Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na

Starring: Imran Khan, Genelia
Written & Directed by Abbas Tyrewala
Rating: ***

A blessed week at the movies. If this week we get Harman Baweja as the full filmy package of an all-rounder, we also get Imran Khan…Fesh – faced original and possessing a natural screen presence that immediately connects him with the audience.

Abbas Tyrewala’s directorial debut has a certain sparkling spirit, a zest for living life quirk-sized and a certain zing thing about the way the characters look at life and love.

It’s not only about the way the characters’ exuberant yearnings connect with the audience. It’s also about the casual free-flowing downloading of events and dialogues in the narrative that give the characters an edge over other urbane youngsters who have come and gone in the past creating a spirit of lingering joie de vivre.

The bunch of collegians here take their cues from Farhan Akhtar’s Dil Chahta Hai, Rakeysh Mehra’s Rang De Basanti and even Karan Johar’s Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.

Echoes from these iconic youth -films fill out the outer edges of the ‘cool’ canvas creating for the characters at-hand a sense of wondrous and informal perpetuity as they go from humorous heartbreak to sober selfrealization in a plot that accommodates both impulse and pre-meditated thought in a mix that is engaging endearing and fairly original in spite of the derivative echoes.

While the supporting cast of friends are both real and tangible, at the core of this romantic musical are Jai (Irfan Khan) and Aditi (Genelia) who are “best friends” in the coolest sense of the term.

Bantering bum-chums at the surface but sharing a much deeper bond underneath, all their friends can see that the twosome is made for each other.

But they can’t.

It’s an exceedingly old formula for a romantic comedy given a fresh new spin by a storyteller who picks on moments from ordinary lives and converts them into a celebration of life and love.

Old songs (R.D Burman mainly) and new original music (A.R Rahman) coalesce with the minum fuss while Jai and Aditi’s love story goes through several turns and twists until they arrive at that traditional end-game for romantic films: the grand reunion at the airport seconds before the girl is scheduled to take off for good.

The flurry is charming, though a little to selfconsciously designed at times.

Peep underneath. And you see the narration covering a lot of familiar ground.

The freshness lies in the way the characters respond to the familiar material often exceeding the domain created by the script.

Every actor pitches in at just the right volume of vivacity. There are stand-out supporting performances by Naseeruddin Shah (playing the hero Jai’s dead father in a portrait), Ratna Pathak (superbly skilled as Jai’s mom), Paresh Rawal (flawless as a boorish cop) and Arbaaz and Sohail Khan (as a couple of outlandish cowboys they supplant the believably urbane love story with a touch of the surreal).

Then there’s Manjrai Phadnis as the hero’s could-be love interest. Living in perpetual denial she thinks her embittered parents (Rajat Kapoor and Kitu Gidwani) actually love each other under the acrimony.

The characters never claim to be extraordinary in their desires. It’s their ordinary dreams and down-to-earth desires which give the narration a spirited spin.

And then there are protagonists. Not just young Imran Khan and Genelia. But their friends. Each one played as though the wall dividing the actor from the characters had disappeared.

While Genelia is a natural in most scenes, Imran’s unassuming boy-next-door personality lends itself with picture-perfect precision to the mood and tenor of the narration.

Here’s a young actor who has a long innings ahead. He doesn’t think before he acts.

It’s not about how deep he goes into his character. It’s more about how much at home he’s occupying the space provided by the script.

The same is true of the other actors.

Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na exudes an urbane cool. It’s not really trying to be anything. It doesn’t have an earthshattering message for the masses. What it has is an honest story about a bunch of credible characters told in a fashion that’s casually trendy and warm.

Manoj Lobo’s cinematography and Shan Mohamed’s editing assist the director in making this a film that you’d probably like to watch again just to see if you missed out a vital bit of the characters’ lives while they were looking for love.

Mehbooba

Starring Manisha Koirala, Sanjay Dutt, Ajay Devgan
Directed by Sanjay Leela Bhansali….oops, Afzal Khan
Rating: * ½

Manisha Koirala is the one reason why one would want to brave this prolonged homage to the cinema of Sanjay Leela Bhansali.

This one is a 3-hour long rag-carpet welcome to Sanjay Leela Bhansali Hum…Dil De Chuke Sanam. The plot, ambience, characters, music and even the interactive interludes between the main protagonists are all derived with lipsmacking relish from Bhansali’s film.

Why, Mehbooba (no relation to Shakti Samanta’s Mehbooba in 1977) even goes to Budapest where Bhansali shot the second-half of Hum….

