THE PUCCA CRITIC

Jhund

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 12 Mar 2022 11:26:00 +0000

It fills my heart to see a humble, enthu director with his first so called "arthouse" feature almost 10 years back, still raging with conviction in his politics and bringing it in the mainstream. Jai Bhim. More power to him. But...
— Anup (@ThePuccaCritic) March 10, 2022

His Madurai cinema influence is apparent though. If Sairat was Subramaniapuram, then this is Pa Ranjith cinema.
— Anup (@ThePuccaCritic) March 10, 2022

Having said that, Kaala is an angrier film on slum lives than Jhund. In fact, Jhund is not that an angry film, unlike his own Sairat and Fandry. Jhund's anger is deceptive. We don’t have Fandry kid hurling stone at the audience. We have Bachchan looking at us, pleading and wanting us to listen. Seemingly, it conforms to the civil notions, subservient to mainstream, as if asking - why not? Why can't the marginalised have the mainstream? Why can't we have DJ on Babasaheb Ambedkar Jayanti? The social cause of it is only for the wealthy (we see that in the film through a character). Why can't we do an in-film branding when making a film with T-series? Rub your nose on their feet, if you have to, to get what you want. Pa Ranjith might not agree with this milder politics. But for Manjule, want is important. The want to be on the same playing field. You need the ground first to break it. We don't even have that. So do what it takes to get that. But when you get that, own it, win all the matches there. Mind you, we are not even competing for the same football. We have our own tournament, our own slum football association, our own world-cup.

Which is why, Jhund is a hopeful film. And there's no single major conflict or a face to it. It makes all of the characters heroes. All of them get their victories. Because, again, why not? And while doing that it does want to tell you their struggles. That's the point. Know the struggles, but we will win. It does and how - and while doing so, it makes all the social critique on government, citizenship laws, digital India, Savarna-upper class biased police system. Intercutting what Rinku Rajguru's character goes through to just get an identity letter for her passport, does it more effectively than showing that as just one single sequence. The same upper class oppressor ego conflict and same systemic bias keeps bringing down Don every time he tries to escape his circumstances. But one fine day, both get what they want. Because in mainstream cinema, heroes don't lose and hope is what we have. We have lost enough in reality. Let us win here.

Dil Bechara Music Review (and 10 years of this blog)

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Mon, 20 Jul 2020 08:26:00 +0000

It was the summer of 2010. Amit Trivedi was the new Rahman. He had come up with terrific Udaan -- the album which echoed my state of mind then (I was waiting for the results of my engineering entrance exams, knowing fully that I am not gonna clear any); and Rahman, whom I worship, had released super-sonic Raavan. My devotion to music and movies had to find a medium. So, I started this blog, by scribbling something about Raavan album, which I thought was a review (Don't go on finding that post -- it's cringe). Scribbling became a habit; habit became a passion, which then almost became a profession as I got a few gigs on the way. I continued the blog, by bunking college and taking leaves from office on occasions to watch films FDFS and spend the whole day writing about them. However, for the past few years, this blog's been lying dormant. It's #10YearsofRaavan, #10YearsofUdaan, so it's also #10YearsofThePuccaCritic. Yay. So what's a better way to celebrate the anniversary than to write a review of another Rahman album:

Dil Bechara title track fleetingly appeared at the end of the film trailer, and it appeared like a soft, hummable number -- the likes of Aise Na (Raanjhanaa) or Tu Bole (JTYJN). Rahman even sings it like that. He croons it, with tenderness, adding that extra emotion in "Kyu mujhe miss bhi na karein", then another "kyun" hitting notes which he reserves for his sufi songs. But when the video of this song dropped, it was a... dance video. It felt off. The song's bouncy, but not bouncy enough. Which is why I prefer the Friendzone track. What felt devoid of arrangement in the title track, feels fulfilled here. The groovy, swingy backdrop compliments the playfulness which Rahman added with his rhythmic singing of words: day-day-day, bhool-bhool-bhool. In fact, it helped him play a bit more, with Dil-Be-Cha-Ra.

Taare Ginn justifies the Disney brand behind this film. It's an orchestral violin and vocals led waltz that takes flights of dreams and then swiftly lands you back on the ground. The song is about the butterflies of first love in the tummy and the aching longing that comes with it, which lyricist Amitabh Bhattacharya in this song says it's like counting stars. Rahman captures this double-natured feeling with double-timed vocal harmonized over a laidback one (competitive Shreya and Mohit). Though both the layers are very well balanced, one humming bit does feel a bit obtrusive before they soar together in crescendo and make love to each other. And then they make way for a violin solo which captures the essence of this song. The inherent melancholy of this composition is allowed some space of its own in The Horizon of Saudade, where the same violin reappears even more affectingly and achingly.

From a Disney movie, we jump into an old Hindi film, mostly that of Basu Chatterjee, in Khulke Jeene Ka. A typical Hindi filmy duet song, done very atypically: the pair (Arijit and Shasha), harmonizing again, begins the mukhda together instead of taking turns, before the male singer leads the antaras and post a scale-shift, the female takes the higher pitch in repeat mukhda at the end (When was the last time a Hindi film song had a proper mukhda and two antaras?). The complicated chhand of the mukhda is very much like a Salil Chowdhury composition. It is an intricate part of this verse that the melodica(?) plays to open the song (It took me at least five listens to realize this). I particularly love the line "Aao filmo ke be-adab gaane gaate hai, heroine-hero aaj hum-tum ho jaate hain", which is like a lyrical equivalent of the Chhoti Si Baat scene where Amol Palekar imagines himself and Vidya Sinha in place of Dharmendra and Hema Malini in a film song. I also like how Bhattacharya uses the word 'maheen' in the second stanza.

If Khulke Jeene Ka is like a Salil Chowdhury composition, Mera Naam Kizie is a C. Ramachandra song. Or, double the tempo, add Dattaram theka to it, and it could well be a Shankar-Jaikishan song. It's reminiscent of old Bombay cinema music because of its jazz arrangement, prominently a clarinet -- which gets a superb one-minute solo at the end. Having said that, this is very much a contemporary song -- mostly thanks to the way vocals are played out: Aditya Narayan is a very imaginative choice for this one, and husky Poorvi Koutish is like a breeze.

Another fascinating singer in this album line-up is Sana Moussa, whom Rahman has collaborated with before in Majid Majidi's Muhammad and other live performances. Having heard her before, she is in a complete non-familiar zone with Afreeda. Contrasting with rapper Raja Kumari, it's Moussa who adds more fire with her soft yet sharp voice and Middle Eastern twang laced Hindi lines -- particularly when she sings "Pyaar ki tareef me, dil pesh karta hai qaseeda". Rahman is in vintage form when he adds her sufi-like call over sweeping violins and chants of hey-hey.

In Main Tumhara, which is perhaps the best song of the album for me, love becomes devotion where a lover completely submits oneself to the other despite not being able to be together. A melancholic track is composed and sung like a prayer. Arranged minimally with a piano and a lilting flute, it is the human voice (that of Hriday Gattani and Jonita Gandhi) that is used as an instrument. The song comes into its own in the second interlude when the vocals harmonize Bhattacharya's wondrous rhyming of 'dareecha-bageecha-seencha' together, which talks about passed-by time and space. And as it ends, it fades into silence, letting some more time pass by.

Disney movie meets the larger-than-life Hindi movie in joie de vivre Maskhari. Gattani and strings open the track like a burst of sunshine, reminding of Tu Shining from Lekar Hum Deewana Dil (2014). What keeps engaging in this fairly standard duet (Gattani and Sunidhi Chauhan) is the interesting use of kanjira for percussion. Oh, and that "peeda-hari balm" phrase is again classic Bhattacharya.

Joy comes with melancholy in this soundtrack -- now even more so, knowing that the lead star of this film, Sushant Singh Rajput, has vanished into stars, ironically, before the release of this adaptation of Fault In Our Stars. Rahman's soundtrack for the film too is quite... stellar.

Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy Interview on 21 Years

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Fri, 02 Feb 2018 13:34:00 +0000

This interview was commissioned by The Hindu. An edited version appeared in the Mumbai edition on 1st Feb, 2017. Here's the full transcribe:

How much has the industry changed in the 21 years?

Shankar: No yaar, it’s the same industry. Slightly the method of working has changed in certain places. People are more welcoming new kind of scripts, new topics, new genres of filmmaking, some film even without songs. People are open to [new stuffs]. But all in all, I think, it’s the same.

Has your music changed?

Ehsaan: Well actually the thing is you go with the trend. You go with the right paths of the trend… and I am talking more about international trends as opposed to what would be Bollywood trends, because that you shouldn’t follow. That’s not what we stand for. You shouldn’t necessarily be influenced by the kind of industry that you’re working in. In terms of technology, in terms of new styles of music, we’ve been very up to date with that. Whether it works or not, that’s a different [matter].

Loy: Our kind of sound straddles two sides. The core is very Indian, so you can’t get away with that. That’s what roots our music, and then we have all other influences that we bring in.

E: …which also keeps changing, because we listen to more contemporary stuffs. Like, again, in Rock On 2, though the film didn’t do well, the rock which we did in that is too contemporary. Maybe it was too much for audiences to absorb first hand, after Rock On [1] which was kind of sweet and friendly. This was more aggressive. We have done all kind of stuffs. That way change with the trend but keeping in mind that we are still writing songs for [Bollywood] audience and not getting esoteric about it. All for that reason, not even going so [much] with the trend that’s going in the industry, in which case you won’t want to be a part of it then.

S: So that way, the music has changed; people’s taste has changed; kind of films that they make has changed; but industry as such has not changed. Same set of people.

Photo Courtesy: Rajneesh Londhe for The Hindu

As you said, in keeping up with the trend, the music has evolved, but the sound of SEL has remained the same.

E: The good thing about the sound of SEL is that there’s no sound of SEL. SEL only stands for good music, good compositions. Every time we do something is different… no two albums have sounded the same. So you can’t say that this is a recognisable SEL song because there’s a surprise element that should be in each album, each time that we do.

Actually, I meant that you guys have that sound that when one hears a song, one can say, yes this must be an SEL composition.

E: How you’re talking about.

L: Sensibilities and things like that, probably. I don’t know.

E: But yeah, I don’t think that way. As you said, we keep evolving.

Alright, let’s go back when you guys broke out with Dil Chahta Hai (2001). It was a new sound in the Hindi film music soundscape. Do you guys attribute it to the different schools of music that each one of you comes from?

L: I think, yes, part of that, and more so the fact that the script [of the film] was so different, modern, contemporary; and the director who wanted something [like that]. We had a lovely chemistry going on among all of us.

S: Between three of us, we pretty much cover the entire spectrum of music, from classical to rock to jazz. What we think is we design music for a film. It’s very difficult to have a sound of our own. What we do is dictated by the script, by the characters, their geographical placement. Like ZNMD’s Senorita, it had Spanish sound because the characters were in Spain. That can’t be put in Bunty or Babli which is [set] in rural Kanpur. So it has to be a Kajra Re there.

E: But the point is what the recognisable thing with SEL is, I would say, good compositions. We talk about song-writing which has got depth, is wholesome and appealing to listen to. It’s not something that will be just a hit for two days or a weekend and it’s gone.

2016 was quite a year. You gave one of your career best, Mirzya, a middling Rock On 2, and your career worst, Ghayal Once Again.

L: Well, that’s the way it is. You know, sometimes the wheels turn slow, sometimes it turns fast.

E: Unfortunately, the film bombed and all. I’ve said it before, let me say it again, when Rock On 1 music came, the reviewers trashed it. But when the film became a hit, the music became a hit. This time, the music came out, it was the same reaction because the music was one step ahead. It’s heavier and more committed – see it’s a band that is creating music after seven years, you can’t have them playing the same grunge; their lives have changed, their songwriting has become much more mature. Unfortunately the film didn’t click, so everything sank with it.

S: Things work, things don’t work. If it works, it’s great. Afterwards, we sit and analyse why it didn’t work and all that… it doesn’t work that way, you know. But one thing we can say for sure that our quality of music doesn’t go below a standard. We are still proud of music Rock On 2. Who’s there in the industry who’s got only hits… only flops, maybe there are (laughs).

Speaking about Mirzya, it’s one of your career best and it didn’t get the recognition that it should have, even at the recently concluded Filmfare awards (where it was nominated but lost to ADHM).

S: Thanks for saying that. We really feel that it’s one of our best works, easily.

E: It’s kind of unfortunate. Also the way things work out here. A lot of money is paid for the album and then if the film flops, the record company just washes its hands off the music. I don’t see why you can’t keep promoting music even after the film is gone. You know ADHM has become a hit, so they are still promoting the music. Music should be promoted either way. It’s an entity with the film but it’s also a separate entity. So promote it, keep putting videos on. It’s not that you want people to go see the movie, you want them to buy the album now. According to me, [Mirzya] is a catalogue item as good as Dil Chahta Hai or Kal Ho Na Ho or anything which should be on that shelf forever.

S: Honestly, for me, [it’s] better [than DCH, KHNH].

E: Maybe, better.

S: After being there for 20 years, and after talking about all these aspects of this should be promoted, that should be done… we have gone beyond that. At the end of day, what matters is we should feel proud of our album. And we are really, really proud of Mirzya. Truly, without being immodest, I don’t see any album in the last five years that has come out from this industry which is of the level of Mirzya. I am not saying because I am a part of the album, I am just saying as a spectator. Like, Meghana Gulzar that day told, after a long time I’ve got an album which I feel like taking a CD and putting into the CD player and sitting and listening to it. And we don’t have control over film not doing well and all. It’s unfortunate.

Winning an award feels good for a moment. Next day, we are back here [at the studio], working, that’s how it’s been.

E: Not winning an award doesn’t feel bad, let me put it this way.

S: Absolutely not.

L: Shankar rightly said, if you know what you have done is good and you evaluated it [to be] good enough, you can’t let someone else…. Yes, if it’s appreciated, great. If someone has not heard the album or doesn’t have the opportunity to listen to it and evaluate it, that’s sad because of the situation in which the industry is.

