Deconstructing Dev D

Rarely while browsing through the mundane affairs in an old, abandoned magazine does one stumble upon an engaging nude and more rarely does one accidentally discover, in the midst of such activity of harmless ogling, the human face to that enticing naked body. Dev D is such an artistic nude in the middle of the moribund routine of Bollywood which makes a complete departure from custom and ends up as one of the most remarkable films made in recent history. Only it has a more than fascinating face and an infinitely tempting body.

Cinephiles of the blogdom were having words of praise for this movie when I decided to give it a dekko, albeit a bit gingerly after my last experience with Anurag Kashyap’s ‘No Smoking’ ending up in a hair-tearing frenzy of sorts. Before I launch myself into something with a semblance of a review let me thank Providence that Sarat Chandra Chattopadyay was born a Hindu and to the best of my knowledge died that way. If he would have been buried and not burnt the Bengali novelist would have surely launched into a bout of crazy somersaults in his grave by the manner in which the re-interpretation of his tragedy was executed with “carnal sins” as its new central theme. With unabashed vocalizations of every word/sound/noise related to S-E-X, Dev D has broken rules that might never get enforced in our films again. Every character in the film makes their candor on the issue of sexuality apparent within moments of their appearance. Even the hero’s father is emphatic in his displeasure over the “sooki sooki baans ki dandiyon” that his son is busy chasing, overlooking the “real” women in his vicinity. In a one-of-it’s-kind adaptation of Devdas - superbly superimposed on present social realities - Kashyap introduces us to a Paro unafraid of communicating her sexual urges and a Chandramukhi who is too-tough-to-be-torn by a society out to make her feel a miserable victim. The three main characters in unison make for an experience which is heady to say the least. Here are the highlights from my latest multiplex experience:

Parminder/Paro - She redefines “equality of the sexes” in a revolutionary manner as she eagerly seeks physical intimacy with her lover - more for her own enjoyment than toeing the “Boys love so that they can have ‘it’, Women give ‘it’ just to have some love” rubbish. She is in total command of her life and is unafraid in her attempt to pursue things which pleasures her the most. When a malicious rumor wrecks her love-affair she makes a desperate bid to make clarifications and sort things out but male-ego and frayed nerves become telling hurdles in her way. Hurt and insulted by the love of her life, that too on the basis of a flimsy rumor, she moves away without a word of reproach or spite. Instead, she wipes her tears, gets married to a respectable suitor and in general terms “moves on” with her life. While her feeling of being wronged by her lover fades into a wise acceptance of reality she also comes around as a woman of firm convictions as she is ready to help her old friend/lover in his hour of need (even with the chores) but not ready to cheat on her husband with a limp ‘for-old-time’s-sake’ excuse. There is sweet revenge at the end of the line for her when she shows Dev his real “aukad” not in any subtle terms but with considerable venom and bite much to the cheer of the audience.

Mahi Gill is the new find for the industry with this film. I agree with people already lining her up as the rightful replacement for Tabu. And that on her maiden film is saying a lot about her abilities. 10 on 10 for her Paro. I personally cheered for her on that “aukad” note.



Devendra/Dev – The maudlin hero who never valued what he had when he had it, the weak male with an inflated ego and a weaker spine to boot, a masochistic hedonist who escaped his troubles by drowning his consciousness in a flood of spirits - Kashyap’s Dev is an epitome of the Irresponsible for us. While trying to come to terms with Paro’s conjugal bliss he is driven more by jealousy than love when he decides to ask her to come back to him. Even when he gets a chance, he is quick to ask her to “make love” to him in order to reaffirm her allegiance without risking the spread of an elaborate apology for his past blunders himself. While displaying scant regard for emotional bonding he is unashamed in his wanton urge for flesh and hardly ever makes any bones about it. Though his self-destructiveness strikes a cord with Chanda, who eventually falls in love with him, he continues to remain the undeserving scoundrel with abominable aplomb. He is more of a chauvinistic demon than a tragic hero of any appeal. Though Kashyap cooks up a picture of the resurrection of Dev at the end of the story it somehow seemed unjust that the diabolical D must end up with the beautiful damsel in Chanda. Instead, he should have ideally choked on his “coke with vodka” concoction and died in the hole he dug for himself.

Abhay Deol might never see the lights or the cameras of the Chopras and the Johars but he is one incredible actor who will continue to make ripples with his association with “different” films. Considering he was great in his last release - ‘Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye’ too one can expect a world of good from him in the future. He brings to life Dev in all his morbid glory.