Except, that Mehbooba goes to Budapest in the first-half and to the bustling screechy noisy food-laden haveli from the first-half of Bhansali’s Hum… in the second-half.

Ho hum…. The melodies (if one may call them that) flit in and out like unwanted guests after every ten minutes of dialogue.

If the songs were sacrificed on the editing table, maybe—just maybe—Mehbooba would be more bearable in its old-world love triangle ambience of two brothers (one idealistic and lovelorn, the other unscrupulous and ever-libidinous) who fall for the same girl.

The meat of the métier goes to the majestic Manisha…Still resplendent and lovely no matter where and in what they put her, Manisha never fails to infuse a poetic aura to her character.

Fetchingly photographed by that wunder-lensman Ashok Mehta at times Manisha looks as incandescent as she did in Bhansali’s Khamoshi: The Musical.

Alas, like this long-delayed film, Manisha too has gone through innumerable ups and downs in her career.

The inconsistencies in the narration are covered up with a lot of exterior gloss. To the director Afzal Khan’s credit the film’s scattered pastiche is woven into what can pretty much be described as a seamless ‘yawn’ about two men and a woman who should know better.

The sets and locations are opulent flamboyant and eye-catching. No subtlety is applied in the visuals or emotions. The song-and-dance numbers that come along with alarming rapidity are shot with an eye for unhampered opulence.

So who gets the girl at the end? That’s a question which must remain in the audiences’ mind in any love triangle.

Beyond a point we stop caring completely about these three compulsively conflicted characters, even though one of them is played by a star who brings in an element of the tragic and classic grandeur from an era gone-by.

And one isn’t referring to either of the two male leads. Devgan and Dutt behave like Devgan and Salman Khan from Bhansali’s Hum Dil… discussing the same woman with each other ad nauseam as though she were two different entities.

A case of a split personality? By the time the triangle is resolved (with one of heroes coming to a suitably stickly nemesis) the only ’split’ personality is the audience.

Most of them have fled the dread of watching a film that goes back the oldest traditions of Hindi cinema and emerges with a product that substitutes genuine emotions with elaborate props borrowed from a master storyteller’s creative godown.

Khusboo

*ing: Rishi Rehan, Avantika, Ninad Kamat, Himani Shivpuri, Prem Chopra, Raj Babbar, Chunky Pandey, Shakti Kapoor (Guest appearance)
Lyrics: Javed Akhtar
Music: Adnan Sami, Bappi Lahiri
Producer: Pahlaj Nihalani
Director: Rajesh Ram Singh
Ratings – *

2008 seems to be a year for fresh faces in Bollywood. Even the well-known producer Pahlaj Nihalani tried introducing two new faces through his latest flick Khusboo but the garbage, the film showcases, fails in hinting at the fragrance it has been intended to spread.

Raghunathan Iyer (Rishi Rehan) is a project manager at a multinational company. Being very with his job profile, his boss (Raj Babbar) wants to send him to New York but due to some emergency at a project in Chandigarh he has forget about New York and move for Chandigarh. Raghu meets Pinky (Avantika) in Chandigarh and despite having no faith in love he falls for Pinky (just like all the logically foolish love stories).

The representative of modernism in Chandigarh, Pinky slips straight to Raghu’s bed at their third meeting and after two months she returns only to say that she is pregnant with Raghu’s child.

She asks Raghu to meet her parents once so that she can later on easily tell them the reality about the child. Raghu marries Pinky immediately after meeting her parents. But they keep their marriage a secret.

When Pinky’s parents come to know about their marriage, they, like typical Punjabi, come to Raghu’s office to kill him. Being the only daughter in the family, Pinky easily wins the heart of her five brothers. But her father, subadar Arminder Singh (Prem Chopra) forsakes the relationship with her.

Afterwards, the story witnesses a lot of turns and twists and reaches the happy ending (as it’s very usual).

If films are always prone to have one or the other fault, Khusboo is the uncrowned king among flawed entertainers. It’s really sad that despite having keen eyes to find a better moment, the film doesn’t offer anything praiseworthy. Including direction and first appearance of Rishi and Avantika, all are very weak.

It’s quite unfortunate that all the talents, including the lyrics by Javed Akhtar, music by Adnan Sami and Bappi Lahiri and well known voices of established singers, are simply wasted just for the sake of the film. The film seems more an unsolved puzzle than an entertainer.