S: When you get complimented by the greatest writer in this country, Gulzar Saab, saying that this is an album I am proud of, and it reminds me of the way I used to work with Pancham, I think we can’t a bigger compliment than this. See who’s validating us.

E: And he’s not one to just say things, you know.

S: Yeah, he’s not a person who’s just going to say thing just for the sake of it.

So these things matter, whom we are working with, are we doing the right thing, is it musically and aesthetically a good piece of work. We look at it from an outsider’s perspective. It’s not that we are just into the project, so we’ll say only good things.

Is it because of working with different kind of people…

L: Obviously, it’s like going out with two friends, not necessary both of them want to go to same restaurant. One might like Chinese, one might like Indian.

S: Between the three of us, we are very well musically equipped. Our musical database is very strong, to make music. Now when director walks in, we have to literally psychoanalyse a director first… what his sensibility is. A hardcore commercial director will never get the sensibility of Mirzya. He will never say yes to an Afghan folk singer coming in, blabbering in a language we can’t understand. It all depends on what he listens to in his car. So we have to create music of his sensibility which will satisfy his film and his vision. If we want to make music for ourselves, we can do that in a non-film album. Right now, we are working for a director who is the captain of the ship. If he is not happy with a song, we’ll throw it and do another song.

You guys have a huge discography of albums sinking down with the film, especially if you look at your earlier work like Armaan, Kuch Naa Kaho.

S: Speaking of Armaan, you see every reality show, the song, Mere Dil Ka Tumse Hai Kehna, has to be there. That’s gratifying for us. Or even Sapno Se Bhare Naina from Luck By Chance. Any Rajasthani kid who comes to television, has to sing Baawre. Even JBJ.

E: This is all legacies which will be left behind.

L: And every composer has that. The more work you’ve done, you’re subject to having both hits and flops. I find it very unfortunate that there’s no way out for the audience to hear the song once the films is done. Hardcore music lovers are gonna probe and find songs.

E: And there were not so many movies being made as much as today and so many soundtracks releasing. Kuch Naa Kaho came on a weekend and there was nothing else for next two weeks. Even though the film didn’t do well, the music was a hit. So did JBJ. Now on a Friday, four films come out and there are 10 songs and all are gone by the next weekend.

L: It’s like buying cheap plastic pens, all are disposable.

S: If there’s a song which has become a superhit, you think people would actually take a CD, put it and listen to it? There are songs on which I dance too on parties and functions, but that’s not a song I would put in my car and say hey, lemme listen to this song.

E: I have heard so many songs which are big hits but I haven’t seen anyone listening to it.

S: There are hardly three or four avenues to listen music: radio, TV, mobile, internet. The top 10 on each of these platforms are same. You are restricted to 10 songs in a week. What about the other songs?

L: It’s like walking into a mall and finding only one brand of pair of jeans. That’s exactly the situation that we are in right now. If you go back to late 60s or 70s, there was only radio, and radio had the dealing. So when radio came on national hours, entire country heard the popular songs, which is not the case now.

S: Take one radio station, switch to another, it’s the same song playing.

L: How do you have an identity as a radio station then?

S: I am doing a show called The Unheard on gaana.com. I am so happy doing it as I am hearing new stuff. And I am happy talking to the composers who are also happy thanking for doing this show.

I feel there has to be a parallel platform which plays music for the sake of music. People are worried about TRPs and all, but there will be listeners. You will not put off a song because it’s a non-film song.

Look at Dangal, there’s no song which was intended to make only for marketing. All the songs work beautifully with the film.

E: Other films need one hit song to market the film, so where’s the confidence of the film?

It’s a flop formula. Look at OK Jaanu, they recreated Humma Humma for the sake of it. But now the film is nowhere.

E: Oh, I feel bad for Shaad.

L: For me, when I look at a film, it’s really about being able to tell a story correctly. If there’s a problem in your storytelling, nothing can help you.

This has become a trend: to recreate an old song…

E: Give it 3 more months, it will go.

S: I see the state of helplessness in this. We don’t do films with one or two songs here and there, unless it’s a very dear friend, like the Marathi film we did, Mitwa.

I feel they are helpless because they are not able to get good melodies nowadays. Why would someone do it otherwise?

How is it different from the Instant Karma?

E: It was a completely different project. The idea was to do respectable versions of songs which became so big that people started doing bad versions.

S: It was the beginning of remixes, yaar. Abhi bhi tum wahi karte baithe ho.

L: Actually, it wasn’t even remix. It was reinterpretations of the songs.

E: I am trying to understand what is it today that people do not trust today’s songwriting or what?

L: For me, the analysis of it, there are two sides of it: Either there are no good songwriters or you are not in position to judge what a good song is. And I don’t buy the fact that there are no good songwriters. It’s impossible.

S: That’s unbelievable.

E: The thing is music has become like a commodity, something that you buy from a market and dispose.

L: Music is an important part of your life, on many levels. Just party, disco, dancing, jumping is all very cool. But there are other deeper levels at which people use music, like going back to old songs from a memory perspective, from a healing perspective. That’s an important side and you can’t negate that.

S: There’s a set of creative people, they have the music, they have the ability to create music, they have the talent but not the power. The power lies with someone else who has got the money but is completely non-musical and they take the decision.

E: Basically the industry has done it to itself.

L: It’s like music is a patient lying on a hospital table and there’s a rich man coming to operate him not because he is the doctor, just because he is rich. (everybody laughs)

E: World’s biggest producers, like Quincy Jones, say that there’s no industry left. They laugh when you say “music industry”, saying “what industry?” Where is the music industry the way it used to be.

S: Today is Javed ji’s birthday and I would quote him. He says, I have a very close friend Naresh Goyal and he is the owner of the biggest airlines in the country, Jet Airways. He owns maybe 100 of planes or whatever. But I have never seen him going to the cockpit and tell the pilot, “Ae zara left lena na.”

(Everybody laughs and sighs).

Let pilot do his job. Let musicians do their job.

S: Exactly. You are the owner, you run your company.

Coming back on your 21 years…

E: Your interview has gone into some other direction. Now please don’t ask us how we got together.

Has there been a low point when you guys felt that SEL is finished?

S: Ehsaan feels that during every project. When his melody doesn’t get approved by the two of us, he walks out, saying “I am leaving SEL.” But never seriously.

E: The lowest point in our career was actually the beginning of our career, when Mukul Anand passed away. It was like fate didn’t want this to happen maybe. It was one of the biggest films ever going to be made. If that film had come out, we probably would have been in some other space right now. Or maybe even done with the industry, god knows. After that we lost faith, because whoever tried to make that film couldn’t make it. Maybe it was not supposed to happen. When I went to meet Mukul, I didn’t want to do the film. He shouted at me, “You know who I am.” I said, “I know Mukul you are all like no 1 director.” “I am not like those guys. Why do you think I want to work with advertising people. I want to be different. I am telling you, you have to do it.” Damn sweet guy.

L: Even after Dil Chahta Hai, we had no work for 9 months. We were trying to figure out what’s going on, it was well received and all. People would meet us with scripts but instead of three guys, there would be four guys.

E: 90s was a very bad time for movies. Look at the kind of movies that were being made. Only Rahman came in with a breath of fresh air; Pancham da’s 1942: A Love Story was first time I put on television to listen to a song.

So when Dus fell through, what made you guys stick together for another film.

E: We were around, doing own thing. Shankar’s Breathless had become a huge hit. We weren’t even doing our shows.

S: We were happy doing ads.

E: In fact, we got more ads DCH.

L: Serious amount of ads.

E: Yeah, saying this is the kind of music we want. Just the right crossover between

Bollywood and [contemporary]. We came together for small things like corporate work. Then Dillagi came out, then Mission Kashmir.

S: Mission Kashmir was a big turning point.

E: Rockford came just before Mission Kashmir. The album released while we were working on the songs [of Mission Kasmir]. We had to take permission from Vinod Chopra to go for the album release (laughs). We were very scared. So we asked Nagesh [Kukunoor] to come and ask him.

S: We were very glad to work with Gulzar Saab for the first time [on Rockford].

E: It was beautiful.

L: And we composed it in this very studio (Purple Haze, Bandra).

Talking about association with Gulzar Saab, you guys completed a little circle with him in Mirzya. From “Aasman ke paar shayad aur koi aasman hoga” to “Aasman kholke dekhne do, uss taraf shayad ek aur bhi ho.”

S: Correct.

E: Oh my god.

S: It’s a full circle.

Highest point of the career?

S: Nothing like that. We are always on a high.

E: Everytime a movie does well, songs do well. Like we played at the IIT on 26^th, it was a euphoric high, so good playing there.

S: Everytime we see people going crazy when we play live, we feel how blessed we are. Honestly, we don’t take it very seriously. Our references of music are very different. We don’t listen to only film songs. We all have our own little musical journeys and this is just a part of it.

E: We just have a lot of fun here. Shabana Azmi once came in here and sat here and said, “if any serious producer would think you all are working here, he is sadly mistaken.”

Current music scene is by and large Bollywood. No one is willing to invest in an independent album, and on the other hand, our music legends like U Srinivas (who was with Shankar on Remember Shakti), or Madhav Chari passing away…

(Ehsaan and Loy sigh together at the mention of Madhav Chari, and interrupt.)

L: Oh my God. E:Oh! He was the finest.

L: He never got his recognition. He was way, way, way ahead in the game.

E: Madhav was something else. Very intellectual. He was like a guru to two of us (Loy and him).

With these legends passing away, how do you see the alternate music scene shaping up?

L: It’s not easy. It’s like a rough patch. And not only here, all over the world. One tries to be a supporter as much as one can and as much it allows.

S: Also, to counter that. There is a set of musicians in the city who are busier than Bollywood singers. Look at supremely talented Niladri Kumar or Sivamani or Sheldon or Gino. These guys are playing every alternate day. Why? Economically they are viable [funded] by corporate, public shows, festivals. But that market is very limited. Limited set of people who are all the time busy. If you want to cut through that market, you have to be supremely, supremely talented. In Bollywood, you get one hit song, possibly you’ll get shows and you do make it and need not be talented at all. Sur me gaane ki bhi zaroorat nahi hai.

How do you guys find avenue for alternate music?

S: I always have. I really feel there should many more avenues.

E: There should more clubs, especially in Bombay. What a lovely city this is. It’s entertainment capital of India and there’s nothing… one or two clubs that have live music.

S: NH7 in Pune is beautiful. Mumbai should have such music festivals.

E: And less entertainment tax.

Shankar, anything coming up with Remember Shakti?

S: After Srini passed away, we are all so depressed. When we try to play, we just look at each other helplessly. It’s like one door, we feel, has shut forever.

E: Such a monster musician.

S: Who do you play with! Who is a musician of that calibre! There are some people who need to play 100 notes to communicate, there are some who need to play only one. Srinivas was that.

L: He was special. [He had] hand of God.

S: He doesn’t even need to play. It’s the same fret, even if you touch it, the same sound will come out. But when he plays it, the sound will go through your heart. This is a blessing.

E: U Srinivas was like an avatar.

S: And I played with him for 14 years. We have lived together, travelled together, eaten together, composed together in flights. They used to call us MIDI Sync in the group. My whole attraction towards fusion music has dropped by about 20%. We have a Shakti group [on Whatsapp], we keep bloddy cribbing on the group. But now we are planning some stuff, let’s see. But I don’t think anything like Remember Shakti… because John ji [McLaughlin] has scouted for talent throughout the country before he made this group. He has done lot of research and he is a man who knows his stuff.

E: You all should get L Shankar back.

S: They fight over stupid things.

E: What a player he is. You know Peter Gabriel uses him on every project. Something or the other you’ll hear him playing on the album. He is in love with L Shankar.

Any regret in these 21 years?

S: I think three of us as individuals have not reached where our music has reached. Our music has reached far and wide, in every household; every single person has heard our music. But we, as people, as brand, in terms of public perception have not reached out there. Because we are too simple, easily accessible. It’s broccoli v/s onions and potatoes. We are the onions and potatoes. When someone is as easily accessible, his/her depth is not understood or is not reached out.

Do you think the same? We have been terrible in our PR. But we never attempted to build an image of ourselves or try to be THE Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy.

E: At some level, that’s also too much. That image takes away the music from you. Then at some level, you’ll start selling your music like that ‘I am so and so person’, but eventually it doesn’t hold.

Maybe some international perception. But we are working on some collaboration now.

The catalogue of directors we have worked with would be anybody’s wildest dream. Gulzar Saab just drops in our house at Karjat for fun, have a cup of tea. Where does this happen?

One album you wish you had done.

E: I would have loved to work on Mani Ratnam’s earlier films, like Thalapathy.

S: 3 Idiots.

E: Oh yeah.

L: No comments.

(everybody laughs)

S: Loy barely knows the movie we are working on.

E: He told somebody in an interview the first Hindi film he saw was 36 Chowringhee Lane.

It’s not even Hindi, it’s in English.

L: I don’t listen to Bollywood music.

E: For that reason, nor do I. Not anymore. I used to listen all the old stuff, nothing contemporary. I love Amit Trivedi’s work, whatever he does.

L: I like Vishal Bhardwaj’s work. For me, only these two guys.

How do you see the next 21 years?

S: Superb yaar. Lots more to do. Bollywood takes up a lot of your time. You sign up with three directors, your year is gone.

E: This year we are relaxing.

L: We’ll talk about it in 2037.

S: I would like Loy to do a Jazz album. I would like to Ehsaan to do a Blues album. I would like to do some stuff for myself, something non-film. I think the next 21 years will be that.

E: Hopefully, I will be abducted by UFO by then, which is one my dreams. (laughs)

S: That’s the other side of him.

Jab Harry Met Sejal Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 05 Aug 2017 12:21:00 +0000

(Spoilers, obviously.)

We know Imtiaz Ali and his tropes: Boy meets Girl, journey, finding love, finding yourself, blah blah blah. Simple. Simple?

