Barfi’s room, her face lightens in the close up and on the other side of the screen in Barfi, enlightened on his own, lightened by the D.O.P, making the moment, and the frame, surreal. As Ghoom, (Sleep in English), the film surely sets a space for a nostalgia driven, lotos-eaten slumber, as we move with the protagonists on the roads of Kolkata, and through the alleys of the hill station, trying to find a destination away from the crossroads of life and its trials.

Barfi redefines film-making. The lack of a story becomes the art for storytelling for the director, the lack of dialogues become a panorama of silence and the lack of effort on the part of the actors become a seamless and rhythmic flow of emotions on the screen. To add to the performances are veteran Haradhan Bandopadhyay’s Daju, Roopa Ganguly and the brilliant Saurabh Shukla, who returns to screen after a long hiatus, I guess. His encounters with Chaplinesque Barfi are breath-taking.

This movie is an addiction for sure. For two challenged lives who fail to judge the pros and cons while falling in love, life becomes a fairy tale. Barfi is more of a fantasy than a film. After a long time, a film that doesn’t provide a premise for mushy romance actually makes you weep: not on the frailties of the characters, but on the lack of simplicity in our lives. Basu never merges on the intellect, nor does he philosophize, yet simple truths are so faultlessly offered in the film. Only if the continuous stretch of flashback narrative could have been avoided and the duration of the film rendered a few minutes less, the film would not have dragged in the second-half. But that’s okay. For those who have a tooth for sweet Barfis, the lengthier the barfi, the better!

Cashews, almonds, groundnuts and pistachios, all grounded together by the director here, who has taken the “risk” to tread on his own path. After all, “life mein sabse bada risk hota hai kabhi koi risk na lena” and hats off Mr. Artist, for the courage.

Diabetic, anyone? Try a bite of Barfi, in the pre-Puja session, let it melt in your mouth till you crave for another one.

Crowning Conflicts!

In the quest for freedom: A still from Chitrangada

“In the strict ranks
of Gay and Straight
what is my status?
Stray? or Great?” (Vikram Seth, Dubious)

Rituparno Ghosh’s Chitrangada : The Crowning Wish is a quest for the status: the status of a “great” or a “stray” artist and his search for “home”. Rituparno Ghosh introduces the film through a choric scene between his voice and the presence of his counselor Shubho. Rudra (Ghosh) narrates a part of the main story to him and Shubho asks him, “Eta Chitrangada ki kore bujhbe?” Rudra replies  “Golpota ta agei bole debo bolchho?” The premise of the wish-fulfilling story is set. Within the four walls of a nursing home, the introductory scene is a top-notch work of art. And as Rudra sits with his back facing the camera, switching on the 'channel' of his veins, the curtain raises, preparing the audience to enter a stage where Chitrangada, the 'text' from the Mahabharata and Tagore’s dance-drama, is used as a tool to subvert the notions of gender identity and body politics. Ghosh’s film emphasizes the age-old discourse on the conflict between biological sex and social gender. It is a movement, to put an alternative reality into praxis, beyond the limits of the theoretical bases. It becomes a “pain in pleasure” experience for the audience.

Rudra Chatterjee (Ghosh) is an obsessive, rude, “vivacious, energetic, eccentric” choreographer who wants to stage Chitrangada. As he is introduced to the junkie percussionist Partha (Jisshu Sengupta), both decide to “suffer” each other as the story progresses. Partha is Rudra’s Arjun and he is his Chitrangada, his Rudra Chatterjee, his Rudie. The first half gives a glimpse of the passion shared between the two men in the film and as Rudra narrates his past to Shubho, the narrative becomes interesting, merging the present with the past. Rudra and Partha encompass each and every nuances of a love story: brutal, emotional, physical and psychological at the same time. Yet the director chooses to retort to old-school in the depiction of their passion. A film that thrives on passion, the scenes of physical intimacy between the protagonists seem childish. Ghosh has always been bold, why does he keep things subtle here?

Things begin to change as Mala (Aparajita Auddy), a former performer in Rudra’s dance troupe comes to visit him. Aparijta in her brief role is marvelous. She breathes ease into the character of Mala who sees Partha and throws the million dollar question at him: “O tomar kodor korte parbe?” Rudra smiles at her and says, “Kodor to anekei kore, bhalobashar sahosh kojoner ache bol?” and as he sees Partha sharing his joy with Mala’s kids, Rudra comes to know how Partha is fond of children and he decides to go for  Gender Reassignment Surgery. The use of the word “Bhalobasha” however, dilutes the essence of the scene; the word “Ador” in Bengali could have been a far better usage.  Ghosh has been mistaken for his autobiographical elements in his latest films. Be it Arekti Premer Golpo or Memories in March, audience tries to seek the autobiographical traits of the director-actor in his films. True or not, that is a vague question, but the director here is intelligent, the word “kodor” makes the audience realize that here is the man who has transformed the aesthetics of the entire Bengali cine-going public with his Unishe April and the critics have constantly thwarted his recent efforts pathetically. Ghosh deserves a “kodor” from his audience, the audience to whom he has laid bare themes behind the “closet”, the audience who can still talk about him in the background, yet cannot stay away from his latest offerings. The artist in him demands that "kodor". And that Rudra has always been  a “perennial embarrassment” to his family and elsewhere is a slap on the face of the audience whose giggles and murmurs are transformed into silence as the film progresses toward intermission.