The reason behind the modern Pinky, willingly sleeping with an almost unknown guy and clad in modern outfits, declining to deport for New York just for the sake of her desh, is really beyond any psychological understanding.

It looks really bakwas to see Pinky thinking about giving birth to her child in this nation only and more than that, her intention of tagging her child as Shikh appears more intended and unfortunate fallacy. If she can ignore cast at the time of marrying Raghu, how come she insists on the same issue during the birth of her child!

The film is completely an unsolved mystery with so many questions like this. It creates question on the director Rajesh Ram and more than that Khusboo is a big question mark on the career of Pahlaj Nihalani.

Enriched with Punjabi culture, the film looks more a Punjabi flick than Hindi one. Being so inclined to Punjabi traditions, the film should not be able to pull the Hindi audience.

Albeit, watching the film is completely dependant on the audience, managing the fragrance in Khusboo will surely be an impossible task for them.

De Taali

Starring Aftab Shivdasani, Riteish Deshmukh, Ayesha Takiya, Riimi Sen
Directed by E Niwas
Rating: * ½

The funniest moment in this sporadically amusing outing into an ouch slouch is when all torture fails to intimidate the kidnap victim Rimi Sen. Then Riteish Deshmukh fishes out a copy of Ram Gopal Varma’s Aag.

Then the kidnap victim screams in anticipated agony.

That’s pretty much the best inhouse joke I’ve seen in a Hindi comedy. E Niwas not only assisted Varma he also made a semi-sparkling comedy Love Ke Liye Kuch Bhi Karega for Varma before branching out.

Niwas ab laughter ke liya kuch kuch karega.

De Taali is not quite De Gaali. It falls somewhere in between the taali and gaali. And not quite with a thud. Contrary to the promotional campaign De Taali is not a boys-will-have-fun kind of raunchy comedy we had expected.

Yes there are two boys Aftab Shivdasani and Riteish Deshmukh, both in spirited form as friends, one rich and the other an unselfconscious parasite.

They remind you of Amitabh Bachchan and Rajesh Khanna in Namak Haraam.

Rest assured, De Taali doesn’t aspire to be a serious study of spaces that separate capitalism from serious exploitation.

So relax. Put your feet up in the empty chair in front and let that popcorn do all the talking.

Here’s a film that goes from goofy definitions of asexual bonding to purely corny sexual bonding.

The tree-house bonding among Shivdasani, Deshmukh and Takiya (in ever-sprakling form and showing terrific timing in both the light and serious moments) is punctuated by spasms of satire on bonding among a trio that seems to have borrowed its primary rules of friendship from Karan Johar’s Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, and then turned it on its head. Though alas, no bed.

Somehow the bondings never get deeper than the shallow and skittish. The dialogues are deliberately casual and trendy. And ‘cool’ in a rather thanda way. And the first-half delivers some tangy tendrils of narration that never quite grows into a tree of titters.

The second- half where Deshmukh and Takiya, out of a feeling of misbegotten friendship kidnaps the gold digger who wants to marry their naively sentimental rich friend, gets out of hand and finally runs of breath.

The director E Niwas’s penchant for black humour gets the better of the plot. By the time poor goofy Shivdasani realizes he loves the girl on the tree-top we’re well past the stage of caring about this woozy anthem on sharing.

The sequence where Deshmukh visits Rimi Sen’s monstrously malfunctional family is so over-the-top you wonder which came first, the family or its psychosis. The jokes on Alcoholics Anonymous are hopelessly inadequate, better left alone.

The talented Pavan Malhotra who was so powerfully perched in E Niwas’ My Name Is Anthony Gonzalves makes a cameo appearance as a lecherous tutor who gives Rimi Sen lessons on the dining table whike she licks an icecream with suggestive languor.

Yipes….a bit of Mr Bachchan’s Bemisaal here.The Big B pops up ubiquitously throughout the narrative. And that includes a fancy-dress party where everyone dresses up as a character from a Bachchan film.

And Aftab’s character is even named Abhishek. Cute.

You could enjoy the spurts of wit that keep cropping up here and there.Soon it becomes hard to keep up with the improvisations and innovations in the script.

The quartet of principal actors keep the comedy afloat. Riteish is in specially good form displaying a razor-sharp comic timing in acrowd of faces.

Yup, this guy has got the ‘IT’ factor. The film misses the bus by a wide margin. But nevertheless makes us smile a while.

Haal-e-Dil

Amita Pathak, Nakuul Mehta, Adhyayan Suman
Rating: *

A bespectacled ’serious’ girl on a rigged rail yatra. She seems to have borrowed her demeanour from Kajol in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge and Preity Zinta in Kal Ho Na Ho.