Jab Harry Met Sejal, if seen simply, is a story of a girl searching for her lost engagement ring with her Euro trip guide whom she ends up falling in love with. (Of course, the ring is the metaphor for elusive true love on this journey which, in Imtiaz Ali films, is always a metaphor for life.) But more than plot, Imtiaz always delves into characters, put them in doubts, makes them question themselves, shows them the mirror. And this is where his stories are.

The Girl does find her ring -- it was always with her, deep in her bag -- while searching for an antiseptic, to nurse the wounds of the Boy. (Oh, so meta, again, and I am reminded of Irshad's line from Tamasha song, 'Safarnama', which kind of captures the essence of all his films: 'Jise dhoondha zamaane mein, mujh hi mein tha'.) This moment hits her like an epiphany. She is at a gangster's den (a comical setup though -- even gangsters in an Imtiaz Ali film go through a break-up), in a foreign country, away from home, and here she is caring for a tour guide's wounds. Worldly threats bring out your most vulnerable self. Imtiaz taught us this in Highway.

There are more Highway moments in here. The tour guide, Harry, like Mahabir, has a lost home. They both break into tears and hide it, when they find something like home in someone. Harry belongs to wheat fields in Punjab, he sings on tractors. He is a man of soil. And for him, Sejal is a woman of china clay, meant to be kept in glass shelf, handled with care. "Neat and clean", as JJ of Rockstar would say. (There is a Rockstar moment too when Harry asks for a hug.)

But Sejal is no Heer. She comes across as Geet with her worldly wisdom, but has been living a life of Veera (Highway)/Aditi (Socha Na Tha). Part of the itinerary of her first Euro trip had a "romantic" engagement, with her family. She circles the same trip again, with the same tour guide, minus the engagement, but the definition of "romantic" comes around only this time. Wasn't Highway the same, about meeting the same place differently (Veera says that she has been to Delhi before but only checks in in hotels)? Wasn't Socha Na Tha the same, about meeting the same person differently?

Problem is we see very little of the places here: Instead of establishing shots of various places, we see a map. They go to Frankfurt but to attend a ceremony, indoors. Despite of so much travelling, I don't feel I have seen those places. All they visit is nightclubs (There are four club scenes!). Tamasha was a worthier ticket, to Corsica; Rockstar to Prague, than this film. Europe should not give any tourism subsidy to Red Chillies for this film.

When Sejal meets Harry in the first minutes of the film, they are actually meeting for the second time. This time she meets the (broken) human in him and not a mechanical person on a job. Imtiaz's characters are either people we know or people we don't care to know -- both, in some or the other way, are us.

With Sejal, Imtiaz does something he hasn't done before. He imbues her with her self-aware insecurities. This modern, selfie-clicking woman is also in doubts of her self-worth. She looks for validation. Yet she has the control over her body -- she is pretty much clear in her head that her "girlfriend" arrangement with Harry is a selfish reasoning; at least she didn't intend to end up in bed with him to begin with. But these internal conflicts are like her lost ring: always there, but we didn't know of. I wanted to know more about her. Imtiaz doesn't care to explain.

He instead cares to explain the part that we already know. He, here, over explains his thoughts through the characters, primary and secondary both, making it a very verbose affair. He explained his film, milord, a crime. He explained his film which he has already made six times before! After a point, towards the end, when Harry and Sejal are talking things out, I stopped listening. Because I know Imtiaz Ali, I know his tropes.

MOM Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 08 Jul 2017 07:50:00 +0000

A R Rahman, in the 25th year of his career, when he could simply play in his comfort zone and yet excel every time, chooses to compose and produce a largely esoteric, experimental and minimalistic soundtrack for debutant Ravi Udyawar's film - Mom. The songs suggest a definite soundscape that belongs to the film.

And then I saw the film.

The first thing that struck me about the film, more than its soundscape, was its photography. It struck me in my eyes. It is that obtrusive. And that is a cardinal sin. If your frame is noticeable before what's in the frame, you are doing exacty opposite of what is expected from a good photographer. And these visuals don't justify what it wants to tell. It's just there to show-off one's skill. See that shot with just a dim red light in frame that is constantly seeking your attention?

Among many other cliché scenes in the film, one is how one character finds modern-art pedestrian. The film is exactly that: looks arty, but, with its populist politics and message(s), is terribly pedestrian. You have a mom on a mission (to revenge the rape of her step-daughter), and two stock-characters: a seedy, Bengali private detective from Paharganj (Nawazuddin in truly "special appearance" because his make-up and look has no other business than 'look, how real our portrayal of characters are'); and an honest-policeman-who-can't-do-much-because-stuck-in-bureaucracy Akshaye Khanna.

There are scenes written only for the characters to spew one or two taali-seeti seeking lines, and otherwise have very little narrative purpose. Be it "Iss desh me rapists ko thappad bhi nahi maar sakte" or an age-old SMS: "Bhagwan har jagah nahi ho sakte isiliye toh maa banayi hai". The dialogues elsewhere is, again, very pedestrian. (The confrontation scene between a rapist and the detective is solid cringy.)

Then there is problematic representation of transgender characters: we meet two of them as students of Devaki, the Mom (Sridevi), who later uses them in her revenge plan. She makes them disguise as sex-workers. Nothing wrong in being sex-workers, but using trans characters for it because 'oh, to make it look real' again? And that is the only raison d'être of these characters in the film. It not only then comes across as robbing them of the power given in their introduction scene (that they have started up a business) but also makes the empowerment look as tokenism.

And the most problematic is its climax (which even elicited applause from the audience): the victim step-daughter, who had been treating her stepmom unfairly even when the former was almost in comatose condition in an ICU, finally accepts her after she has killed the rapist right in front of her. The film wants to peddle this desperate, quick-fix ideology, and sadly but not-so-surprisingly it seems to be working for a few audience.

Mom is a populist film. That is not a problem. Problem is: it masquerades as a high art. Could this be a subversion, or a subtext of a high-society, well-guarded woman going off-boundaries, on roads? But there is very little that supports this case, because the filmmaking is so inert that it is oblivious to any class hierarchy and its issues, which in a rape revenge film, surely cannot be overlooked.

ARR in an interview told how he asked the director to tweak a scene so that he could fit in a semi-classical track in the soundtrack - Be Nazara. What is the longest song in the album, appears for fleeting seconds in the film, adding nothing but Style. Now you get some idea what the makers wanted to achieve in this film. The esoteric sight and sound of this film constantly tells where the film wants to belong -- which is definitely not with the masses. So, you have a film which is not true to its content, and its form misleads its content.

Rangoon

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 25 Feb 2017 18:40:00 +0000

(This is not a review. I was so overwhelmed by the film and its layers, themes and characters that I had to put down what -- and how -- I saw few of them. This might read like I am trying to make myself understand the film. So, spoilers ahead, of course.)

A film set. Shooting crew – all male. It’s a musical opening scene, fantastic one at that. All are singing in the praise of one woman – Julia. Miss Julia.

Director cuts the scene. He approves it. Producer appears from the top, with unmistakable tyranny, and orders one more take to be shot, with altogether new and more daring actions.

“Mujhe Mrs. Billimoria huey bina nahi marna hai,” tells Julia to him.

“You are Julia. Miss Julia… My Julia,” replies Rusi Billimoria, the producer.

Julia is the identity he has given to her. Her real name was Jwala Devi, we learn later. She was a gypsy, a street performer. Rusi spotted her and bought her from her mother for a thousand rupees, we learn this in a different scene even later.

These verbal details are spurted casually in a funny conversation. You gather these fragments and connect to know the character, their story. Even for a minor character of a Japanese soldier, we first see him singing, while held captive in a deserted church; later, he tells he is a music school graduate; even later we also see him playing a mouth organ.

Rusi bought Julia when she was 14. She is now star action actress of his studio. And he is in love with her. He calls her “kiddo”. Their relationship is very dominant-submissive. Patting his thighs, he asks her to sit on his lap. She submits.

And then there is Jamadaar Nawab Mallik. He comes in the picture as a personal bodyguard of Miss Julia. And with him, she falls in love… that spiritual kind. They realise that when they are away in a jungle and in deep mud. It’s perhaps a foreshadowing that their love story is meant to be doomed.

But as it turns out, in the second half, Mallik is in single-minded love with the nation (He is an INA rebel). Like how Rusi is with Julia. Rusi even divorces his wife. He tells his father, “Mohabbat jaan bujh kar toh nahi ki. Bas ho gayee.” We then realise that this tyrant might have a heart after all. He would let the dead body of an INA rebel rot in jungle, but cannot gather himself to hold a gun against a kid of another rebel, despite his loyalty towards British makes him call them traitors.

This torn and conflicted love triangle finds, right in the middle of the story, the oldest symbolism in the books – a bridge. VB makes it work – adding that melancholic ‘Alvida’ track. The second time these lovers assemble near the bridge, which is at the end, a lot of water has flown under it, and they are not the same as they were.

Julia now refuses to sit on Rusi’s lap. She is realising her own identity; where her heart lies. She tells him, “Tum uda lo toh main aasmaan mein, tum bula lo toh jaangh pe. Tum kaho toh main Miss Julia, tum bolo toh mai Mrs. Bilimoria.”

Nawab’s devotion for nation has broken upon her. He tells her, “Tum apne jism me bandh ho.” She was only a fairness-cream applying actress, until then, who used to roam in her tinted car in Bombay, indifferent to the freedom protests happening around. We also see one early scene in a different light now, when Rusi offers her a ring and asks to wear once the wound on her finger is healed. She tells, “(Zakham) jaldi nahi bharega,” and wears the ring over it, as if covering every bit of her childhood injury with all the luxury that is coming her way through him. It’s when the surrounding and surmounting politics hits her personally, taking away her beloved as well as her dear Man Friday, she has her realisation. It’s like her coming-of-age.

Action star Julia comes out of the screen now. She hijacks a train (This is the Rail Ki Rani film that Rusi had denied her to star in). And we head towards the climax which could be a companion piece to Haider’s climax.

Haider's finale was covered in ice; this one takes place between fire and water. If Tabu’s character was symbolic of Kashmir there, Julia is India here. How both are lost in the battle. Shahid plays rebel in both the films, but with different fates (No, not talking about Kaminey here). It is in this last moment, we see Rusi having a change of heart. He does what he had perhaps seen Julia doing on street when she was 14 – maut ka rassa (Rusi had also starred in a film called Maut Ka Rassa -- we see the poster in an earlier scene). Julia walked tight rope all her life. (It is also for this reason that I wish it was Julia who gets to do that again with the sword. It would have been a proper coming-of-age, and of course, more than that). Rusi manages to do it in the finale. We don’t see him crossing it – film fades out and ends.

The bridge to Rangoon is burnt. The rebel for freedom continues.

Cities Of Sleep (Documentary) Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 11 Feb 2017 15:42:00 +0000

Director: Shaunak Sen

In the first chapter of Anurag Kashyap’s recently released Raman Raghav 2.0, Nawazuddin Siddiqui as Sindhi Dalvai (or Ramanna) surrenders to police saying he is here because he’ll get a proper place to sleep in jail; they charge thirty rupees outside. Policemen find his reason to surrender baffling, and one of them calls him a joker. What is strikingly similar between Ramanna and the protagonist of Shaunak Sen’s documentary on the business of sleep in Delhi, other than both lacking a proper sleeping place, is that both, inhabiting in the sleepless underbellies of two metro cities, are quintessential unreliable narrators. Difference: former is a serial killer, latter, a beggar.

He’s Shakeel, a migrant from Assam. Shakeel is not his real name though. It’s Manoj. He adopted this Muslim name because it gives him a sense of belonging with the people and places he walks into, which is dominated by Muslims. Naturally, a homeless, he has no place to sleep. He finds solace in sleeping shelters at night. Jamal Bhai, otherwise a tea vendor, gives cots to rent for anything between 20 and 50 rupees. It's mind-boggling to see how an entrepreneurial venture has been made out from a part of human routine.

Jamal Bhai does not trust Shakeel’s rugged and scarred face. No one does. Neither the filmmaker, nor the film. Shakeel has an impaired vision. His stories are hardly reliable. Homeless in Delhi, he has a pucca home back in his hometown in Assam. His not-so-good relationship with his father is the reason why he's in Delhi. His father wants him to have a steady job; is also willing to fix him up with one, but his arrogance comes midway. He’s also a wife-beater, he confesses. He can’t speak English, but can sing to the rap tunes of Bollywood songs. We see these flashes of his, and like a misleading compass in hand, we follow the story that has now become more about the biography of a person than a place.

Midway while filming, the crew lost Shakeel. He disappeared and was unreachable for around six months. Sen told after the screening that Shakeel bagged roles in two local TV shows in that period and one Bollywood film – Rajkumar Hirani’s Aamir Khan starrer p.k.; he’s the blind beggar on the bridge from whom Aamir takes money calling him an ATM. When he returned, he was indeed almost blind.

And in this period when they lost Shakeel, they found Ranjith – film’s another character who adds abstract and philosophical dimension to the story. Ranjith runs a sleeping shelter at Loha Pul, an old iron bridge over Yamuna River in Delhi, which is also a makeshift cinema tent. Ten rupees for three films on a T.V. that gives over six hours of peace. He acknowledges TV as a dream dispensing machine. “The best part of sleeping while watching a film is that you can’t make out what you’re watching is a film or a dream,” he philosophizes. For him, a sleep-inducing movie is not boring, it’s magical.

It’s really magical to see what ways people find to find a peaceful sleep. Meagre labourers, auto-rickshaw drivers do look peaceful when they are asleep or watching films here. “You can be anyone here, you can choose not to be a rickshawala that you are for the outside world,” says Ranjith while talking about his sleeping shelter as an escapist outlet. But within each of them is their daily tussle of survival.

Beneath them is the turbid water of Yamuna that fishes out around ten dead bodies a month. And above them passes the busy, lively city road. They, literally, exist between life and death. Extending on this metaphysical nature of sleep, Ranjith goes on to say, “Sleeping is like existing between life and death, between light and dark, between day and night. There’s a pattern, a rhythm, like how our body rises and submerges as we breathe while sleeping.”