Lenny/Chanda – A girl who is a victim of urban voyeurism defies desertion from her own family and friends and discovers the most tangible reality of life a la Frost “That it goes on”. And with this earthy demeanor she tames her ghosts to submission and how! Fighting a lone battle from upon a tightrope of survival she has a handy lesson or two for all and sundry in the throes of depression. She is not in the slightest bitter about the treatment she has received and remains unapologetic for morphing into the “All America Schoolgirls” “CSW” with time and necessity. Bright and lively on the outside, she too nurses feelings of pain and hurt in the deepest corner of her heart that makes her so believably human. Though it takes Dev to unearth those feelings from within her neither once does she submit to the sway of her emotions nor give in to tears – not even when Dev leaves her in a huff. The scene where Dev first meets Lenny is full of sparkling conversation, not very conducive for ears accustomed to conventions of levity or innuendo though easily making for one of the highlights of the film. Chanda comes across as the strongest of the three characters as she inspires with the poise with which she handles her ‘situation’ and ultimately ends up to be the proverbial guiding light to the reckless ways of Dev. She is bold yet mature, ravishing yet restrained though all through there is this abiding subtext that it is the sheer suffering she undergoes that eventually moulds her into a superior individual by a slow, tortuous process – a true woman in the garb of a wide-eyed girl.

Kalki Koechlin, I doff my hat to you. She is the true star of the film. Having taken the film’s flow by the scruff of the neck she makes every viewer become engrossed into the machinations of her mind right from when she emerges on the screen. She is vivacious, thoughtful, emotive and a complete natural with the camera. Her depiction of the girl with a quiet sense of assurance and control that defines Chanda is so potent that it sweeps one off his feet. Doubtlessly, she scintillates with her brilliant performance though one cannot really put his finger on that-one-thing which really worked for her in this film – My guess is it was she, herself.


Coming to Mr. Kashyap, I think as a film lover I can discount him half-a-dozen of his ‘No Smoking’ duds for this one piece of pioneering work. Dev D is a bold undertaking delivered with consummate grace and a killer style. The popularity of Dev D can truly spark off a change in the way ‘the message’ part of ‘classics’ is redone to give a look of contemporary relevance and present them with fresh perspective and insight. No doubt we have a moody maverick inMr. Kashyap; we only hope we find him in his creative best (also tangible/comprehendible best) in Gulaal.

I for one will be watching out, waiting to be impressed once more.
The teasers seem delicious enough.

Jodha-Akbar - A Review

My feelings towards ‘Jodha Akbar’ was bordering on something of a pleasant confusion and a sense of dejectedness stemming out of unquenched expectations as the credits started rolling at the end of the film.

And it was this same feeling which occupied my mind as I made my way back to my home after coming out of the theater. A film which promised to deliver a cinematic spectacle of epic proportions had failed to deliver on its brief but, not without some consolation. The story revolves around the central theme of the blossoming of love between Jalaluddin Akbar and Jodhabai. The backdrop was provided by a mix of conspiracies, betrayals and blood-feuds that are so much part of power equations and empires from time immemorial. Only in this case there were hardly any attempts at intrigue or unpredictability in their unveiling. Akbar is portrayed as the righteous emperor coming to terms with the rigors of ruling a vast empire and facing enemies both within and beyond his dominions. Rajputana being the ‘iron fortress’ of defiance and pride poses the most formidable source of resistance to Mughal expansionist ambitions. As a strategy of alliance and appeasement Akbar marries the young princess of Amer, Jodhabai, to take a section of Rajputs in his confidence. The film tracks the graduation of feelings in Jodha starting from mild repulsion to acceptance and finally to complete submission in the Mughal emperor’s loving embrace. The sequences where little mind-games between the newly wed couple take precedence over the routine of matrimony is both absorbing and amusing. The rich decor and the overwhelming grandeur of the inside of the mahals are breathtakingly beautiful as are the scintillating spread of jewellery and costumes. The detailing of the backdrops merit accolades galore.

Hrithik Roshan as Akbar gives a good solid performance as the charismatic emperor and a passionate lover. He fits the royal-look requisite to the T and one cannot imagine anybody else in those regal robes strolling down the grand corridors of Diwan-e-Aam and Diwan-e-Khas. His delivery of chaste Urdu is flawless most of the times which does its part in lending credibility to the character. It is good if he sticks to do one 'film of substance' at a time for he is good in his role here, exuding a royal nonchalance and a princely swagger to charm his audience.

