Stree (2018)

 

Stree (2018) – Conflict of Intent

Dir. Amar Kaushik

I have always believed that horror film as a medium of storytelling, of considerable narrative depth has been overlooked for a significant part the last few decades, Hindi cinema not withstanding. Horror (and to a lesser extent comedy) never crosses the line of greatness despite audience acceptance – the genre rarely finds embrace in film schools or critical lists – it is only when the underlying themes become explicit drama do they come to be considered as classics. 

But audience has always embraced horror, and it has almost always made good money for those energetic enough to lend their talents. It’s a truly cinematic genre – one that developed in a manner that can’t be realised in the novel, the theatre and music.  It is only now, when times have become dramatic and fearful, does horror cinema appear more sane, and a valid form of cinema as entertainment. This would somewhat explain the reinvigorated interested in horror, and mainstream horror dealing with complex issues (read Babadook, VVitch, Get Out, Hereditary, in the West, Pari, Phobia for India etc).

Horror and comedy are a natural connect in some ways – both rely on exquisite timing for them to work, a split second more and reaction can turn from fear to fun. On a different level, both of them insist on dramatic irony on a scene by scene basis – the audience knows something the characters don’t. Maybe the killer is hiding in the house, and the hero enters, unaware. Maybe the diamond was always in the bag.

Almost all horror relies on personal accounts of fear and tragedy, and the way the monster works would often evoke those fears tangentially. 

Which leads me to Amar Kaushik’s Stree, a film that finally balances horror comedy, and works it way up to tell a feminist fable without forcing the narrative to bend. This is not to say the film is not flawed, but the filmmakers’ effort to keep the message restrained and let the energy come naturally shows, despite the commercial nature of the process having the better of it.

Chanderi, a small town in Madhya Pradesh, is haunted by ‘stree’, a wronged woman who visits the village every year for 4 days. “Stree” calls out for men when they are alone and sweeps them away leaving their clothes behind. Vicky (Rajkummar Rao), a naturally gifted tailor, falls head over heels with a mysterious girl (Shraddha Kapoor) who only appears during festival season.

‘Stree’, translated roughly as the woman, would of course act both as an ironic synecdoche to ‘mard’. Replace the dialogues with ‘mard’ and interchange the sexes, and you pretty much have real life and daily dose of Crime Patrol, which, by any account, is not funny. (Based on a ridiculously true phenomena – the myth of Nale Ba, and life). This is intelligent writing, keeping in mind the envelope of the film language and the setting, trying to convey the message to an otherwise uninterested audience. 

It is only logical that Vicky (played with brilliant comic timing and sincere eyes by Rao) would eventually tackle the eponymous woman, with fear, respect and understanding. It makes sense that Vicky would work as a talented tailor. Here is a profession, like a male gynaecologist, dealing with bodies and sex, the idea of which makes you feel uncomfortable and allows the lewd to trickle into the story. And Vicky can find the measurements of the body without the need to measure them upfront. Here is the male gaze averted even when demanded.

I like the fact how they do bother to flesh out Vicky’s backstory – the film might work without it. If the filmmakers are willing to have the patriarchy come out loudly through Shastri (Vijay Raaz), town’s long lost historian, then Vicky’s origins are a response to it and a statement of humanity. (Watching a film in the theater is never limited to the film, but also constitutes of us reacting to those watching it along with us, in the dark, whether we like it or not, though I argue cinema derives its power from that.) I could hear a few people laughing on Shastri’s misogynistic speech, though most remained silent, sensing the discomfort, marking the change of times, and in a sense, the reason of the film. Shastri does explain his speech, but it is Vicky’s relationship his parents that extracts the silence.

The unevenness of the message, the conflict of intents, intrigues me – here’s a film that cleverly develops its feminist themes, yet reverts to the male gaze for the hook. The song Kamariya (picturised on Nora Fatehi) might serve to establish the predicament of the villagers, but the film, the way it is shot, sides with the villagers on this one. This is not Beedi Jaliyle; this exists purely as an item number, incongruent to the fabric of the theme. My guess is the commerce of the film (producer Dinesh Vijan is an industry veteran here), and the filmmakers belief in their own ability to retain the audience falters their tone. The small town hero’s comic sidekicks are a trope Bollywood has perfected in the last few years. After a slew of Aanand L Rai films, one can easily tell the kind of camaraderie the filmmakers wish for, the kind of dialogues each would spew – here then is the opportunity to ease off a few minutes from the film, and get it’s cogs running faster.