Cities of Sleep tells in its opening scene that sleeping, in the city of Delhi, is not just a necessity or a habit, it's a privilege. It's a luxury that many can't afford. “The city can be seen divided merely on who sleeps where.” In between this socio-economic commentary on sleeping, the same voice slips in a philosophical one, “If you want to seize control over anyone, don’t let him/her sleep.” So the tone is set right at the beginning. It doesn’t feel odd when Ranjith philosophises, a little too much, about... sleeping. His ramblings do come across as heavily constructed though. But then which art form isn’t?

However, it does feel that the director has a pre-conceived, pre-researched idea and the visuals, no matter how fluid, want to direct us towards that inherent idea. Well, that’s, in fact, the nature of cinéma vérité but the idea is not to make it feel like that. Here it does. (So, is it being too true to be, err, truthful cinema?) Like that scene where a father is applying mosquito repellent to his kids to make them sleep peacefully and Amitabh Bachchan’s voice, talking about a poor man’s struggle to raise kids, from the nearby cinema tent runs as a voiceover. And the father goes on to tell his kids bedtime story – a regular hare-and-tortoise one, which is another story whose central conceit involves... sleeping.

There’s an upper-class gaze attached in the way Sen films Shakeel, one can accuse. In a scene, Shakeel looks at the camera, and asks, “You never do anything for me; only keeps on recording me.” In another documentary (or any film, for that matter), one would deduce such a scene to a fourth-wall breaking scene where the character is directly addressing to the audience. Here, the character is talking to the maker – the observer filmmaker – rather than the audience. The scene works at an altogether another level because, in a way, by intruding himself in between the audience and the protagonist, Sen made the process even more unobtrusive.

Sen doesn’t reply to Shakeel in that scene... instantly. Sen confessed after the screening that he was taken aback for a moment and after a long pause, he did reply to him. But we don’t see that in the film, because the story that Sen wants to tell lies in that long pause. And when you have a good story in hand, as they say, don’t let facts come in the way of it.

This review was initially published at TheW14.com.

Death of a Gentleman Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 11 Feb 2017 15:24:00 +0000

Directors: Sam Collins, Jarrod Kimber, Johnny Blank

First things first: I know cricket as much as I know Greek. Last cricket match I saw was in 2001. An exhilarating India v/s England. India not only won that match but was also exempted from paying the taxes. It was Lagaan. We could have won an Oscar too, but that’s another sad story.

That fictional match aside, it is true that cricket is a colonial gift to Indian sports culture. This Englishman’s, or as they call it, Gentleman’s game was played to promote and expand the reach of colonialism in deeper pockets of India. But what the end of imperialism meant – that the world will now embrace democracy – didn’t really reflect in the game of cricket. Imperialism never left cricket. In fact, it grew.

Death of a Gentleman is about this growing imperialism in the game and the imperialists, viz. England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB), Cricket Australia (CA) and, mainly, the Board of Control of Cricket in India (BCCI).

Two Australian cricket journalists – Sam Collins and Jarrod Kimber – embark upon to document stories about the dying form of cricket: the test cricket. But in the process, they find out that the reason of the death of the game is the game itself – in its other form, called T20, and its various tournaments, particularly the Indian Premiere League (IPL).

“The test cricket is a test of skills, test of courage, and test of intelligence,” says one gentleman in the film. But seems like the five-day format of the game is also turning out as a ‘test of patience’ for some of its audiences. They seek instant entertainment. Are sports the place where they should look for it? Not sure. But T20, as a condensed version of the game packed with sixes and fours, does provide some entertainment; IPL, even more… in its raw, visceral yet glamorous form. “IPL does not compete with test cricket. It competes with Bollywood,” says ex-cricketer and commentator Arun Lal.

IPL is giving this 2-min-instant-noodles generation what they want. How does this explain the death of the older form of the sport? Take this case: In April 2012, Australia was on its tour in West Indies to play a test series of three matches other than five ODIs and two T20s. ODIs and T20s resulted into ties, but for the tests, the selectors simply couldn’t pick some of the top players of West Indies XI, including Chris Gayle who recently lead his team win the T20 World Cup Championship, as they were thousand miles away playing for the IPL. As a result, the West Indies faced a severe blow, losing 2-0 (one match being withdrawn due to rains).

Corporates and capitalists are putting monies where audiences’ affinity lies. Players are where the money is. This makes cricket historian Gideon Haigh raise a pertinent question, quite early in the film, which also sums up the film: Does cricket make money to exist or does it exist to make money?

Though the answer is apparent, the film tries to find it in profound ways. As it turns out, the simple looking money investing and money chasing business is a nexus with the then BCCI and ICC head N Srinivasan sitting at its top.

What makes him the imperialist of the game? He signed off a rule that made cricket boards of top three cricket playing countries – India, England and Australia – hold equal shares of revenue upto fifty percent of the ICC grants, thus sidelining poorer countries like Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, West Indies, South Africa, New Zealand, Zimbabwe, and jeopardizing their cricketing culture. This economic imbalance also means that there would be countries which could never play this beautiful game. They reduced and regressed the gentleman in this Gentleman’s Game to a crony, oppressive one as imagined in the colonial era.

China, for a population of over a billion, receives only $30, 000 as grants from the federation. It would invest more by themselves if cricket is accepted into Olympics. So why hasn’t ICC pushed for cricket into Olympics? To which, Srinivasan replies, with the entitlement that he assumes, that he has all the rights to put the board’s interest first.

The duo journalists take time to come up on screen and chart out the nexus equations on a blackboard, posing pressing questions. But this technique hardly works in their favor, because 1) they are bad actors; 2) pointing out questions in a staged sequence robs the film of its inherent drama. They finished documenting the story in 2015 before the main villain portrayed in the film, N Srinivsan, was dethroned from both the bodies – ICC as well as the BCCI. So the relevance of this documentary now is again slightly doubtful but it must be seen as a record of the time when the game seemed to be in peril, and probably still is.

Sneaking from the darker alleys of crony capitalism, the film, in parallel, runs into a human tale of Australian opener of Ed Cowan that shows some light. But even that is hindered as we see him going on duck in the first innings of his career’s last test. He is personified metaphor of the game we are talking about.

Death of a Gentleman is a passionate and heartfelt love letter to the purest form of cricket by two of its most ardent devotees who miss not only the gentlemen who played the game but also those who stood with them in the stadium.

This review was originally published on TheW14.com

Kaabil Music Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Wed, 04 Jan 2017 11:37:00 +0000

"Misdirected musical disaster"

Music: Rajesh Roshan, Gourov-Roshin

Ratings: ½ star

1. Kaabil Hoon

What transpires in the first minute of the song is musical misdirection of ridiculous proportions: there are neat claps and strings for precisely ten seconds before a jazzy saxophone, followed by vocals (Jubin Nautiyal) – so far so good – but just when Jubin changes a verse, kicks in a… dafli. And this dafli-like sounding percussion is equally supported by electronic percussion. Before I could even understand the point of it, the track has changed a few scales and has become a cacophonous disaster. The tune is inherently dated (which is Rajesh Roshan’s inextricable problem – you can’t take him out of the ‘80s), which makes it look like Roshan wants best of both the worlds here—old and new – but he cripples when electronic music is bestowed upon him. His under-confidence is visible.

Only benefit – strictly in terms of structure and not composition – that this song had due to this old-fashioned music director is that when you feel the song would end, which is around 03:50, Roshan reminds us how a tune (no matter good or bad, old or new) has to let grow organically and not chop for radio-slot length. But that portion has Palak Muchhal at her shrillest. This one title track is enough for you to dread of five more songs of the album.

2. Haseeno Ka Deewana

Roshan’s own song from Yaarana gets here what every old song is getting these days: a recreated version. Gourov-Roshin have done it. They end up making something which could be a challenge for listeners to listen it on full volume on their earphones and come out without damaged ears. I didn’t want to give it more than a single listen. All I could hear is transformers rioting with sample sounds thrown in.

3. Kuch Din

Finally a mellowed track and I raise the volume of my earphones again. This romantic track has nice tune, old-world again, but it needed an old-world singer. Jubin Nautiyal makes it devoid of any soul. But he is not to be blamed alone, as more than him it’s over-dependence on electronic and poor production value that mars the track. A naturally produced and orchestrated female version of this song by someone like Alka Yagnik would tell you what this song really is.

4. Mon Amour

The slow prelude before the main dance track is nice. The arrangement here is neat too. But it’s so generic and gets so repetitive that it becomes exhaustive to hear. And, of course, Vishal Dadlani for slightly western and energetic track is an obvious choice.

5. Kaabil Hoon (Sad Version)

The sad version rendition of the main hook of the title track by Jubin Nautiyal is so funny that you don’t feel sad or anything anymore.

6. Kisi Se Pyar Ho Jaye

Gourov-Roshin recreate another song of Roshan. This one from Julie (the word Julie in the song is replaced by Jaana) with additional lyrics by Kumaar which feels like they exist in another song. Again, electronic laden, and with meandering piano bits which just doesn’t gel. Zubin, again, is not evocative at all.

Kaabil is a misdirected disaster by all measures.

Dangal Music Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Wed, 04 Jan 2017 11:30:00 +0000

"Pritam in top form, again"

Music: Pritam

Lyrics: Amitabh Bhattacharya

Ratings: ***1/2

1. Haanikaarak Bapu

The album starts with this cracker of a song about Mahavir Phoghat training his three young daughters for wrestling. It gets an ironical title "Bapu sehat ke liye tu toh haanikaarak hai" and Bhattacharya's quirky pen doesn't stop here -- "Tujhse behtar toh Hindi filmo ke khalnayak hai" is cheeky at its best for this song featuring one of Hindi film's superstars. But the real superstars of the song are the kids Sarwar Khan and Sartaz Khan Barna who lend their playful voice. Rare instance where a song sung by kids isn't just a children's song. And Pritam does wonders by employing them as chorus too.

2. Dhaakad

Starts with a folk tune on sarangi, enter electronic sound and it grows into a Haryanvi rap but the folksy elements (highlighted by a been) doesn't go missing at any point in this superb fusion. Raftaar is excellent with the rap which is punctuated by invigorating chorus for the title hook.

Aamir Khan goes behind microphone to render his version of the song which is exactly same. An actor singing the song is a marketing fad but Aamir’s attempt isn’t half bad.

3. Gilheriyaan

Lyricist Bhattacharya's obsession with plural Hindi words (the ones that ends with '-yaan') continues here to find him a new hook. The song is breezy -- I particularly like the opening. The rhythm is strongly reminiscent of Sachin-Jigar’s Jaise Mera Tu from Happy Ending. Jonita Gandhi’s mellifluous voice gives you a sour-sweet taste in your mouth.

4. Dangal

Pritam continues to employ chorus for effect here. It creates a tense mood with the strings in the start, but Daler Mehndi’s pitches in with so much power that the energy just doesn’t drop till the end of this 5 min track. It does feel a little long for listening, though. Great arrangement in the background – mainly with strings, electric guitar and bass.

5. Naina

Channa Mereya hangover is strong in the opening, only less effective. Strings are used very well here too but Arijit’s voice sounds too dripped in melancholia for this mellow track. Forgettable one.

[Update: The song really grew after watching the film -- it is very nicely picturized.]

6. Idiot Banna

A shaadi/sangeet song sung by Nooran sisters. There are nice touches – like the strings in the background in the opening – but it doesn’t escape from the trap of sounding like a regular shaadi song. Also, it does get noisy at times.

Pritam, right after Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, continues to be in his top form.

18th Mumbai Film Festival Round-up

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Wed, 02 Nov 2016 06:02:00 +0000

Mumbai Film Festival, organised by MAMI, has become an annual ritual for all the films fanatics over the years. Attended by thousands of film lovers across the country, the line-up had over 170 titles this year. It was my fifth year at the fest which was in its 18^th edition this year. I saw around 20 films – liked a few, loved a few, hated some, slept throughout one or two. Here’s a round-up of top 10 films I enjoyed at the fest:

1. Under The Shadow (Babak Anvari; UK): UK’s Oscar entry for this year is a Farsi language political horror set in Tehran, 1988 during the Iranian revolution. For her active participation in the protest, Shideh, an aspiring doctor, is asked to quit the course. Her doctor husband is supportive of her but is helpless as he is posted in another city. The relationship setup in the initial minutes is very Asghar Farhadi-ish. Peter Bradshaw, film critic of Guardian, has put it right for this film – it is Asghar Farhadi meets Roman Polanski. Horrors of political war kill dreams and ambitions of Shideh who, after her husband’s posting, is left alone with her daughter at their apartment. Their fears, insecurity (of her being an incompetent mother) and surrounding paranoia culminate into horrors of supernatural. Even though it has all the tropes of a regular horror film, it manages to surprise and shock you at right places.

2. The Untamed (Amate Escalante; Mexico): Escalante's follow-up film after Heli whose one bizarre violent scene is still etched in my mind since I watched it at the fest in 2013. He takes the bizarre-ness even further this time. A couple goes through shifts in their relationship after a meteorite has an effect over their village and due to the presence of a mysterious creature. A complex relationship drama in its first hour then opens like a thriller. It has deliciously wicked 'Tell, don't show' moments. Telling anything more would be a spoiler thanks to its anti-climactic storytelling.

3. The Salesman (Asghar Farhadi; Iran): Iran’s only Oscar winner filmmaker is in his elements… so much that you can call him a formula. But you know no one else can replicate this formula. Highly original, superlative human drama that unfolds like a thriller. A couple moves into a new apartment (there’s a shot referencing his own About Elly in this moving-in scene) whose previous tenant was apparently a promiscuous woman. Characters and their motivation reflect the political-religious conflict in the state of Iran. One tiny throwaway detail towards the end sums up the entire plot and moral conflict of the film. And, as usual, follow the use of glass in the film, you will see the story that Farhadi wants you to see. This film is Farhadi’s fourth film in last seven years to be Iran’s Oscar entry.