Aishwarya Rai Bachhan looks every bit the budding flower that Rajput princesses are supposed to have been. Delicate yet resolute. Passionate yet reserved. The sword-fighting scene actually takes the cake for her. She looks genuine in battle-gear though there spreads a shade of blissful serenity on her face when donning the elaborately embroidered ghagras, singing bhajans in front of her private deity.

Ashutosh Gowarikar has kept to the title of the film, devoting the lion’s share of its run-time to the ‘love-story’ amidst the bedlam of treachery and treason cooking in the background. Though one wonders if it was in fact the inspiration borrowed from Jodha’s love that compelled Akbar to ease taxes and regulations on his subjects, in the process coming out a reformed man worthy of a woman’s love and devotion. If history is so twisted to cater to the tastes of the ‘general’ audience and financers I believe there wasn’t enough evidence of ‘creative liberties’ being taken by the talented director in the film. I am sure a racy item-number here and a little outsourcing of certain parts to one Ekta Kapoor and Karan Johar would have done marvels to the prospects of the film at the box-office. With irrelevant songs in “Azeem-o-Shaan....” and “khwaja mere khwaja...” being packed in the most unceremonious manner into Mughal ceremonies one begins to feel for the poor director torn between duty and desire. Though on a personal level I liked the battle sequences which are quite grand compared to anything made before in Indian Cinema it feels just to be miserly when granting points to this film because of its sheer disregard in highlighting the policy and politics of the Akbar-era, the most remarkable aspects of the great reign and the great ruler.

If history has been dumped most listlessly for this film it will soon have some company.

Taare Zameen Par - A Review

‘It’s easy to point out problems in this world. It’s difficult to offer solutions.’

The maiden directorial venture by Aamir Khan does ‘that’ difficult part with aplomb.

‘Taare Zameen Par’ revolves around the stifling pressures that a dyslexic child faces in our society, in our times. Ishaan Avasti ( Darsheel Safery) is like any fun loving kid who enjoys catching the odd fish from the gutters, keeps gawking at the mother-bird feeding her fledglings and pick up fights with the domineering bully of the pack when things become too unbearable. Yet, something makes him special. He sees the world through the colourful window of his mind. A fertile imagination gifts him with a creative edge he manifests through the interplay of colours in his paintings. Yet, something ails his progress in academics. Curiously, he mixes up all his spellings, can’t say a ‘d’ from a ‘b’ and ‘9 * 3’ is somehow 3 owing to some cosmic collision only his mind can conjure in its full imaginative inflation. Failure in exams ensues and parents get anxious. The apparent ploy to shirk studies seems to be the only plausible reason to them. Frustrated with umpteen attempts at correcting his ‘flaws’ and his habitual relapses he is sent to a boarding school. The sequence where his mother (Tisca Chopra) turns back to leave him at the mercy of the unfamiliar premises of the boarding school is so beautifully picturised, with the

heart rending delivery of “ kya itna buraa hoon main maa....” (by Shankar Mahadevan) playing in the background that I am sure there are few, if any, people who did not have a tear-drop gracing their eyes at that moment.

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Expectedly, boarding school only makes Ishaan a prisoner of the ‘conventional treatment’ that is meted out to non-performers in our education system. He blots out the cruel world and locks himself in a shell of desolation and pain. The portrayal of helplessness in a child on ‘not being understood’ by people around him is dispensed with a nuanced perfection found only in past masters of cinema. Aamir (along with Amole Gupte) donning the director’s hat for the first time has charmed with his exquisite timing and sensitivity in dealing with the subject which demanded a perceptive depiction along with artistic finesse.

Aamir enters the scene as an art-teacher in the dying moments of the first-half (albeit with a

clowning act with much fanfare which seemed tad redundant) and hopes of resurrection are ignited. Being a victim of dyslexia in his childhood, Aamir identifies the problem in Ishaan. He fights with the principal, and later convinces him that it is only a matter of time before Ishaan can compete with others with a little help and understanding. He devotes his time and energies to address the difficulties that Ishaan is facing and soon the boy shows marked improvement. An ‘Open to All Painting Competition’ becomes the culmination of the mutual success of the teacher-student pairing as Ishaan beats his teacher to bag the first-prize in the competition.

The whirlpool of emotions ranging from despair to joy, from rejection to relief attains a magical crescendo at the prize distribution ceremony. A tearful hug replete with unsaid words of gratitude and affection are so touching that one cannot help but give vent to one’s emotions, hiding in the darkness of the tiers to shed a few tears of empathy.