Which is not to say the sidekicks are at any fault here – Abhishek Banerjee’s Jana is a treat to watch. The possession sequence in the house post interval brings such madcap energy to the table, with a perfectly engineered electric guitar score that the audience brims with laughter, searching for pauses to clap. It is precisely in these moments (this and the climax) the film shines bright. The unpredictability of letting frustration out in pretence of being possessed brings a certain joy (like the one in Shaun of the Dead, or even Evil Dead).

For all it’s flaws, here’s a film that shines in writing, that finally manages to balance the tone and ends on a note of poignancy one isn’t expecting from a film of it’s genre. The town and its people, even if late, even if by a force of nature, even if it’s wishful thinking, finally hope to make amends to the wronged ‘woman’. 

 

3.5/4

October (2018)

Dir: Shoojit Sircar
Written by: Juhi Chaturvedi

There’s dearth, in my opinion, of mundane characters taking the centerstage onscreen – simply because the people around – both the audience and the filmmakers – have remained unobservant, or probably reluctant to acknowledge the existence of people we have defined as mundane.

Dan (Varun Dhawan, cast against type – one might argue, fruitfully) is a hotel management trainee, a temperamental one at that, who would often state the obvious and express his opinion even when deemed unnecessary.

This is a character that is a part of our lives –  a friend that tags along, present when needed but one that rarely falls on our mental radars up close. Then the credit goes to the writers for choosing a character among these; and it makes a lot of sense to place him in the hospitality business, where most people exist as services for the outsider, and understood only those involved. 

In a rapid turn of events early in the film, Shiuli (Banita Sandhu), a co-worker friend, accidentally slips down a ledge while briefly asking about Dan in his absence at a party, and becomes comatose.

Dan, deeply effected by the events, takes it up on himself to be a companion to the comatose Shiuli, and thus tags along as an unofficial family member of the Iyer family. 

As director-writer duo of Shoojit Sircar and Juhi Chaturvedi progresses from Vicky Donor to Piku to October, their charms grow subtle, and storytelling more poised and minimal – consider the scene where Shiuli’s mother, Prof. Vidya Iyer (played by the graceful, wide eyed Gitanjali Rao) ultimately relents to the notion of Dan moving on and pursuing his career. She advises him to leave, and we don’t get to see Dan’s reaction Dan to the statement – he himself has been rarely in control of events happening to him, though any reaction he has, would have invited a judgement from us. The filmmakers chose to avoid the reaction, leaving it as a natural and inevitable end of events of moving on, at some point of time. 

Avik Mukhopadhyay’s cinematography lends itself to the palette of October – when Dan lifts Shiuli to place her on the bed, its lit as if holding her for a dance. And the film doesn’t need any songs for emotional consolidations – there aren’t singular plot developments that branch out the film. There in lies its appeal I think, in a time where grand things happen to ambitious people, here’s one content with looking for those discounted by life – mothers paying for fallen children, people returning to jobs and moving on.

Often throughout the film I was thinking now his friends would have had enough of Dan and something dramatic would happen, but the filmmakers knew better. It’s a pleasure to see the friends here (and the actors cast) – Dan is not among the brightest you know, and his friends don’t let that come into picture – there are no betrayals, or an intervention with life changing consequences – this is not that film, and it is all the more better for it. 

Sonu ke Titu ki Sweety

I am inclined to believe that Luv Ranjan has a love-hate relationship with the Indian soap operas – Sonu ke Titu ki Sweety, seems more informed by the Balaji telefilm operas than traditional bromance comedies; his universe in a sense, exists on the border of parody of the soap opera – with well dressed people in backlights, glossy eyes, center framed close ups, grand manors, with proper sound for each major turn of events and ideas.