4. After The Storm (Hirokazu Koreeda; Japan): There’s barely anything to dislike in this warm relationship drama of a novelist-turned-detective and his separated wife. Set at a relaxed pace and in what looks like a middle, quieter town of Japan, the film’s charm will resonate with the Indian palettes who have grown on Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s films. One character of the lead’s mother is a show-stealer. Simple yet profound, watching this film is like reading your favourite novel.

5. Neruda (Pablo Larrain; Chile): A brilliant biopic of revolutionary poet Pablo Neruda that doesn’t follow the regular structure of a biopic. It is anti-biopic, in a way. Not a hagiography, it puts Neruda, the poet, and his communist ideals in question. He is chased by a cop, Oscar Peluchoneau (Gael Garcia Bernal) who is also narrating the story as if he is writing the script alongside. Digital lens flare is used to produce utmost beautiful frames; jump-cut in editing pattern is used innovatively. Smart, witty, hilarious, it turns its head and becomes poetic at the end with ease.

6. Chronicles Of Hari (Ananya Kasaravalli; India): Chronicles Of Hari is a solid examination of gender-queer in a culturally patriarchal and sexist society through the life and gender dichotomy of a Yakshagana artist who is a streepatradhari (man who plays the role of woman in this theatrical dance form). Two documentary filmmakers – a male and a female – are trying to find whereabouts of Hari, of which the female is convinced that Hari committed suicide. This is telling of female sympathy with Hari. The other sympathetic female in the film is Hari’s mother. Examining how modern society, where Sec 377 is prevalent, perceives an artist – and tries to oppress him – this is more than just a queer and intersectional feminist film. It is so brilliantly photographed that you freeze any frame, you’ll get a gobsmacking still.

7. Apprentice (Boo Junfeng; Singapore): Apprentice could very well have been a Gulzar or a Manto short story. But it cannot be a short film. The story needs a feature length to be told in visual medium, and Junfeng does it brilliantly. A former soldier has newly joined as a guard in a state prison. He is hiding something about his lost father and then he finds a father-figure in the prison's executioner. The plot is so predictable that you know right from the beginning what the last shot of the film will be. But it doesn't matter. You wait to see that. It's about "how" more than "what". Engrossing dramatic build-ups, searing emotional tension... everything photographed effectively by Benoit Soler who also shot Singapore's Oscar entry of 2013, Anthony Chen's brilliant Ilo Ilo. Chen and now Junfeng are the two young filmmakers from Singapore to watch out for.

8. I, Daniel Blake (Ken Loach; UK): It is this year’s Palme d’Or (Cannes) winner, and that makes it another year for a relatively mainstream content winning the top honour. Daniel Blake, a retired carpenter, in his struggle with the red tape, digital-by-default system to make way for his old-age funds, meets a single mother whom the system has failed equally. Light-hearted and funny initial minutes grow into heart-breaking and severely empathetic tale. Few cliché plot points and utterly predictable climax but one angsty scene wins everything over.

9. The Lovers And The Despot (Ross Adam, Robert Canna; US): The fact that something like this happened is so hilarious that I stopped minding its over dramatic treatment. A divorced South Korean film couple – director and actress – is kidnapped by the dictator of the neighbouring communist country for them to make films. It's a dream for any director to get to make films of his choice with all the country's money. In a Stockholm Syndrome kind of situation, he did give North Korea its first romantic film and made non-propaganda films... but now the filmmaking itself is a propaganda.

10. Cinema Travellers (Amit Madhesiya, Shirley Abraham; India): India’s only official Cannes selection this year is an outstanding documentary on touring talkies in Maharashtra. The documentary follows Mohammed, Bapu – both owners of touring talkies that takes films to villages and shows them in a tent – and Prakash, a projector-repairing engineer, whose story tells the larger theme of digital invasion in films. Beautifully shot, this docu is a relentless journey (it took eight years in making) of following a story which is told like a fiction.

Mirzya Movie Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 08 Oct 2016 06:47:00 +0000

Few minutes into Mirzya, you know that the film wants you to feel that you are watching an epic – with a capital E – but all you could feel for in the film is…nothing. And you wonder, well, yeah, how can you, as a cinema lover, not feel anything when you just witnessed the names of some cinema stalwarts in the opening credits? It’s not a great feeling. Last time I got this feeling while watching a film was during Bombay Velvet. And like Bombay Velvet, this one is bogged down by the same problem of self-seriousness.

The film is taking itself too seriously. There’s conscious attempt to make and look everything like… Epic. Which is why, despite of opening the film with a fourth-wall-breaking invitation (by Om Puri) into the alleys of blacksmiths, the film doesn’t feel inviting; it goes on its own trip. Despite of its free fluid photography, the form appears rigid. I can imagine what a hard time P S Bharathi would have had editing this film which is also a musical. Problem is, her hard time is clearly showing. The transition between two music pieces is not really in tandem with the rhythm of the frames – it makes its stellar soundscape appear patchy.

Yet, even after having a great team -- Gulzar for writing the film and songs, Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy for writing the score, Pawel Dyllus as the director of photography, Bharathi as the editor, this is completely a director's film. Which should have been a achievement. But it clearly isn't. Which is why all the flaws should rightly be credited to Mehra rather than to the individual department.

Gulzar does get to display his flashes of genius here. Take the first ten minutes of the film: We are taken to the childhood of Munish and Suchi. They are school buddies. Suchi takes the caning from the teacher for homework not done by Munish. Her father is a police officer. We see him cleaning his pistol. Munish sees it too. But the only idea of what's going in the kid’s head we have is his concern for his best friend whose palms are now bruised red. You now know where it's going but nothing is as pronounced on the screen. It's minimal, it's a shocker. We hear, in Gulzar’s voice, “Ishq me aksar yeh bhi hota hai; chot kahi lagti hai, zakhm kahi par hota hai.” (It often happens in love; someone is injured, someone else is wounded). It's broken, and deathly poetic. This part should have been the prologue, and the other shocker towards the end, when Gulzar Saab reminds us the same lines again, should've been followed with a fitting epilogue. At least, the symmetrical structure and the book-ending nature of the prose wouldn't have been sacrificed with a tepid mid-act.

These two scenes are brilliant visual storytelling that only a master like Gulzar could write. Even in verbal scenes, there's a lot to admire in his minimal yet effective writing. When grown-up Adil returns to Suchi’s father reminding him about the kid who stole his pistol saying that the kid used to love Suchi and he still does, the father walks up to him and asks how did he change his name from Munish to Adil? This is great economy of words. No major slack, no melodrama heavy exchange, yet powerfully convincing. Also, when Suchi is telling her horse-riding tutor Adil about her frolic affairs with Munish, Adil fires back with go find him in Govardhan Public School. No “how did he…?”, no other questions asked, one eureka moment and that's all. Lovely economy, again.

In the same ‘grown-up Suchi meets grown-up Munish’ scene, they confront physically more than orally, you do see some igniting passion -- she ends up tearing his gunjee, you see the first-timer actors are giving their best here, but you somehow don't feel the passion. Again, it's a completely directorial flaw -- he owns each and every frame of this film. This scene is the most modernly youthful one in this time traversing tale -- there's sexual tension, there's anger, there's underlying emotion of rekindled love, but all in thought, nothing on screen. Give this scene to Imtiaz Ali and see the magic.

Mehra is more invested in the form here than the content. It's not a bad thing. Except that we as an audience aren't invested in it much. Even if you want to, you either get the feel that even the director doesn't know what he has to do here or he finds methods to alienate us in the pretence of artistic ambition if he himself isn't alienated at first place. He wants his labour-of-love frames to speak to us, not realising that he is hammering them on us with those underlining background score and slo-mo shots. Gulzar roots this Mirza-Sahiban folklore through the musical sutradhaar (in Daler Mahendi’s voice) in rustic Punjabi language. But how do you expect a Polish DoP to understand Punjabi and translate it on screen? His tracking, trolleying, top-angles, low-angles add to the good-looking style but has no sense and purpose of narrative. It is like Mehra wants to tell us time and again that there's something deep, but, afraid not, there’s nothing, at least in his filmmaking.

Parched Movie Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 24 Sep 2016 09:22:00 +0000

Just last week we had this small film in theaters that managed to bring a nuanced dialogue on feminism in the popular medium which no Hindi film ever has. The film was called Pink. Pink too had three female characters – all victims of patriarchy (who were eventually supported by a patriarch lawyer in their fight) which makes them no different than the women in Parched except for their socio-economic status (Pink’s women are independent, working in the upper middle-class of Delhi; Parched’s are from repressed rural Rajasthan). Pink tried to deal with monstrosity of patriarchy heads-on. But Parched is so ridiculously simplistic and superficial that it remains largely an ineffective film.

The film’s problem shows up right in the first fifteen minutes of the film – it’s the perspective. It’s seen through a foreign lens (quite literally – the film is shot by Russell Carpenter, the Academy Award winner DoP of Titanic. Yes, Titanic! That’s the biggest coup the film could get). It’s not only an outsider’s perspective with which this film has been written, staged and shot but it’s very urbane – which is in stark contrast to the film’s setup, and that’s what makes it look like what they call an exotica. Oh and deserts are the first ingredient in an exotica recipe (The foreigner DoP is second).

It’s the panchayat scene in the opening minutes, I’m talking about, where a girl called Champa (Sayani Gupta) has escaped from her husband's home for being abused there. Lajjo is shocked and moved by her situation (which did provide some foreshadowing here: escape is the solution here). Problem is not the issue Champa brings up -- we are aware of it; it exists, but can we have a nuance here? Everything is so spelled out and the approach is, again, too simplistic. This scene not only sets the tone but is also the microcosm of the discourse we are about to follow. But most importantly, it tells how (un)informed the filmmaker is. No matter how aware we are of the rural issues and its discourse, when bringing it into a medium – and a popular medium like films, what an informed filmmaker could do at least is bring it with such a nuance and insight that it reminds you how burning – and neglected – the issue is. That’s a thing to learn from Nagraj Manjule – Sairat was a Romeo-Juliet story, but look what he did!

Even the language mouthed by the actors sounds forced rustic – as if they are not Rajasthanis but are made to act in a Rajasthani film (Radhika Apte, at multiple times, slips into her Marathi accent in an attempt to get that rural dialect). Which is well it is. All the falseness and cracks shows up and glares through the beautiful frames. Another extraneous element in the film is the third character of Bijli – a dancer and a prostitute. She is the symbol of (sexual) liberation here. Nothing is wrong with that—she, well, has control and choice over her body – but that’s from where the slightly misplaced sense of feminism comes in in the other two characters’ lives and in the film.

When one (Apte’s Lajjo) is in an abusive marriage and the other (Tannishtha Chatterjee’s Rani) is troubled by her growing son and his hyper-masculine ego, sexual liberation would rather be the last thing to aspire or protest for. For things to get right in their lives, this is extreme and escapist. But that’s what the film suggests. The women merely escape from their problems as if the world outside is not a patriarchal one (remember what happened with Champa?). One could say aspiring for beauty in this beautiful-looking film is going for it. Only that that conceit is hardly convincing. The last thing they do enroute their escape is… haircut. Short hair is how right-wing nuts associate feminists with. Of course, here it is meant as a metaphorical scene. But it’s again in the sense of the extreme steps. It is Feminism 101 (Bechdel Test was invented for this movie). The story and the conflicts they (the film and the characters, both) are escaping from warrant for a drama; the solution is melodramatic.

Pandering to the West and conforming to their sense of beauty, you know this film has no business to do with the world it’s dealing with. Pretty sure, Yadav, the director, was desperate for this film to be India’s Oscar submission – which is why it’s been quickly released on the last day of the eligibility criteria date (films to be considered for Oscar submission should have run for at least a week in theaters before 30^th October this year). But hard luck, Yadav. And all the best, Visaranai.

Akira Movie Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 03 Sep 2016 08:30:00 +0000

Problem Child
Akira
Director: A. R. Murugadoss
Actors: Sonakshi Sinha, Anurag Kashyap, Konkona Sensharma

One of the major aspects of commercial films is that they are aspirational in nature. Which is why they are commercial, at first place. They sell dreams or unrealities that don’t exist or you wish they exist off screen, outside the dark theatre. You love the hero bashing up villains on screen, delivering instant justice. He is your hero, you aspire to be him. Akira twists a few conventions here: first, Sonakshi Sinha, a female, is your hero; second, it doesn’t promise you to sell dreams, it is so constricted by realities that you feel the film is compromising of being a commercial masala film. But the latter un-convention is informed by the former one and, if you see the point, it works.

Akira was raised as a fighter by her father (Atul Kulkarni) right from her childhood (Mishiekka Arora, fine find – she does look like young Sonakshi) in the small town of Jaipur. She delivers justice, almost instantly, and establishes herself as the hero of the film. But the world has always been unfair to her. After serving three years in remand home, she comes out as a recluse rather than a raging problem child of the ‘70s masala. But she becomes a problem child – first for the system, then for the family – after she is reluctantly moved to a bigger city, Mumbai – hinting that she is meant for bigger fights, graver world. Her bigger-fight-affinity is nicely developed in two similar scenes where she is seen to be the last one to sit in the classroom as a refusal to participate in the protest for trivial canteen-food issues but also the last one to sit on the road protesting for a genuine cause against the policemen.

The main plot of the film comes rather offhanded. Akira has nothing to do with it, literally. She gets entangled into it without even knowing what she is into. The story is more like a thriller but Murugadoss brews it into his world, with his stamp. There are massy moments. There are extremely good-natured characters you would empathize with (including Akira, of course) like in a melodrama. Then there are massy moments coming from and involving these good-hearted characters. Anurag Kashyap, the enfant terrible and problem child of the indie films, plays the pot-smoking, hedonist villain in this masala. His writer-backed character has a blunt mouth causing for few guffaws in the film but he is no Nana Patekar. Konkona Sensharma, at the other extreme of the police system, plays the Fargo-inspired, well-meaning, pregnant cop, and the other female in this film who has to compromise to the system.