You know, studious bookish and grumpy…It takes the exuberant won’t-take-no-for-an-answer stranger on the train played by new comer Nakuul Mehta to draw the prissy missy our of her frigid emotionalism. This girl is waiting to be liberated. Kaaton se khinch key eh aanchal.

Enter our modernday Raju Guide with more on his mind than melodious music (considering the sporific quality of the songs, he has no choice). He thinks babbling non-stop is a symptom of joie de vivre. Just because extra-volubility suited Kareena in Jab We Met. I tell you!

Helping the couple to come together is a train compartment filled with stereotypes including one over-acting Bengali housewife (Bharti Achrekar), a kindly ticket collector (who behaves as if he just saw Imtiaz Ali’s Jab We Met and of course Wes Anderson’s Darjeeling Ltd and learnt his etiquettes in station mastery from them ) dancing-singing beggars (in newly –stitched ghagra-cholis) and yes, Ajay Devgan and Kajol who clap a few beats at a railway platform and beat a hasty retreat.

So, I am afraid, should we. Before we swear off romantic film forever.This tedious transperantly derivate romance chugs on and on with no respite in sight. The songs are like opium for the snoring masses. Dope in drag.

As some relief in this snail rail trail, in flashbacks newcomer Adhyayan Suman shows up as the bespectacled girl’s college lover-boy. He has a sweet sincere presence and should have had more to do in this loco- motivated talkathon shot most on the train parked at Kamalistan studios.

The least you do in a travel film is to make the transportation and the locations look authentic.

Director Anil Devgan makes this one purely an exercise in self-indulgence for matronly spinsters who still think Prince Charming is a artificially exhilarated dude in designer togs giving everyone in the compartment and in the audience a gala time.

Or so he’d like to believe.

Woodstock Villa

Starring Sikandar Kher, Neha Uberoi, Arbaaz Khan, Gulshan Grover
Directed by Hansal Mehta
Rating: ** ½

One thing is for sure. The image of the leading lady in our cinema has changed beyond recognition.

Barely months after watching Bipasha Bsau sleep her way to the Big O (opulence, not what you think) in Race, and weeks after Kareena Kapoor in Tashan showed us it’s okay for nice small-town girl to covet that big villa in Vermont, we now have the ultra-confident semi-debutante Neha Uberoi (she has done a bit part in Dus Kahaniyan) who walks away from the mess she partly creates with a bagful of money.

No she doesn’t get away with it. And that’s not because the screenwriters got cold feet in drawing that svelte line between Sati Savitri and Slutty Savitri.

But only because the ‘hero’ (if we may call the glib-tongued amoral dude from ‘drown’-under a hero) turns out to be smarter shrewder and more ruthless than the lady who doesn’t believe in glancing backwards.

Woodstock Villa isn’t a great work of art. It doesn’t aspire to be. Its affectations in visuals, treatment, background score and characterization are so nakedly unsheathed and freed of the elements of realism that the posturing becomes a form of artlessness.

The films has a specific look and style. Granite walls, rusted floors,screaming desires and smothered conscience…what would a Sanjay Gupta production be without these?

Vikash Nowlakha Anshum’s cinematography and Wasiq Khans’s art design bring a sense of imminent peril into the plot. As though the characters were framed against a wall that separates humanity from doom.

Hansal Mehta’s films specially that underrated ode to Chinese actioners Chhal have always been created on the editing table. Bunty Negi cuts the material down to a stark minimum.

The people who populate Woodstock Villa are crowded not by a supporting cast but their inner worlds which simmer to the surface in swirls of indignation.

I specially loved the pre-titled ten minutes when Arbaaz Khan with his bagful of ransom money is tracked down by his wife’s kidnapper.

There’s something about Mumbai under siege. Mehta holds the suspense at an arms (and ammunitions) distance. An inherently violent film, Woodstock Villa doesn’t have too much blood spilling on the expensive wooden floors.

The ambience reeks of unchecked affluence where a wife takes off with a man who almost rapes her before he dumps her body in ravine where the slush and silence seem borrowed from Vikram Bhatt’s Raaz.

The two newcomers execute their immoral unscrupulous distraught parts with a confidence that imparts an edge of erotica to the relentless action. Arbaaz Khan has one really difficult sequence where he has to break down at the end and bawl like a baby on the floor.

Meena Kumari in Guru Dutt’s Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam had fallen to the floor with an anguished cry because her husband leaves her.