The second half of the film is a celebration of parenthood. Rudra’s parents played by Dipankar De and Anasuya Majumdar, are the show-stealers. If Indian Cinema has laughed at gay-jokes, it has also celebrated alternate sexuality under the garb of humour. If Kirron Kher as the mother could accept his son as a homosexual in a commercial flick Dostana, Rudra’s parents play a pivotal role in wish-fulfilment of their son, Khokhon (Rudra). The finest words are spoken by the mother to her son when she says that she has the right to know everything about his body since he exists because of her. Anasuya Majumdar and Dipankar De fit in every frame exhibiting their trauma, their anguish, and their fears and finally accepting their son, as he wants to be.

Ghosh uses the foot-motif artistically as he has done with his Noukadubi. And when Rudra and Partha engage themselves in a conversation regarding children and marriage, the constant background score of Sanai, symbolizing a “heterosexual” marriage reminds one of Mahesh Dattani’s play On A Muggy Night in Mumbai. The play mocks societal institution of marriage in the same way as does the particular scene in the film. The text of Tagore’s Chitrangada appears in the background to focus on the theme of gender identity. The transformation of Kurupa to Surupa is problematized and Ghosh brings in his vision of a wish fulfillment, weaving a saga of two “ostracized” and marginalized characters of the society, Rudra and Partha. However, being a strong story-teller, the literary metaphor could have been avoided, sometimes it seems a little stretched for an audience, who might not know Chitrangada too well.

Rituparno Ghosh’s Chitrangada is an example of a technically brilliant film. The man who makes these wishes come true is the cinematographer, and Ghosh’s favorite, Abhik Mukhopadhyay, who also shares the crown of assistant director of the film with Sanjoy Nag. The minimalistic use of brightness, the shades of grey and black, the sea-beach of Orissa, the nursing home room turned into a stage in a dream sequence: everything speaks of the master of this man, who had been missing in Ghosh’s film for the last few ventures. Debajyoti Mishra’s improvisations in Tagore songs and the uses of the songs in the film are aesthetically magnificent. Commendable is the selection of the songs that are not bound by gender specificity. Bodhu Kon Alo Laglo Chokhe, the instrumental refrain of Momo Chitte and Nutan Pran Dao show Ghosh’s directorial genius. Arghyakamal Maitra’s editing could have been better, editing out the scenes where the theme is constantly reminded of.

The basic question that remains unanswered to me is why did the man choose to play Rudra himself? He gives a breath-taking performance, even the gestures when he presses the keys on his cell-phone seem to follow a choreographed movement, that naturally comes to a dancer. ( It should be noted here that the director-actor, at his age, has taken the pains to train himself in the dance form, aided by Sharmila Biswas!) However, the choice of Rudra, from “heteronormative” crowd of actors could have delivered his intentions well. Ghosh, the director overshadows Rudra the choreographer. Or maybe, he really wanted to play Madan this time! The director’s approaches are self-explanatory and that has always made him stand apart from the crowd. 

The film can initially shock an audience who might not be comfortable with the theme. But hardly does a director have the courage to portray things he really wishes to show. Chitranagada: The Crowning Wish succeeds in making a wish come true, the wish of seeing the portrait of an artist fumbling to make his own choice. Rudra’s dilemma is universal; the two roads in life are but our choices. He can keep his engineering degrees locked up in his cupboard only to pursue his passion for dancing, which "fortunately" is not bound by gender. His choices in life come from the  sense of liberation that his Art form provides and he decides to live as he is, a "vivacious, energetic, eccentric"  male dancer, instead of that "half-thing".  Yes, Rudra wallows in self-pity a little too much, but his loneliness, his pain of rejection and his struggle for survival are brought on the same plane. Chitrangada remains a story in transition, it moves from the state of being to a new becoming, a story of celebrating one’s own shobhab and it’s ichchhe…its desire.

And, with the "gloss" and "spectacle", the film has a "soul" too: "Be what YOU want to be": hallucinate, fantasize, suffer, decide and do what YOU want to do!