Akira can be a character study. When she did the right thing, she was wronged by the law. When she did nothing, she was again wronged by the system. Of course, no character can be as black-and-white as right-and-wrong but reading into her would tell you what is wrong with the society. Interference of the world in her life is so scathing that it has left her being misunderstood by her own family. In a scene, Anurag Kashyap is in a room with a sex-worker (another wronged female in the film) and there are posters of films like Sujata, Pakeezah, Dirty Picture and Kashyap’s own Dev D on the wall. Women in all these films were looked down upon by the society. Akira could, well, might end up on the same wall.

Baar Baar Dekho Music Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Wed, 10 Aug 2016 11:18:00 +0000

“Faux Fresh”

Ratings: ** ½

It is now an accepted norm that music album of Hindi films are a part of the pre-release promotional vehicle of the film. The makers know no one would care about the album post-release, so neither would they. Music no more comes from the film. It is composed -- or repurposed, in many cases -- in complete isolation of the film and the script. (In this case, I’m told, one song was composed for an altogether different film; the film went unreleased, the song got lucky to be used here.) And it is sad, for we make one of a kind cinema where music is an equal and an important aspect of the overall film art.

Baar Baar Dekho marks this trend significantly. It has songs from various artists: Jasleen Royal, Arko, Amaal Malik, Bilal Saeed and Badshah.

1. Kho Gaye Hum Kahan

Jasleen Royal has composed this romantic ballad, and sung along with another indie musician, Prateek Kuhad who has also written this song. Minimal on arrangements -- guitar, whistle -- the tune is hummable, though there's a conscious attempt to sound breezy/cute by both the singers (Kuhad is slightly nasal too).

2. Sau Aasman

Starts off well with country-like strings, but Amaal Malik brings it into his backyard -- electronic club number. Strong Sooraj Dooba Hai Yaaro hangover here but not as engaging. Even though the tune isn't entirely refreshing, Neeti Mohan and Armaan Malik try enough to make it.

3. Dariya

Arko writes, composes and sings this one, and all quite nicely. Really likeable tune which needed mellower treatment and arrangement. Still, not bad.

4. Nachde Ne Saare

Jasleen Royal's second song for the album is the quintessential Punjabi wedding song of a Karan Johar film. Sounds similar to Daingad from Humpty Sharma… in its prelude. Royal’s wannabe soulful voice is offbeat to the song, but in the flavour of it and hence works. The main hook, set on EDM, is really catchy. Siddharth Mahadevan (sounds very KK) is brilliant here, along with ever-dependable Harshdeep Kaur.

5. Teri Khair Mangdi

Bilal Saeed’s own Ek Teri Khair sounds too trite for this album which tries to be fresh so hard. Arrangement is interestingly laid on what sounds like violins, but the tune is repetitive bore.

6. Kala Chashma

Prem Hardeep's track is rehashed and repurposed only to generate some pre-release buzz, by peppering with Badshah and Neha Kakkar’s boisterous rap. What if this song doesn't excite me? Doesn't matter, it’s being played everywhere around you by now.

This five composer - six tracks soundtrack tries too hard to appeal by checking off routine boxes, too hard to sound fresh.

Mohenjo Daro Music Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 09 Jul 2016 09:22:00 +0000

“Exotic melody”

Music: A. R. Rahman

Lyrics: Javed Akhtar

Ratings: ***1/2

To compose music for a film set in the era of Indus Valley civilization is more or less like working on a fantasy fiction film. There’s strong melody in each song laden with exotic sounds. Which is why this album sounds less of a Gowariker film (Lagaan, Swades, Jodha Akbar) and more of a Shankar film (Jeans and Enthiran in particular).

Mohenjo Mohenjo is a celebratory and a welcoming track into the world of Mohenjo Daro. Opens with gibberish chorus and exotic percussions that gives the tribal sound to the track which is also infused with Rajasthani folk sound midway. The vocals are led by Arjit Singh and melodious Sanah Moidutty but the song is let down by third-rate lyrics.

Sindhu Ma starts like a prayer to Sindhu (Indus) river, in the basins of which the civilization flourished, but it is the romance that flourishes here. Which is why it grows into a romantic track (a version of Tu Hai). Sanah Moidutty gets behind the microphone again in this duet with Rahman himself. The gibberish vocal modulations that Rahman does in the beginning is the most innovative and imaginative thing that this genius could do. Only if lyrics were as imaginative… I still can’t get over how ridiculous is that danadanadana-danka bit; I get it has to be in the phonetic sense of the tune but not so hardened, Javed Saab, that you write the banal “tan bhi, man bhi, dhan bhi”.

The star of the track Sarsariya is Sasha Tirupathi who brings the tune to life. Sashwat Singh sounds like a crossover between Javed Ali and Arjit Singh. It is again typical Rahman melody blended with everything exotic. In particular the sounds are great, like the percussions throughout, but overall this fun-romantic song doesn’t soar much.

The romantic part from Sindhu Ma is realised again in this duet by beautiful Sanah Moidutty and ARR, Tu Hai. It has a very dreamy melody and it does flow like a river. The track is little shorter than four minutes, and the magnificent horn that opens Sindhu Ma alone makes it preferable over this one, for me.

We are saved from the terrible lyrics in the second half of the album which are four instrumental pieces. Arjun Chandy’s companion pieces Whisper Of The Mind and Whisper Of The Heart are outstanding. Serene, it takes you into the vast expanse of the starry sky. There’s a constant cricket chirping-like sound in the background that brings the atmosphere of night to it. While Whisper of The Mind is calmer and more meditative, Whisper of The Heart is slightly pacey and rousing with female chorus and percussion (mainly hang, I guess). What is beautiful about these two pieces is that the tribal sounds used in the verbal, Bollywood songs of the album is overturned here to have a universal, world music appeal.

The Shimmer Of Sindhu is the instrumental version of Sindhu Ma/Tu Hai. Keba Jeremiah's strings work like magic here, accompanied by Kareem Kamalakar's flute (I'm told, as full credits aren't out yet). Again, serene and ambient enough to take you into a starry night but this time, by the side of a river stream.

The instrumental version Sarsariya is more magical than the song, mainly due to Tapas Roy’s strings. Don’t know why it is called Lakh Lakh Thora though. A very short but enjoyable one. Naveen Kumar’s flute ends it beautifully.

The four instrumental pieces are more visual and poetic than Javed Akhtar’s words in four songs. Javed Akhtar, in a talk, was telling how he chose strong words like “Kaate Nahi Kat-te” for an emphatic tune from that Mr. India song. It was a 101 lesson in lyric writing for Bollywood songs where the phonetic sound of words contributes equally to the tune. It is the reason why most of the songs of dubbed South Indian films don’t work in Hindi. The reason why Saathiya works as brilliantly as Alaipayuthey is that Gulzar wrote new words and reimagined poetry for the same tune. Javed Saab himself forgot this lesson while translating the lyrics of Vinnaithandi Vaaruvaya to Ekk Deewana Tha, and he continues the same mistake here: No phonetic sense accompanied by romanticism that no longer works in Hindi music and trite verbal imagery. However, the album will be remembered for never-heard-before sounds.

Udta Punjab Movie Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Fri, 24 Jun 2016 06:20:00 +0000

If you look at what comprises Udta Punjab – a rockstar, drugs, drug addicts, political nexus of drug peddling, a cop and a doctor on the mission to bust this nexus – it sounds like a high octane thriller. Sorry to report, it’s just half that. And it’s not bad. Because major part of the film still makes it one of the most sublime films you’ll see this year.

“Apart from the war that we are fighting against the system, the real war on drugs is within our home,” says Kareena Kapoor’s character Dr. Preet Sahani to Sartaj (Diljit Dosanjh), an assistant police, whose own brother is a victim to the raging drug addiction in Punjab. Simply telling you the statistics of the drug rage will not horrify you as much when you see a teenage throwing up on a hospital bed with little hope of making it. The film too takes that tone. It’s more personal than political.

When Preet and Sartaj talk about how they would go about muckraking underground drug peddling nexus, they talk with unlikely amusement – impending of their inevitable romantic arc. The scene is treated romantically too. In another scene, when Sartaj is stabbed with a heroine syringe at the back of his neck, you expect the situation to become graver, but it turns into… a romantic one.

Also when Alia Bhatt’s nameless Bihari immigrant character on a run bumps into Shahid Kapoor’s newly rehabilitated Tommy Singh, who’s also on a run after peeing on his audience (the scene’s not entirely chopped, in case you’re wondering), they talk their emotions out. Though Bhatt aces this scene, it’s least likely for such characters to talk their emotions out this intelligently. But they are in despair, seemingly beyond repair. She has found someone in front of whom she could outburst her suppressed emotions; he has found someone who has no shame in confessing that she’s equally a loser. And in this emotionally tensed situation, she tersely kisses him. It’s unlikely, but you know the film wants to convince you with the point here more than the character.

The story, very novella-like, follows through these four characters with stakes of their own, yet each of them contributes for almost same screen time. It’s like an old-school ensemble drama. Even with mainstream elements infused, the narrative is refreshingly unique, Chaubey’s filmmaking, thoroughly consistent, undisturbed. The opening scene is paused after the title appears on a flying object and the film goes on to introduce us with the characters on a peppy rap, and we continue with the flying object post that. The end credit is similarly tweaked. We see a shootout, more than a chapter closed, and we are left with a shot of Balli crying (Sartaj’s heroin addicted brother). He is symbolic to the state of Punjab, who has been through the worst of drug addiction. This is the story that the film and its makers want to hit you with. But after hard drugs and heartbreaks, there is still hope. We are told that in the epilogue.

I wanted to see more of Bhatt’s story, even grimmer, to feel for her. But one character who deserves a film of his own is the regional pop-star Tommy Singh. The most explosive song of the film’s soundtrack (Andar Da Kuttaa) is not a part of the film or this pop-star. It is used in a way that we are already distanced from him. Modeled on Yo Yo Honey Singh (the catchphrase here is ‘Wah Wah Tommy Singh’), he makes crass songs too. He’s a narcissist buffoon, meant to be laughed at. High on cocaine, he feels inspired after seeing his own reflection even in loo water, unaware that this is where he’ll drown into (yes, we are looking at Danny Boyle’sTrainspotting) and this is what he’ll rise from (recall: he peed on public, chased to meet his real inspiration… a never found love – Shiv Kumar Batalvi’s Ikk Kudi Jida Naam Mohabbat comes alive here). He gets few more fine scenes but those should be fully realised into the film: The Fall and Rise of Tommy Singh.

Though the film touches upon the political aspect here superficially, it exposed the other system and its vindictive nature before its release for which it literally fought its way. You probably rooted for the film to win. Should you watch it for that reason alone? Happy to report, there’s more than just that.

This review was initially published at TheW14.com

Sultan Music Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sun, 05 Jun 2016 15:35:00 +0000

“Welcome back, Vishal-Shekhar!”

Music: Vishal-Shekhar

Lyrics: Irshad Kamil

Ratings: *** ½

1. Baby Ko Bass Pasand Hai

During one concert I attended, Vishal Dadlani tried Feedback and Bass both in the sound and asked audience what they preferred. Everyone cheered for bass. He said, “I love bass too.”

Wouldn’t be surprising to know if the hookline “Baby Ko Bass Pasand Hai” was suggested by Dadlani and Kamil worked around it (and how!). Kholgade add sultriness in her voice for the innuendo in this catchphrase to effect. Structurally, looks like Vishal-Shekhar tried to join two hooks in the opening. And since it is un-cool these days to do a dance number without a rap, there’s Badshah in it doing his job too.

2. Jag Ghoomeya

The song starts well; its ambience does evoke images of desert and a wanderer in your mind which is what the song is about. It’s derived from and built on Rajasthani folk but, despite of a controlled Rahat Fateh Ali Khan, the track starts sounding templatised after a point.

3. 440 Volt

The huge thing to notice here, again, is how Vishal and Shekhar have made Mika, a singer who's done-to-death for a restricted genre, sound so refreshingly controlled and restrained. The guitar pitted on a folksy arrangement is interesting, but, again, the tune gets templatised. Hat-tip to Kamil Saab for quirky “Haryana mere liye Argentina tha.”

4. Sultan

Vishal-Shekhar, sort of, reinvent themselves here. Catchy hooks (particularly “Khoon mein tere mitti”); no standard structure; experimental; high-energy rock; complete live-concert stuff. And of course Sukhwinder is the best choice for such high octane tracks. Shadab Farhidi compliments well.

5. Sachi Muchi

Starts with brass band rendering an effervescent tune; enters into country music; transcends into anthemic pop track. Reminiscent of Vishal Shekhar’s own ‘Uff!’ from Bang Bang, it does have their trademark over it. Always a delight to listen to Harshdeep Kaur. Mohit is suitable choice for this one.

6. Bulleya

A sufi done Bollywood style instantly robs it off of all the depth. But Papon does his best to lend enough gravitas to it. The slightly digressive harmonium at the start is what intrigues me into this song.

7. Tuk Tuk

Before the song reveals its real character, its energy, halfway into its length, it follows a meditative approach. It starts with a fading echo of a verse, birds chirping, eventually grows into dhols, techno and rap (by Vishal Dadlani; he raps here after Udta Punjab and is equally killer).

8. Jag Ghoomeya (Female)

The highlight of the song is Neha Bhasin’s soothing voice. Minimal on arrangement (mainly strings) but is more evocative than the male version.

9. Rise of Sultan

The dust that fell off from the rock show of title track starts rising here… into a superbly rousing chorus of the hook “Khoon Mein Tere Mitti”, dhols and violins.

Nine tracks for a Salman Khan film of which more than half works very well. But the soundtrack achieves more than just that. Vishal-Shekhar are in fine form after a long time.

Udta Punjab Music Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Wed, 18 May 2016 19:39:00 +0000

"Punjabi rap overload sans Honey Singh/Badshah"

Music: Amit Trivedi
Lyrics: Shellee, Varun Grover, Late Shri Shiv Kumar Batalvi
Ratings: ***1/2

1. Chitta Ve
Chitta Ve has strong hangover of Amit Trivedi's past works (I can particularly pinpoint Queen, Luv Shuv... and Shaandaar in this). But it seamlessly fits into this album's soundscape. Babu Haabi's grungy rap (who sounds like Suraj Jagan) and other trippy sounds grew to my liking after multiple listening.