And here lies the charm of the film – Luv Ranjan, in that sense is intelligent – we the audience first recognise the element being parodied, and he brings you in the joke – you have seen it on TV numerous times, you know why it doesn’t happen in that particular manner in real life – the filmmaker marries the parody with the object of parody. Consider, the scenes he highlights, which draw out the laughs – characters standing on the threshold with moist eyes while the doors are closed on them, or the transfer of house/shop keys – the characters stand in awareness of the absurdity of the scene, and we laugh – we have seen this scenes many times before in absurdly serious operas where they happen with such gravity – here we watch it in their context.

It is in some sense an interesting inversion of the soap opera – we enjoy the film, because for once, we are with the vamp, against the impossibly righteous bahu (to be), which has been justified through the notion of friendship. But it is this justification of through friendship that makes it problematic in the climactic end.

There is no justification within the narrative, for us to believe in the possibility of her being malicious (she has to explicitly blurt she is ‘chalu’, in a film occupied with people with decent understanding of family relations), except for the fact that she is not the one through which we receive the story – our POV is that of Sonu, and thus we have to align with him. But maybe Luv Ranjan doesn’t provide any justification because he doesn’t need to – he isn’t interested in telling that story. Sweety ke Titu ka Sonu is not the film he is making.

But it mostly succeeds – because central to the film is the fear of the moving on as friends (even if the expression of bromance is taken to absurd heights, crossing to more than just male bonding) –  we too shall willfully let friendships die for other eventualities in life. And that control freak partner which our friend (or kid) might choose ultimately asks one to chose between me or him, is the one thing we fear but ultimately relent to. I hope the irony of Sonu doing the same to Sweety is not lost to us. It succeeds in that very particular climactic moment, but Sonu, Titu and family ultimately sit together, mockingly, discussing marriage prospects. Fading friendship is an eventuality, if an unpleasant one, which we can mock for the time being.

3/4

Mirzya (2016)

Dir – Rakesh Omprakash Mehra
Written by – Gulzar

Indulgences are almost always irrational. But they are richly rewarding to those involved. Mirzya appears like Gulzar and Rakesh Om Prakash Mehra’s indulgence. It is likely that it is not going to enjoy any good money or TV time (atleast in the near future). But that shouldn’t stop the makers or those who are willing to experience their indulgence, from watching it – it’s beautiful, if sometimes trying to impose images of timelessness, reflecting it’s source material – the Punjabi folklore of Mirza Sahiban (the traditional screen friendly trope of star-crossed lovers; often recalled as Romeo and Juliet – Gulzar references Shakespeare in admiration, through the characters mouthing Shakepeare’s dialogues).

 

Gulzar has a huge task at his end – making people aware of the the original story itself, and interweave it to a modern parallel, while not being repetitive or letting audience jump to conclusions.

The mythical story looks mythical, and ethereal; and is told through a tradition of folk tales being enacted through dialogues, lyrics that only Gulzar can conjure, and striking choreography. The scenes with the folklore possess no dialogues – only beautiful, almost comic panel like shots.

 

The only points that make it seem weaker are conveying the timelessness of the story for the modern parable – it isn’t easy to establish the two people are destined to be together. Suchitra is Adil’s childhood love, and the scenes are immensely beautiful, convincing you of the almost destroying nature of Adil’s devotion.

But it doesn’t translate so well when their paths accidentally cross again in their youth – it’s not easy to accept that a few lines of confrontation can ease the pain of separation, though the actors remain convincing in their portrayal.

 

One of the things that did strike me, apart from the brilliantly shot (by Paweł Dyllus) village and mythical fight sequences, were the dances – the response they elicited from the audience. They break the wall, in a way, telling you that this is a story, an age old one, and you are watching it happen again. Audiences would sometimes laugh out loud, or simply ponder over why the particular sequence is happening – and it seems that Gulzar aims at this – to lift you out of the narrative, simply to listen to it. It’s a weird experience, but a striking one; it’s wonderful to see people that are willing to make narrative choices that are unconventional but are still recognizable as traits of Bollywoodian storytelling.

 

Trailer Link | https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mirzya_(film)

3/4

 

 

Udta Punjab

Dir. Abhishek Chaubey
Shahid Kapoor, Kareena Kapoor, Alia Bhatt, Diljit Dosanjh

I remember Lord Varys’ chat with Tyrion where he says –

Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less…[] ..A shadow on the wall ..[] ..yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow.