Arbaaz’s screen wife and his mistress have left him at the end. He’s the loser in this tightly-knitted game of cat and mouse.

And the ‘hero’ flies off with money that he didn’t earn.

Gee, what a wonderful world we’ve gifted to the coming generations.

Jannat

Cast: Emran Hashmi, Sonal Chauhan, Samir Kochar, Javed Shaikh, Vishal Malhotra
Director: Kunal Deshmukh
Ratings: ***

More, more, more…The motto of motorised materialism seems to have overtaken contemporary life. Everyone wants the good things in life in the shortest time possible. The acquisitive spirit has seldom been defined with such economy of storytelling as in “Jannat”.

Not surprisingly, a lot of Mahesh Bhatt’s latest exposition on the excesses of materialism is shot in shopping malls, expensive restaurants and posh stadiums where money flows like unadulterated honey.

And when our hero sees the love of his life staring at a diamond ring he walks into the showroom and breaks the display window.

Get what you want by force and forget those homilies that papa preached at the dinner table about the virtues of honesty. “Honest money means hard work and little reward,” says a wry character in “Jannat”. He’s obviously not read Ayn Rand.

Sanjay Masoom’s scathing dialogues scamper across the film’s lush skyline to create a language of wannabes who would stop at nothing to get that new villa on the Gold Coast.

Let’s then applaud one more moral fable from Bhatt’s sensible stable.

“Jannat” tells us to waste not, want ‘nought’…By all means covet the zeroes on that pay cheque. But don’t forget that if you run after the zeroes your life ends up in the zero zone.

Forty years ago in Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s “Satyakam” Dharmendra had refused to succumb to all the temptations of materialism that were strewn in his path to salvation. Lying dying of cancer, he’s asked by his wife: “Finally what do you have to say about your life of integrity?”

“I’ve lived,” Dharmendra says at the end of “Satyakam”.

Can Emran Hashmi (playing the small-time wheeler dealer who turns into a cricket match-fixer, criminal and moral transgressor) turn around before his gruesome death to say he has lived?

Yes, Arjun (Emran) has loved. At heart “Jannat” is a dark tragic love story. While the girl’s innocence and the man’s corruptible countenance resembles “Kalyug”, the whole dilemma of the beloved being instrumental in destroying the criminal hero echoes “Gangster”.

Both “Kalyug” and “Gangster” were superior in content and treatment.

Debutant director Kunal Deshmukh cannot escape the clichés on existentialism that have come to surround Bhatt’s cinema…the morally conflicted Shakespeare-meets-James Hadley Chase hero, the independent-minded strong and value-based heroine, the hero’s trusted and loyal friend (Purab Kohli in “Woh Lamhe”, Shaad Randhawa in “Awaarapan”, and now Vishal Malhotra), the ideologue father whose principles are held up to ridicule until the hero discovers the hard way that dad’s remedies are the best to deal with ethical ambivalence.

These lingering leitmotifs get a renewed, if not luminous, life in every Bhatt production. But “Jannat” lacks the resonance and staying power of some of Bhatt’s earlier films about crime and punishment from “Naam” to “Gangster”.

Cleverly and cautiously Deshmukh’s film brings in the cricket element, which has audiences ignoring the pitfalls of rejuvenating Bhatt’s age-old iconoclasm.

The stock footage of real-life cricket matches are used well and sparingly in the plot. The stress, as ever in Bhatt’s saga of our stressful times, is on the clashing colliding crisscross of human relationships.

Emran’s father’s sequence in his son’s luxurious bathroom where he comments on the basket of soaps is a whammer.

But the wheeling dealing in the greenroom and clubs with cricketers of indeterminate nationality behaving like debauched goblins smacks of amteurishness. The murder of the Australian coach turns the Bob Woolmer scandal into a climactic add-on. May his soul rest in peace.

But what stays is the protagonist’s passion for money as opposed to his love for Zoya (Sonal Chauhan). The end-game where the engagement ring is juxtaposed against the gun is arresting in more ways than one.

While Emran interprets the over-reaching get-rich-quick schemer’s part with a native cunning, one misses that suave and smooth transitions in the character that perhaps a Naseeruddin Shah or even a Shahid Kapoor would bring on the table.

But Emran is charming enough to let the protagonist’s journey from a chawl to Cape Town look interesting. He’s constantly getting author-backed roles of the angst-ridden social outcast (a garage-sale version of Amitabh Bachchan) which he plays with a fair amount of sensitivity.