2. Da Da Dasse
This one takes the rap and EDM sound of the album forward. Given the Punjabi terrain of the film and the soundtrack, Kanika Kapoor comes in as a right fit here.

3. Ikk Kudi
Shiv Kumar Batalvi's nazm is re-imagined into an acoustic led contemporary composition, keeping the soul intact -- thanks to Shahid Mallya's heartfelt rendition. Though Rabbi Shergill has set a high standard for this one, Trivedi adapts it into a more hummable tune.

4. Ud-daa Punjab
This one's an out-and-out winner, musically as well as lyrically. The energy is infectious. Trivedi and Dadlani keeps bouncing the ball to each other. While former grooves on a tuneful, latter raps and how!

5. Hass Nach Le
Shahid Mallya gets another one in this album -- a sufi -- and he is equally brilliant here too. At times it feels too neat for its own good... loss of some rustic charm; but it is infused with enough soul.

6. Vadiya
Vadiya tries to resonate with the psyche of a drug consumed, lyrically too. Trivedi sets his vocals on a lounge-ish tune, then takes the electronica to ear-bleeding levels. Wish Trivedi had done some more experimentation here and not restricted to the average length of four minutes.

7. Ikk Kudi - Reprised Version
The guitar sounds more bluesy here but it eventually grows into a full rock. Daljit sucks the soul out of it. The track exists purely as a marketing vehicle just because they have roped in an actor who's also a singer.

Trivedi has been dangerously treading the line between 'having one's stamp over the album' and 'repeating oneself' for quite sometime now. His last Hindi film album this year -- Fitoor -- had one electronic track (Ranga Re) which I never warmed up to. Udta Punjab is largely electronic, yet it sounds different and unique to the album. So you know which side of the line Trivedi has fallen this time.

Sairat Movie Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sat, 30 Apr 2016 16:57:00 +0000

The central plot of Nagraj Popatrao Manjule’s debut, Fandry, was about a young Dalit boy liking a Brahmin girl. He only eyed her. He wrote letters too but those letters never reached her. Whereas she, oblivious of his liking for her, never even acknowledged his presence around her. They never talked to each other. Sairat, Manjule’s second, is about what if they had talked, what if those letters were read by her, what if they both liked each other. The caste conflict is still very much a part of the picture but we are more invested in the love story this time. It is Fandry turned inside out.

The girl, here, is Archana Patil – a Patil, upper-caste. The boy is Prashant Kale – not the lowest of the low caste of pig-hunters but still lower than Patils. Her nickname is an English Archie; his is colloquial Prashya. The upper-class entitlement bestowed on her has made her grow up like a “boy” – she rides a bullet, scooter, even tractor. She is feisty – continues to stare at him fearlessly during lecture. He is more shy – gets uncomfortable by her staring; hides in the home when she is at his doorstep. She is average in studies; he is a top-scorer.

We are taken through the stages of their teenage love from infatuation to can’t-live-without-each-other love. He first eyes her, dreams of her, bribes kids with cream biscuits and ice-creams for delivering her letters, till he hears “I Love You” from her and they both go for their escapades. More than the “story”, we are taken through the emotions… waiting for your crush to enter the classroom will take you back to your college days. The two-minute slo-mo dream sequence from Fandry is blown into a near two-hour (the first half of the film) operatic musical narrative (magnificent Ajay-Atul) and visuals with ethereality and colours of Sanjay Leela Bhansali.

The second half of the film is where everything cinematic about their love story ends and they see the reality. They land in an alien space – Hyderabad. They have escaped from being guillotined by casteism, or at least they think so, but now have to face other harsh realities of life. From lying under the open sky, they have entered into closed spaces. Sweeping shots have now turned into long staid shots and tighter close-ups. Musical has turned into cinéma vérité.

They love each other but now they have to live with each other. For Parshya, nothing much has changed. He has always been earning to live. Their role reversal still continues… it is Parshya who is doing the cleaning and cooking, trying to make their home. Though Archie had a home named after her, she doesn’t know how to make one. This hut is not her home. Her only effort to make it one is by putting up a poster on one of the walls of tin-sheets that reminds her of her lush home back in rural Maharashtra.

Living together, for them, is more like living with themselves. We see it is not easy for Archie to first even step out and then learn the job, while we see Parshya chopping onions at the food stall like a pro. Warming up to this new world has robbed Archie of what she inherited from her position in her earlier world – power. Being the princess of her home, she had internalised her power status for her freedom, unlike her brother called Prince whom we can see growing into an oppressive king. She, like a benevolent queen (or we should call her king, as she was very much a “man” in her village), orders Parshya and his friend to call their other crippled friend by his name and not as “crippled”. It was this power of her – for Parshya, power of love – that he starts calling the crippled friend Pradeep even unconsciously. Here, she is getting slapped by Parshya (for suspicion, typical of young couples), and she doesn’t give him back.

It takes a while for Archie to get her power back. They learn to live with each other after they realise that they really can’t live without each other. They get married. They now have a kid. She is back on scooter. Yet the danger hasn’t stopped looming over their head. We can sense that. First when she calls her mother back home to make her hear their son talk. There is no intercuts between the two, unlike how regular phone conversations are shot, staying true to the vérité style and creating a doubtful thought in our minds by showing only Archie’s part of the conversation. Then, the doubt gets stronger as we see a dark shadow hovering over her white rangoli. Then, almost a rubber stamp, as we jump to see the child entering their home alone. We saw the horror coming. We now see it through child’s eyes. Manjule transforms the horror in that scene into a poetic image. Devoid of background music, it is chilling enough. This silent image fades into the black, just like how the film had opened. Only difference is that it opened with the commentary on an on-going cricket match, it ends with a silent one… on society.

Nil Battey Sannatta Movie Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sun, 24 Apr 2016 15:15:00 +0000

Long ago when SMS was a thing, I received a forward that was something like “Happiness is when your family becomes friends, and friends become family”. Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari seems to have drawn some inspiration from this schmaltzy SMS forward for characterizations in her debut film Nil Battey Sannatta.

To start with, take the mother-daughter relationship portrayed in the film between Chanda (Swara Bhaskar, the mother) and Apeksha (Ria Shukla, the daughter). The daughter referring her mother as “Tu” and not “Aap” might surprise a few. Nirupa Roy’s on-screen sons have talked to her like this, but never an adolescent daughter to her mother. The friendly nature between a single mother and her teenage daughter is inevitable. But they do fight as well, like enemies. The mother, at a point, even says to her, “Tujhe teri aukaat na dikha di na toh dekhna…” This is more shocking than the daughter saying the same to her. That’s because they are hardly playing by the rules of a mother-daughter, but that of two friends. Whereas her friends come to console or support her with the most heavy worded lines any kid of that age could come up with, making them look like the family elders she never had.

This reversal-of-role, of sorts, is integral to the story – the mother takes admission to the same class as her daughter’s to learn maths so that she could teach the subject to her arrogant daughter and help her pass the board exams.

Her mother is her new classmate (The New Classmate is also the film’s English title). Hence their frenemy nature works in this arc of the story. But did we see that coming? For the first twenty minutes of the film, the most pressing issue that Chanda faces, and we are told of, is that Apeksha, now in her tenth grade, is poor in maths, and has no interest in studying or pursuing a career seriously. So this solution – offered by the doctor of the town (played by Ratna Pathak Shah) whose house she works as maid at – that Chanda herself should join the school, and still continue doing her several part time works that she does to keep the kitchen going, seems little… impractical.

This sets for good arcs for the two opposite natured central characters of the film. But the film begins to take easy turns to make realise the underlying theme of the film. Quite serendipitously, they are asked to write an essay on their dreams. When we could see that one has no dreams whatsoever and other is brimming with them, they erupt into mouthing lines like “Gareebon ko sapne dekhne ka haq nahi hota” (Poors have no right to dream) and “Gareeb woh hota hai jo sapne nahi dekhte” (Poor is one who does not dream) making it too verbose. This is like the film is reviewing itself.

But these lines do give an insight into the characters. It is the mother who is more hopeful despite of facing the practicality of daily real world and bearing its brunt to somehow manage their ends meet. And the girl who spends entire day in a room full of posters of Bollywood heroes dancing and singing in front of television – the machine responsible for most of the impossible dreams of small town India – has no dreams at all. The film sets this tone, visually, in its very opening shot – an image of old Bollywood posters peeling off the walls of shanties in Agra.

Set in Agra, the small-town residential intimacy that ‘the doctor knows the school-principal and the collector knows the doctor’ is well observed, but the colloquial dialect is very uneven in the dialogues. For example, the word central to the film, “bai” (maid), is purely Marathi and nowhere to be heard in this side of the country. There’s use of another Marathi phrase too (“Izzat ka bhajipala”) and also the Bhojpuri-Hindi word “Kandam” (last heard in Masaan, meaning useless, and not derived from “condom” which Varun Grover, the writer of Masaan, believes it is) is more Benarasi than that of Agra. This is nit-picking, sure, but at filmmaking level when the Bombay filmmakers set out to make a film riding on the wave of small-town-India-is-the-new-cool, these details do matter.

The film gets the other artistic details quite well. Look at the plastic plates which they use to only have Maggi and Chow-Mein but not regular dinner. Maggi and Chow-Mein are special foods, hence special plates. Chanda brings street-side Chow-Mein only when they want to have a “party” (Oh, also look at the quantity of Chow-Mein at their respective plates! This is the only instance where you’ll see Chanda as the typical Indian mother than a friend).

There are two cuts of the film – one for international distribution, one for Indian. The difference is understandable given how different both the cultures are. But since the film has been distributed more in urban areas which are anyway as alien as the international audience about the small town, lower class India, the makers could have easily done away by a single cut… preferably the international one as the opening credits tell me the main difference in both the cuts is in the background score (Naren & Benedict for the international one, Rohan & Vinayak for the Indian), and by that we would have been at least spared by the image of a weeping mother with a weeping sitar in the background. This tells about the makers’ half understanding of the home audience which makes them compromise with the tone of the film and letting a melodramatic shot seep in, disturbing its fabric.

The film has a light-hearted tone, otherwise, and a rose-tinted vision – which is not bad since the film talks about dreams… dreams to aspire big no matter what rung of the economic ladder you are at. It is a film about the people who are so enamoured by the upward mobility that they tend to demean or belittle their job. At one point, the daughter cheekily complains, “Iss desh mein bachhon ko apna career decide karne ka haq hi nahi hain”, mocking the films that took this line as their theme seriously (3 Idiots, Udaan, Tamasha) and telling us how choiceful career is only for the privileged.

FAN Movie Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sun, 17 Apr 2016 07:20:00 +0000

Spoilers, spoilers everywhere...

Fan is a story of, well, a certain fan, Gaurav Chandna, of a certain Hindi film superstar, Aryan Khanna. You knew this basic plot point from the film’s trailer itself, and, thankfully, the film establishes this point in its opening sequence itself in no time. What’s unusual in this story is that the fan even looks similar to his idol superstar. Both the roles are played by superstar Shah Rukh Khan himself, and given his stardom, this story is, in a way, coming out of his superstar character and his insane fan following itself.

In this story of a fan, you would obviously try to relate yourself with the character of Gaurav, for it is not hard for a middle-class consumer audience in this country to be a “fan” of any film or cricket superstar or even a politician for that matter. It’s a two-way game. Superstars make fans; fans make superstars. The film finds its philosophy in this paradox, and like a double-edged sword, this very idea also forms the conflict of the film.

It now makes sense, in a metaphysical fashion, that both the fan and his idol here are made to look same, and their common face is not used as a convenient plot device until their ugly confrontation scene in a prison cell. It is a brilliantly staged scene, very reflective in nature too – not only for the characters but also for the audience. Both the faces of Shahrukh are in a face-off. They talk about their face which is the image the world knows Aryan by. Gaurav says that he didn’t let the police even touch his face while beating, and thus he protected Aryan.

While they question each other as their blurring reflections are created in the mirror in the backdrop, you are put to reflect upon yourself, your rooting too, because we are not only invested in Gaurav’s story so far but also made to find ourselves in him (We even see him properly for the first time through a glass). The scene is purely cinematic. But the question is: Do you still, morally, relate with the fan? Or he has been wronged by the superstar by not giving him the time, which you think he deserved, and instead putting him behind bars using his powers?

If you answered yes to both the above questions, the film has failed, but the power of cinema as a reflection still triumphs. The film does not want you to sympathise with Gaurav. It wants him to be ridiculed. It wants him to be laughed at. Which is why he even cries funnily.

After the mirror reflection scene that builds up to the interval, even the script is turned into its mirror image (which is structurally similar to Maneesh Sharma’s last Shuddh Desi Romance too). It is the superstar who is chasing his fan now (and this chase is actualized neatly into lengthy and delicious chase sequences that swept the floor under my feet). And the film wants to shift your morality towards Aryan Khanna whom you would have so far associated with the real-life image of Shah Rukh Khan himself and thought how could we even possibly relate with someone who’s living the life of a king?

But you do empathize with him when a diplomat quips about his attitude, when a lady police officer asks for a personal selfie with him after she has photographed him for jail records, when he witnesses an empty auditorium for possibly one his biggest shows in his favorite city, when a journalist mocks about him being the real star or an imposter, when a big shot Sindhi whines about spending a bomb on him for performing in a wedding and he calmly takes that with a smile (SRK said in an interview that if someone does that to him in real life, he would beat him up).

The superstar is the victim here. You are made to believe in him. When Gaurav becomes vindictive, he attacks what has made Aryan: first, his brand image – his face – for which Madame Tussauds comes as a great setup, then his ideals that give him the credibility to be the most romantic man on screen – his respect for women. And while destroying the man whom he called his hero, Gaurav, unknowingly, is destroying himself. Because what is a fan if s/he is not made up of the very ideals that his/her idol propagated? It is a god-devotee relationship. But this comes to Gaurav little late, almost as an epiphany, when he is dying at the hands of his God with a smile on his face.