So when Censor Board decided to make those cuts to the movie, it elevated the movie to a status of power, because they definitely believed that the movie shall make an impact or wield power on the current situation in some passive way; and in the process to do so, it both elevated the movie a higher status, with a measure of publicity that would never been a fraction of what it has today, while at the same time did endorse the message the movie might want to make despite trying not to do so. And is it worth it ? It is. By full measure.

Coming on to the film, the film highlights the deteriorating condition of Punjab through 4 characters (all brilliantly cast) – Tommy Singh (a.k.a The Gabru – a drug addict pop-star), the unnamed Bihari farm worker (Alia Bhatt – who spirals down the drug route and forced prostitution by a single mistake of greed – it’s interesting to note that the narrative keeps her nameless – like most cases of abuse, and people who are the worst affected actually remain unknown), Sartaj Singh (Diljit Dosanjh –  a cop that vows a fight against drugs after his own brother gets affected) and Preet (Kareena Kapoor as a drug rehab clinic doctor).

The music, dresses, the vocabulary and the antics (Shahid Kapoor is as eccentric as a pop star can get, and the jail scenes are quite intriguing – the realism of the confession of the two convicts borders on being comic – reflective of the insane grimness of the situation in Punjab, the scale of which borders on being laughably stupid; Satish Kaushik fits perfectly as the profane but homely producer) are nearly perfect – one can only imagine how a pop star shall feel being (unwantingly, or rather unknowingly) a role model to the youth, being clueless himself.

Preet and Sartaj form a journalistic/buddy cop duo, slowly building up on the clues for a takedown of the enormous drug mafia (a situation, which logically makes it clear that can’t exist without a proper system that ensures a continual supply of drugs and druggies), and in the process, fall in love, probably because that’s one of the tested ways to involve the otherwise somewhat apathetic audience into a narrative that relies on letting you know the stakes of the drug abuse problem. An effective but somewhat a little bit too convenient way.

The film leniently borrows from well known  films in drug culture, from the celebration of youth and ruthlessness in Trainspotting, to the disproportionate hell the characters are forced upon simply by even a mild influence of drugs; but Udta Punjab ultimately develops their visual metaphors for a more humane and desi touch, going a step ahead. Consider the Trainspotting toilet/underwater scene and Alia’s drop down the well, where she herself had dropped the drugs she accidentally scored –  Alia’s character has to be under the effects because that’s only escape, the only guiding light she has while she faces sexual abuse and torture – to sustain her sanity, overlooking at the Goa tourism ad, dreaming of a beautiful future. But by the end, when she has somewhat secured the future, free of drugs – she dives in again, this time in a sea – a beautiful life is all the light one needs.

The film still takes a relatively optimistic stand on the situation – despite the intense profanity, implied torture and the gore (which doesn’t feel even a bit misplaced) – there is now way you can take a stand on a dirty situation without getting your hands dirty. The Censor’s decisions to an extent support the claims the film makers make, of a perfect cycle of drugs (bad films) and druggies (a helpless audience); and the fact that those who inherently seem are on the correct side of the law (only legally) meet a deserving end (of death, or being irrelevant and overruled), those on the fringe of the law but on a better moral ground shall save the future (rehab – for others, and themselves).

3.5/4

 

 

 

 

Phobia

Phobia (2016)
Dir. Pavan Kirpalani

Phobia – noun – an extreme or irrational fear of or aversion to something.

As the title suggests, those fighting to make logical argument to the narrative might be disappointed; those willing to accept the irrationality can delve wholeheartedly into this brilliantly realised attempt at horror (though it tries to pretend to throw jump scares at you, but it’s the genuine awkwardness of the situations it develops that creates a sense of comedic unease).

Mehak (Radhika Apte) suffers from agoraphobia (an anxiety disorder characterized by anxiety symptoms in reaction to situations where the sufferer perceives the environment to be dangerous, uncomfortable, or unsafe) after a bad experience in a taxi. She is shifted to a new home (by moral doubtful means) by her friend Shaan (Satyadeep Misra), the only sane male presence. Here she develops a fear of the things happening in the house, much like the string of horror  movies we have been fed on, starts believing that a deeper narrative of a possibly murdered soul (interestingly named Jiah Kh-urana) is behind the activities, which gives rise to situations of genuine comedy of unease.