Debutant Sonal has much more to do than be the decorative doll she seems equipped to be.

She’s the weakest link in the powerplay where the politics of the playing field is extended to an engrossing exposition of greed atonement.

Some of the supporting cast, especially Jawed Shaikh as the cricketing don and Abhimanyu as his silent henchman, come to grips with their characters better than you would expect in a film that has scant space for anyone except the man who would be king.

Dhoom Dhadakka

Starring Sammir Dattani, Shama Sikandar, Shaad Randhawa, Arati Chabria, Anupam Khe, Satish Kaushik, Gulshan Grover
Rating: super-atrocious

By the time Sammir Dattani and Shaad Randhawa get into drag, this criminally unfunny comedy has dragged on way past ‘bad’-time.

Maybe it’s in the air. Everyone uniformly hams through this acutely painful piece of cinematic travesty.

There’s so much screaming and ranting across the length and breadth of this outrageous ode to idiocy that you wonder if the producer-director intended to provide earplugs for all those bravehearts who would sit to the end of this slapdash hectic and haphazard comedy of terrors.

No earplugs, what we get are shrill banshee ring-tones of risqué ragas sung at a ear-splitting pitch, and phallic jokes about not a single danda in the cellphone.

Chee chee.

If lately you’ve been wondering where the Bollywood comedy has been heading here’s the answer.

Comedies can’t get any baser or brainless than Dhoom Dadakka. The gags make you gag. The items and innuendoes are embarrassing not because they TRY so hard to be vulgar but because they fail miserably to be sexy.

Vulgarity in this comedy of disembodied context depends completely on how many of the characters are crammed in one line of vision in every scene. They all stand making faces and gesticulating as though trying to attract the lifeguard’s attention from a sinking boat.

The double meanings flow in unstoppered abundance mostly from the moist painted trembling lips of Deepshikha who keeps referring to the size of ‘bada’ things every time she spots a male member of the cast in her vicinity.

Yup, as one character winks, size does matter.

Dhoom Dadakka is a jumbo-sized non-event.

Ha ha ho ho. Before you fall of your creaky bed in comic splendour, let’s move on to the main ‘coarse’ in this pickled over-spiced thaali in a hotel that’s probably named Romp Teri Giggle Maili..

The two guys, Sammir Dattani and Shaad Randhawa grimace and giggle, roll their eyes and suck in their cheeks to indicate lies buried too deep for jeers.

Add two girls (Chabria and Sikandar) trying so hard to be glamorous it’s pathetic, and you get a brew that’s more eek than greek.

The characterizations take the cult of one-upmanship down to the level of a nukkad nautanki, what with every actor getting lost in the confusion of their mistaken identities.

In no time at all, the plot suffers from an identity crisis.

Director Shashi Ranjan who earlier made us laugh with his supposedly serious study of marital stress in Dobara, doesn’t know whether to indulge tongue-in-cheek comedy of the Hrishikesh Mukherjee variety (Ab ke sajan sawan mein aal lagey aisi filmon mein) or just do the out-and-out no -fools-stops comedy of the David Dhawan-Anees Bazmi variety.

Eventually the confusions that dominate the plot overpower every sense of aesthetic decency.

In the end-game where the entire cast runs around an amusement part looking for amusement, the two heroes get into drag to tease laughter out of an audience that’s long since ceased to be entertained or amused and is down to feeling utterly embrassed on behalf of the cast and crew of this weird brew.

In one chase sequence Shaad Randhawa pees copiously on a street of Bangkok.

You get jailed for dirtying the streets of Bangkok. Alas, there are no laws for desecrating the rules of aesthetics in cinema.

Hope And A Little Sugar Movie Review

Director : Music : Starring :	Tanuja Chandra Rick Baitz, Wayne Sharp Mahima Choudhary, Anupam Kher, Suhasini Mulay.

The introduction of the character central to the theme of the film is feeble. Even after the movie ends, you cannot make sense of why Ali Siddiqui (Amit Sial) had to be introduced in the manner he was. Saloni (Mahima Chaudhary) mistakes him for one Sukhbir, and after some brief talking of how he looks different without his turban and beard, she invites him over to her house for a party the next day. Of course, Ali is not Sukhbir but he is smitten by her beauty and asks her where she stays. She says the same place and leaves. He gives chase on a bicycle, collides with a car and lands at the party in the same clothes he was giving chase. So, was the party the day he was invited or the next day?