Not surprisingly, Gaurav’s attacks work in line of the mass voyeurism, and in his favour. It is the same fascination to know how these star people are in their real-life, in their bedrooms, that makes the masses gullible enough to buy in no time that their favourite hero can also be a molester (Hashtag #molestAR is a top Twitter trend, we see). It is a mass resentment thing. But you know which side are you on, what point-of-view the film wants to hold. Unlike Maneesh Sharma’s previous films about the middle-class and the neo middle-class, this one’s an upper-class, elitist film.

Kapoor and Sons (Since 1921) Movie Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sun, 20 Mar 2016 11:36:00 +0000

Spoilers, spoilers everywhere...

Shakun Batra, who was cast as a pappu in one of the most entertaining rom-coms in recent times Jaane Tu… Ya Jaane Na, in his directorial debut, Ek Mai Aur Ekk Tu, did something that no one would expect it from a “pappu”. He, quite bravely, subverted the very genre (casting the same lead actor). Interestingly, his film was produced by Karan Johar who is regarded as a trendsetter of that genre after his directorial debut Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. Batra now takes up on his producer’s other campy genre, family drama – which was Johar’s second film too -- and, surprise, surprise, he does it again!

Kapoor and Sons (Since 1921) – in its macroscopic view – is about coming together of the entire family in a single frame for that one happy picture that the family’s grand-old patriarch (Rishi Kapoor as Dadu) wants to take to his tomb. Take a closer look at the picture: at the extreme right stands Harsh Kapoor (Rajat Kapoor) who has been cheating on his wife Sunita (Ratna Pathak Shah), standing next to him, who only suspects it; next to her stands her most loved kid Rahul (surprisingly good Fawad Khan) who has been lying about his sexuality to everyone in the family including her; and at the extreme left is Arjun (a not bad Siddharth Malhotra), the “other” son and novelist in the family, who thinks his own brother has stolen his story idea for his novel and is now eyeing on his love interest too (superb Alia as Tia), and has an unstable career which his father is dismissive of.

You can now tell that they actually can’t stand each other. It is a loop of problems. And they have found out all the lies about each other just before the photographer has to click the camera button. There is a hovering cloud, literally too, waiting to burst. It is a tensed situation, and Batra has made one delicious scene out of it. However, it’s not the first time that they were anticipating a water-burst over them. In an early introductory scene (equally delicious), the family is bickering about their problems – not confronting them. The plumber in the background somehow manages to fix the leaking pipe, and they manage to move on… like they have always had.

Relook at their individual problems and they appear as convenient plot points with characters coming out of them. Whereas if you look at the other dysfunctional family drama from last year, Zoya Akhtar’s Dil Dhadakne Do, the conflicts and stories there come out of the characters. This is precisely the difference between a well-written drama and a well-written melodrama which is what this film is. However, the melodrama in Kapoor and Sons (Since 1921) is only in its writing, in the content, and not in the treatment.

Look at the crucial revelation sequence – which involves parent and son entering each other’s bedrooms, literally and figuratively – each scene jumps from one to another, cutting the slack, revealing and interconnecting the plots, engrossing you into the silence of it so deeply that the only thing disturbing then is the background score. A melodramatic line like “Humara ab koi rishta nahi” does seep in a conversation but remains in tone. Even the resolution – an accident killing one of the family members – is a cliché and melodramatic, but doesn’t feel out of tone. After all, we were anticipating a death anyway – of Dadu whose heart attack and deathbed wishes are the reason of the family coming together at first place, and this is a film where tender moments between a young couple takes place in a… graveyard!

The intercuts form a consistent style in this film. In conversation scenes and even in long sequences. It formed an editing pattern in last year’s Piku too (another dysfunctional family drama), but it was too jarring there. Here it drives the narrative style, giving us a sense that a lot is going on. The intercuts between two scenes pre-interval is perhaps the most terrific bit of the film: a seemingly funny quibble between two old men over a card game going in the lawn, and a serious one, of which we have half idea, travels all the way from the kitchen, halts for a while in the drawing room, and finally spills over in the outside lawn. In between these, you also get the answer to why don’t they ever show hero/heroines in films doing daily activities like… going to potty?

Kaagaz Ki Kashti Review

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Sun, 20 Mar 2016 11:35:00 +0000

Director: Brahmanand Singh

First of all, I feel highly under-qualified to write about a film that discusses the life and works of an artiste who was already a legend when I wasn’t even born. But then, it also gives me an opportunity to talk about someone whose voice has always been around since the time I learnt what music is.

My father used to play bhajans in his voice, elder brother used to play melancholic ghazals in his voice, and hum along with the look on his face of someone deeply affected by something. Years later, I found myself doing the same. The voice, of course, is Jagjit Singh’s.

Mahesh Bhatt, in this documentary, says Jagjit sang as if he had lived those words. This sounds about accurate, and also explains why his ghazals hit listeners where it moves them the most. "His singing doesn't make you go in awe of him. Awe creates a distant feeling. He sings with an intimacy that makes you feel closer to him," Bhatt continues, finding words that most suitably describe Jagjit’s style.

Jagjit Singh, in his ghazals, makes a spectacle of the personal. He gives words to a shared grief. This is probably why his ghazals still remain a guzzler’s best drinking companion. The jukebox at South Bombay’s ever busy Sunlight Bar has a dedicated Jagjit Singh playlist which competes with Pink Floyd and Guns N’ Roses every night. And every time a ‘Hoshwalon ko khabar’ (written by Nida Fazli, who incidentally passed away last week) starts playing, you can hear a collective sigh from the hip So-Bo crowd.

Well, there are other artistes too whose ghazals would evoke similar reactions. But Jagjit dominated the contemporary scene for decades, eventually entering the public consciousness as the original 'ghazal rockstar'.

"He is India's first sellable non-film rockstar," says Abhinav Upadhyay, a close associate of Jagjit. There are reports of his records being sold in ‘black’. Though he has no Grammys or such to his name, he is so much revered in his country that he needs no global validation.

When AR Rahman returned with double Oscars for Slumdog Millionaire, Jagjit was not very appreciative of the feat. His exact words to a news channel were, "Rahman ko thoda josh chhadein toh do chaar ghazal banayein (Let Rahman find some passion to compose a few ghazals)."

Sure, ghazals are not Rahman's forte. Just as rock-and-roll isn't Jagjit's. Yet both are "rockstars" in their respective ways, and what is a rockstar if s/he has never been a badass about fellow rockstars?

Also what is a rockstar if s/he hasn't bent any classical rules? Sound engineer Daman Sood reminds us how Jagjit introduced bass-line into ghazals—like how Pancham did in Bollywood songs (Brahmanand Siingh has also documented a film biography of 'India's filmy rockstar' RD Burman, titled Pancham Unmixed).

India’s first digitally recorded album, Beyond Time, also belongs to Jagjit. You can hear synth sounds, violin, keyboard, and even saxophone in some of his ghazals. "Instruments naye hain, sound alag hai, lekin sur wahi hain," Jagjit justifies in this documentary, after Rajat Sharma, in his uniquely formatted interview show Aap Ki Adalat, argues that a classical purist like Begum Akhtar would weep in disbelief and shock after listening to his style of ghazal.

Despite his choice of instruments, he remains true to the ragas on which the compositions are based. Tabla maestro Ustad Zakir Hussain has one interesting anecdote to share in this film about how, once, by changing just a single note, Jagjit corrected his composition to its inherent raga.

The film opens with a recorded black-and-white footage of Jagjit uncorking a bottle of champagne at a private house party. We see him in his jovial moment… drinking, dancing. Cut, and we see another footage of him, sitting with a harmonium and his band on stage performing for a huge audience in front of him—lost in the moment. This forms a brilliant opening passage for a film that tries to understand the personality beyond his body of work, or his popular image. In between these two contrasting scenes, you sense what the person was like off-stage—in his private life—and how, while on stage, he could make many cry, with only a harmonium and that divine voice.

Such footages are strung so smartly and neatly (by Jabeen Merchant) that they stop being mere footages and come across as evocative images. At times, they become the film, with such ethereal quality that you start responding to it as you would seeing Jagjit perform live. Of which Gulzar says, “Woh sama baandh leta tha.”

This review was initially published on TheW14.com

Top 30 Hindi Film Songs of 2015!

noreply@blogger.com (Anup) — Tue, 29 Dec 2015 23:31:00 +0000

So I quickly (and finally) managed to submit my nominations for this year's RMIM Puraksar (You should too, last day is 31st December, 2015, don't thank me for reminding you this early!). Process is simple, fill up your top 30 favorite Hindi film songs of the year (in any order). And after putting a little more thought, I tried to rank my top favorite songs up, and the result is this year-ender blog-post (Yay!). Here you go:

1. Agar Tum Saath Ho (Tamasha)

Do I need a reason to tell you why it is the best song of the year? You must have looped this over a thousand times already and are probably still playing it.

2. O Saathi Mere (Tanu Weds Manu Returns)

Uff, "aag aur paani se phir likh de woh waade saare; saath hi mein roye hasein, sang dhoop chhaon re". This intricate composition has been written with the same "aag-pani", transitions between the same "dhoop-chhaon".

3. Moh Moh Ke Dhaage - Female version (Dum Laga Ke Haisha)

The beauty of simplicity. No heavy orchestrations, no over-the-top arrangements by Any Malik, simple heart-touching lines (by Varun Grover) rendered beautifully by Monali Thakur.

4. Wat Wat Wat (Tamasha)

Fun and heartbreak blended so well with two equally good vocals. I still smile every time Arijit goes "tiiiip taaap ke". :)

5. Aam Hindustani (Bombay Velvet)

What a piece! An elaborated 3 minute prelude to a 9 minute grand composition. This track opened the film as well as the soundtrack, and very richly so!

6. Mohabbat Buri Bimari- Version 2 (Bombay Velvet)

All that jazz aside, this is inherently very Hindi film composition. And Neeti Mohan takes it to another level.

7. Byomkesh In Love (Detective Byomkesh Bakshy!)

Blek took their old club bumber (Fog+Strobe) and got it married with... Shobha Gurtu's thumri, and how! Beautifully used in the film too with the slo-mo sequence.

8. Bach Ke Bakshy (Detective Byomkesh Bakshy!)

This is Sneha Khanwalkar doing her job! Too many rappers yet doesn't feel like a spoiled brought.

9. Shaam Ke Saaye (Talvar)

Gulzar and Vishal doing a kind of composition that Gulzar and Pancham did in Ijazat. Only grouse: Why didn't Vishal sing this one himself?

10. Tu Kisi Rail Si (Masaan)

There is something ethereal about this one. There is something broken in it. There is something that would speak to everyone, everyone could relate and feel. Varun Grover's lyrics and Indian Ocean's music touches that raw nerve quite beautifully.

11. Matargashti (Tamasha)

Absurd fun. It took me several repeated listenings to get the head and tail of this song's structure that ends transcending Whatsapp-Twitter generations with heartwarming Dev Anand tribute.

12. Dil-E-Nadaan (Hawaizaada)

Ghalib's heavy-worded Dil-E-Nadaan done like a breeze.

13. Aayat (Bajirao Mastani)

Arijit's soul and SLB's grandness. This one captivated me, got me intoxicated, despite some of its flaws.

14. Ab Tohe Jaane Na Doongi (Bajirao Mastani)

Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali's thumri redone like a modern romantic composition, and done so well at all levels-- from arrangements to vocals. Payal Dev was a discovery for me.

15. Dhadam Dhadam (Bombay Velvet)

Give Neeti Mohan all the Best Singer awards this year for this one.

16. Naak Pe Gussa (Bombay Velvet)

Amidst all the grandness of jazz in this album, comes this intimate one. Mohan's voice kisses your ears.

17. Le Chal Mujhe- Female version (NH10)

Composer Bann Chakraborty made 5 tracks out of this one tune for the album, but this one by Shilpa Rao is an ace (Arijit's come close too). Must hear!

18. Sooraj Dooba Hai Yaaro (Roy)

New Year's Eve is tomorrow, right? This shall be played, twice at least!

19. Teri Dua (Hawaizaada)

I don't really like this one in its entirety but the music is arresting, and Wadali Brothers' entry in this one is just divine!

20. Kinna Sona (Bhaag Johnny)

Almost every year, there's one song by Mithoon in a multi-composer soundtrack that nobody listens to. This one is that.

21. Gulabbo (Shandaar)

Trivedi pulling off Rahmanesque bits in a fun track!

22. Chittiyan Kaliyaan (Roy)

Because, why not?

23. Lip To Lip (Katti Batti)

So mushy yet so lovely.

24. Chori Chori (Hunterrr)

Soft composition that touches soft corners. The word 'earworm' is made for this.

25. Sooiyan (Guddu Rangeela)

Nothing exceptional from Trivedi, yet so lovable.

26. Judaai (Badlapur)

This one burns like a flame. Rekhaji bowls you over in her lowest notes, and there's terrific Arjit too.

27. Jee Karda (Badlapur)

Grungy rock with shennai in it. Whoa!

28. Banno (Tanu Weds Manu Returns)

So good to see a really good number busting all the charts and not some daru-shaaru party song.

29. Mai Tujhse Pyaar Nahi Karti (Baby)

Poetic compositions aren't dead. Just that no one listens to them when it is not marketed in your face.

30. Foreign Balamwa (Margarita With A Straw)

Mickey McCleary, when not over-ambitious, gives most enjoyable tracks. Also, Sonu Kakkar is so good here.

I've tried to cover as many film albums as I could here, favoring some underrated ones (like those from Baby, NH10, Bhaag Johnny and Margarita with A Straw). Hopefully, in this list, you end up discovering some songs that you might have missed. In that case, my job as a music reviewer would be done. In case I have missed some good ones that you feel should be up in any top lists on the earth, please add in comments!

Additionally, summarizing the above list brings me to:

Top 5 Hindi Film Albums of 2015:

That's all folks!