The film looks technically sound – there are scenes of brilliant visuals and lighting in an otherwise uninviting space, complimented by a matching score, though sometimes a bit loud. It’s interesting to see how it’s only the female characters of the film (apart from the lead) that make sense or are caring and are portrayed without doubts. While the phobia for unexpected jumps and bursts is what we share with the protagonist in the moment, it is the phobia of other basic problems in life that creates this feeling for the the character – Mehak’s unhappy incident makes her unwantingly project the fear of being misused onto Shaan, the character we sympathise with –  which ultimately culminates in a phobia of commitment.

We see her from a distance, and try to understand by logic; till she defies her fear, and the film defies our logic by creating that situation through an irrational set of events, so that we might better understand her by giving up our rationality.

3/4

 

 

 

Nil Battey Sannata

Dir. Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari
Swara Bhaskar, Ratna Pathak, Riya Shukla

Chanda (beautifully played by Swara Bhaskara), a widowed house maid, wants her stubborn child Ria, to be educated – she is stuck with 10th class Maths. And she has to compete with her in order to make her study, enrolling herself in her daughter’s class.

The other film that it reminded me of was – Satyajit Ray’s Aparajito (the unvanquished) -a child convincing her widowed mother to let her study – and how it takes him places, even away from her mother. The fact that the protagonist there, and the child here are both named Apu does not seem coincidence.

The film treads known waters in the first half – it’s only when the mother’s solution to get her to study takes a self destructive turn, and becomes, for her daughter an all out competition to nearly destroy her mother.

Rachna Pathak Shah, plays the small (in time, but big in impact) role of Dr. Deewan, a relatively rare, supportive employer, which forms the core of the movie’s message – adult education is necessary, for growth, of their own, and of their children. The films plays it out subtly, and nowhere, does it leave the borders of realism, while still being constantly witty.
Definitely recommended.

3/4

 

 

 

Fan

Fan (2016)
Dir. Maneesh Sharma
Shah Rukh Khan, Joelle Koissi, Mariola Jaworska

Fans like many others, are men (or women) of ambition, though it’s the society that ranks their goals unworthy or of little consequence. A fan doesn’t seek to rival its star, or replace him/her in magnitude – all it seeks is acknowledgement – like a one-sided lover who knows and accepts his/her situation, and still continues pursuit.

SRK returns to his roots – a wheatish complexioned hero that would lure audiences (and love interests) from his charm rather than righteousness of his characters or his looks (say from Baazigar, or Darr, or even the similar double role in Duplicate). And he remains one of the few stars (and the only Khan) that still fulfills as an actor. While most stars of his stature would try to produce films that put them in roles that are righteous, and give out audience (and business friendly) climax, he still remains willing to roles that lie outside comfort zones, and deliver, despite all its flaws, a film that wants you to think about it after you leave your seat in the theater (Gaurav Chanana (the fan) says to Aryan Khanna (the star)- almost as a joke directed on the ultra-easy moviegoer –  रहन दे , तू नहीं समझेगा ).

For those people whose lives are in constant scrutiny and relies on their ever available personality, humility doesn’t come as a natural trait  – it becomes a decision, a skill honed by persistence – many stars can’t remain humble throughout, even if they wish too; others embrace the other side of humility (read Kanye West). It seems likely that SRK himself has faced similar situations – and tries to maintain his off screen image that keeps him lovable all the times.

The film dwells on this destructive conflict of a angered fan and a stubborn star (you can change the adjectives for the fan and the star, it will still be apt) played brilliantly by SRK on either side. The chase and action sequences are too long and attention deficit – a successful conclusion could have still have been reached by trimming them. Nevertheless, the filmmakers are able to sketch out and trace two characters, either of which you can understand, but can’t appreciate – a destructive fan set out to defame its idol, to make him apologize, for defying his love, denying even a small bit of acknowledgement, and star, trying to maintain legal correctness, forgetting the source of his power, his fandom –  the film ends on a uncomfortable note, but one that sounds true to its characters –  a god is as valid as its followers.

3.5/5

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Neerja

Neerja (2016)

Dir. Ram Madhvani.