Also, at the party everyone thinks he is Sukhbir and he continues as Sukhbir for a few days visiting Saloni’s house where she lives with her husband Harry (Vikram Chatwal) and in-laws Colonel Oberoi (Anupam Kher) and Mrs Oberoi (Suhasini Mullay). Not one of them knows that he is not Sukhbir. Strange. Nor do any of us know who this Sukhbir really is! Fiction is stranger than fact!

Anyways to cut the long story short, after a few days, Ali tells Saloni and Harry that he is not Sukhbir to which they both reply that they knew because if he was Sukhbir he would have been drunk by 8pm and Ali does not drink! Phew! Talk of a silly premise to move the film forward. Better was expected from director Tanuja Chandra. Once you shake this irritant off you try and settle to watch what is a decent attempt set in New York, touching on the 9/11 incident which changed the lives of Colonel Oberoi’s family.

Visually, the film is good; acting-wise it stands out but for this one major flaw. Because Ali then ends up wooing Saloni after she loses Harry in the 9/11 attack. In between, there are scenes of how Colonel Oberoi blames Ali calling him a killer because he is a Muslim and how Ali wins him over. You see, even he (Ali) has witnessed the 1992 riots in Bombay as a child.

he introduction of the character central to the theme of the film is feeble. Even after the movie ends, you cannot make sense of why Ali Siddiqui (Amit Sial) had to be introduced in the manner he was. Saloni (Mahima Chaudhary) mistakes him for one Sukhbir, and after some brief talking of how he looks different without his turban and beard, she invites him over to her house for a party the next day. Of course, Ali is not Sukhbir but he is smitten by her beauty and asks her where she stays. She says the same place and leaves. He gives chase on a bicycle, collides with a car and lands at the party in the same clothes he was giving chase. So, was the party the day he was invited or the next day?

Also, at the party everyone thinks he is Sukhbir and he continues as Sukhbir for a few days visiting Saloni’s house where she lives with her husband Harry (Vikram Chatwal) and in-laws Colonel Oberoi (Anupam Kher) and Mrs Oberoi (Suhasini Mullay). Not one of them knows that he is not Sukhbir. Strange. Nor do any of us know who this Sukhbir really is! Fiction is stranger than fact!

Anyways to cut the long story short, after a few days, Ali tells Saloni and Harry that he is not Sukhbir to which they both reply that they knew because if he was Sukhbir he would have been drunk by 8pm and Ali does not drink! Phew! Talk of a silly premise to move the film forward. Better was expected from director Tanuja Chandra. Once you shake this irritant off you try and settle to watch what is a decent attempt set in New York, touching on the 9/11 incident which changed the lives of Colonel Oberoi’s family.

Visually, the film is good; acting-wise it stands out but for this one major flaw. Because Ali then ends up wooing Saloni after she loses Harry in the 9/11 attack. In between, there are scenes of how Colonel Oberoi blames Ali calling him a killer because he is a Muslim and how Ali wins him over. You see, even he (Ali) has witnessed the 1992 riots in Bombay as a child.

Mahima Chaudhary scores in all departments; looks, dialogue, diction and acting. She is first rate as the young wife who has lost her husband and fighting her father-in-law to keep her friendship alive with Ali. Anupam Kher as the father so in love with his son, hoping he will come back some day and finally breaking down when he allows reason to sink in is very convincing. Suhasini Mullay as the wife bearing the brunt of her husband’s ‘lunacy’ and wanting to let Saloni free is believable. Amit Sial does a decent job while Vikram Chatwal gives one the impression that he is still playing his real father’s son even on screen.

PS: A few multiplexes had to strike off the morning show because the print had not reached them. Talk off marketing in times when good movies last a few weeks and small budget ones just a few days! Also, most multiplexes have just two shows. Is Tanuja expecting a lukewarm response to her film?

Tashan

Starring Anil Kapoor, Akshay Kumar, Kareena Kapoor, Saif Ali Khan
Directed by Vijay Krishna Acharya
Rating: ** ½

The threesome on the way to god-knows-where need to escape from the cops. They get into blonde wigs and tight ‘American’ costumes and turn into item dancers for a Hollywood project called Holy Widows.

Holy shit! Tashan is so full of the milk of human zaniness that you feel it may at any moment topple over under the weight of its own cleverness.

If the bizarre brew of the cunning and the cool holds togther it’s mainly because of Akshay Kumar and Kareena Kapoor who a create a kaleidoscopic chemistry of crime and no punishment.