The other movie that came to my mind while watching Neerja, was Airlift- if only because it belongs to the same decade, and has similar premise of a commonplace character fighting to ensure the survival of his/her community, and ofcourse, aeroplanes. Where Neerja succeeds as a more sincere and truthful effort, is that it highlights and discusses its central character – its motivations to perform as an individual of highest moral order, instead of forcing its protagonist into a larger than life narrative powered majorly by nationalist identity which sacrifices the small details and pleasures of a regular life, in order to make grand but less convincing points.

We see Sonam Kapoor playing the beautiful Neerja Bhanot, (a purser for Pan Am, based in Mumbai, India, who was shot while saving passengers from terrorists on board the hijacked Pan Am Flight 73 on 5 September 1986. Posthumously, she became the youngest recipient of India’s highest peacetime military award for bravery, the Ashok Chakra), a role which she decently performs. The narrative combines Neerja’s uneven past, haunted by his abusive ex-husband, with the terrifying hostage situation – and Neerja’s struggle in his past becomes a personal example of sustaining courage during the present situation (which reminded me of Robb Starks’ response to Bran – Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid? That’s the only time he can be brave –  a variation of which is the film’s tagline).

Neerja chooses to perform her duties- even that of a purser, an air hostess in laymen terms, with utmost sincerity, that everything else seems small in front it – it’s her call of duty –   while employing her wit to prevent as much damage as possible. The film maker too, while indulging in small regular songs and  expositional affairs in shaky cameras, still manage to convey the sincerity of the premise, performing their duty – and offer a moving account of the flight, and the situation back at Neerja’s home. It’s Neerja’s mother, played by Shabana Azmi, that concludes this story on a emotional high-note – her speech gets  as real and as beautiful as it gets.

Do watch it.

3.5/5

 

http://neerjabhanot.org/father.htm

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Airlift

Airlift (2016)
Dir. Raja Menon
Akshay Kumar, Nimrat Kaur

Akshay Kumar has the perfect stature and build of a hard-boiled marine, a brilliant comic timing and genuine persona, none of which is utilised to its full potential in it. His collaborations with Neeraj Pandey (Special 26, Baby) have utilised this to bring out perfect thrillers, with a desi tone.

When Iraq invades Kuwait in August, 1990, a callous Indian businessman – Ranjit Katyal – becomes the spokesperson for more than 170,000 stranded countrymen.

The parallels to Oskar Schindler, (as potrayed by Liam Neeson) in Schindler’s List are too over bearing that a large part of the first half can be traced out to be a remake of sorts – albeit with a less ambiguous, and less subtle Ranjit Katyal – who drinks and parties in the beginning; tries to be a savior to those working for him, and even has parallels to Itzhak Stern, jotting down a list of people they have in their camp; Major Khalaf Bin Zayd (Inaamulhaq) a humorous potrayal of a less psychopathic parallel to Amon Goth, who is being appeased by Ranjit through premium whisky and suitcases of money.

It seems that while the filmmakers intended to condense a true story of true grit and passion, they were somewhat unsure of the sturdiness of their audience -the song and dance routines are uncalled for, and often disrupting. It’s only Akshay Kumar’s sincerity that keeps it believable.

Technically, the film looks quite sound. The scenes where Akshay Kumar passes through the city in his car, watching the horrors of war are brilliant – you get to feel the claustrophobia (fear of confined places) in a wide landscape- the land and the people is now basically unknown to you – your identity is limited to the ones you know and the ones you wish to care about.

The basic question that it asks, and the one that uplifts its powerful message is that of identity (if brought down a bit by forced patriotism – the identity of a nation is subtly rides throughout the film – it resides with the people – one need not wait for the moment the flag has to rise and furl to feel united – it breaks down all the realism you have built throughout the 2 hours onscreen – Look at Madras Cafe – it plays subtly, and respects its audience-though it might have already chosen a smaller section of the public as its audience). Ranjit dwells initially as whether to consider themselves as Kuwaiti or Indian; and then who all are idenitified as a family; whether a nation is identified by  its government, military or people; and whether government is identified by its ministers, or its servants (bureaucrats).

They had a powerful cast at hand, and a powerful story. Yet, I left the theater as blank as I had entered, though more informed probably.

2.5/5