There’s an ingrained energy in the proceedings, a ravishing rush of adrenaline and a whoosh of wunder-winks as though the man at the helm has a secret chuckle and a closet giggle underscoring every exaggerated swagger and every italicized moment in this story of four seemingly unscrupulous gold-diggers.

Three of them redeem themselves by the end of the film. As for the fourth, the villain played with feverish flatulent flamboyance by Anil Kapoor, you can’t win ‘em all.

Tashan is a winner in unexpected ways. First-time director Vijay Krishna Acharya spears the content to a dashboard that dashes all over the place.

Most of Tashan is a zany kookie ribald and riveting road movie about a naïve wannabe criminal Bachchan Pandey (Akshay Kumar), an English tutor named…er, Jimmy Cliff (Saif) trapped into a heist by a crimelord who wants to learn angrezi in haste, and an amoral pouty super-sculpted seductress Pooja (Kareena) who plays up the two men against one another and often breaks into steamy songs and provocative dances that suggest no link between the tale of the UP bhayya, angrezi masterji and the kanpuri coquette and the world that cultivates such freaked-out misfits.

Crime capers and road movies about characters who often get into outlandish costumes and foreign wigs at laconic locales have become a favourite at Yashraj.

Stories of small towners dreaming big have come and grown. Bunty Aur Babli worked. Jhoom Barabaar Jhoom did not. Tashan surreptitiously slips into the workable stratosphere, thanks to its super-motorized manoeuvres that take the plot into an area of utter originality.

Love or loath it, you’ve never seen a Hindi film like Tashan before.

Outrageous, over-the-top, opulent and audacious the debutant director turns formulistic conventions inside-out upside-down.

He pummels and tramples on the age-old material and emerges with images imprints and insignia that remind us that the global cinematic journey from Manmohan Desai and David Dhawan to Quentin Tarantino and Oliver Stone has come a full circle.

Tashan constructs a fool’s paradise of caper- wanderers in search of that pot of gold at the end of the studio-generated rainbow.

The splash of colours (art director Sukant Panigrahy and DOP Anaynanka Bose have as much fun with the art décor and locations as two kids doing water colour in kindergarten) and the swirl of delightfully and daring caper-adventures as the greasy characters travel across Greece and Hindustan in search of anything but peace, is quite a gravity-challenging achievement.

The actors seem to be having loads of fun. Whether we share it or not, is entirely our look-out. If the truth be told the only one who seems to catch hold of the director’s sur in totality is Akshay Kumar.

I’m not very sure why Kareena needed to re-sculpt her body to play the small-time schemer (was she playing Babli in search of a Bunty?) or the relevance of Saif Ali Khan’s dropping moustache (is he a secret member of Ming dynasty?).

In fact Saif’s relevance to the film escapes me. He rushes in as though to work over-time after Race.

He seems to have no idea of the rhythm and sur required for this extravagant take-off on Big Bad Bollywood’s meanest conventions, and his set-expressions are more annoying than illuminating.

Anil Kapoor’s Bhaiyyaji with his craving to master English is a monstrous aberration from the past. A mogambo from the stylized den in Mr India let loose in the city of the prowl to create a free-funded havoc.

Akshay steals the show in almost every frame.

Watch him in that tricky boat sequence with Kareena in Allahabad (yes we’re taken from Uttar Pradesh to Greece to Rajasthan to Leh in this jerky joyride from hear to eternity-gritty) where he gets to know she’s is his teenaged sweetheart from the town that was as frozen as the lakes of Leh and Greece.

Akshay takes this potentially trite and dangerously co-incidental sequence from level to level with a fluency that speaks volumes for his growth as an actor and his reverence for cinematic conventions.

You wish the director Vijay Krishna Acharya had shown some restrain in the action scenes.

The trouble is Tashan doesn’t know where to stop. The situations get out of hand and dialogues like chadhi-sukhana and aurat ki ganji make you wince with their wonky witticism.

You can’t blame Acharya for losing control. After a few reels of non-stop amorality the narration acquires its own volition.

It’s the madness of the moment capturing the awkward avarice of a generation that believes money makes the world go round….or is it wrong?…. that echoes the perverse passion-play of Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers.

Expertly assembled and skilfully knitted together the episodes hold together mainly because the warm sunshine of the outdoors complements the bronzed and over-baked ambitions of the characters.

Sometimes the stench of immorality gets overbearing. That’s when Kareena’s overpowering beauty comes in. She’s partly Meryl Streep, partly Juliette Binoche.

What the film is, becomes harder to pinpoint. Just go with the four.