Repentant and reformed, Ishaan’s father takes him back to his home on a vacation wherefrom a happy ending starts. Both for Ishaan and his family, and Aamir, the teacher.

The smell of success and hope is palpable even when the credits roll.

Prasoon Joshi, take a bow. The ad-man has penned lyrics laden with pathos and a deep understanding of children’s psyche (he says he owes it to his little girl) that has an evocative appeal written all over it.

Shankar is breathtaking with his poignant renditions of songs like, “ tu sab jaanti hai.....hai na maa...” (MP3 provided above), “Mera jahaan...” and the title track.

The trio of Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy has again proved what good quality jamming can produce as the music of the film is a sure highlight which is poised to make a mark of it’s own in the coming days.

Aamir as a director has shown the class expected out of an outright perfectionist like him. The sensitive interpretation of the story is so seamlessly accomplished till the end that one cannot really put a finger on a flaw that glares in its nonconformity with the script. The occasional inclusion of a few ‘symbolic scenes’ (as when Aamir watches a mother and child on a bus) and the comic (but of doubtful necessity) entry of himself as the art-teacher were noticeably deletable. Otherwise, “Taare Zameen Par” is a winner.

Aamir has delivered a success.

Darsheel has outdone Aamir

The child artist has not only done justice to the troubled character he portrays with élan but also etched a niche of special recall within the deep recesses of our minds where childhood memories and their attendant anxieties recline in blissful languor of forgetfulness, almost untouched by the mechanically motivated lives we live. After watching the film every person sitting in the stands who has ever faced a similar problem in his childhood will come to associate Darsheel’s gawky features, his wide expressive eyes and that ear-to-ear grin with his memories and rejoice at his victory at the end of the film, though not his own. That is exactly where the film succeeds, in drawing the audience to think sympathetically on a socially relevant issue.

“Taare Zameen Par” lets everyone take something back to their homes from the theater. A sensitive heart receptive to other’s problems, responsive to a child’s troubles, understanding of a passing disability and most importantly, throbbing with a lasting sensation of triumph.

And to me, that’s cinema.

Good Cinema.

Say No to 'NO SMOKING'

If ever there was a film made with the sole purpose of frustrating the very principle of Tolerance; if ever there was a film made with the single minded motivation of blending all imaginable atrocities into a single celluloid cyanide; if ever there was a film which dragged the staunchest of abstainers to seedy corners of the cinema-hall during the interval, forcing them to take the first puff of their lives in utter desperation and mental vacuum, then, surely my friends, the film would be ‘No Smoking’.

Anurag Kashyap, has ensured that cigarette smoking in this nation is taken up as a welcome respite from films such as his and I am certain a good amount of moolah (as a token of appreciation) is already headed his way from the ITC coffers. Though this might not prove a sufficient compensation for the losses Vishal Bharadwaj (the producer of this 'torture') will incur, the rape of sanity and the risk of destabilizing the rational thought process in every individual who ventured out to watch this hideous film will remain irreparable.

The film starts with a Siberian shoot-out, followed by a series of events which takes its time to settle into the minds of the audience. Slowly, the curtains are drawn off the GREAT plot.

A strapping John Abraham {mysteriously named ‘K’ (understandably the audience had their own lewd interpretations of it)} who cannot live a moment of his waking hour without puffing at the cancer-stick is threatened with separation by his wife/secretary Anjali (the voluptuous Ayesha Takia) unless he quits. Faced with this imminent loss he goes into a rehabilitation centre (called Prayogshalaa – which when translated comes to either ‘laboratory’ or ‘work-shop’ but never anything close to 'rehabilitation' surprisingly) recommended by his old friend Abbas Tyrewala ( Ranvir Shorey). A head-churning sequence ensue where burqa-clad women throng the Prayogshalaa call-centre and fix appointments with the infinitely efficacious Bangali Baba Sealdah-walaa ( played by a stubble-sporting Paresh Rawal) who eliminates all addictions at the measly cost of 21-lakh rupees. K is forced to sign on an agreement which jeopardizes the life and safety of his entire family in the eventuality of him smoking again, which he obviously dares to, in crass defiance of the Baba’s diktat. Kissed with a number of handicaps within a span of a few reckless hours, he is kept on the treadmill of artificial anxiety by the Baba and his cronies. As if the pathetically painted expressions across John’s frowning face was not enough, the audience is greeted with an item number curiously picturised on Jesse Randhwa and sung by Adnan Sami (one cannot imagine the fruit of such heady a concoction of flab [formerly i.e] and abs). Then comes the history-mutilating pictures of Hitler seated beside a smiling Rawal, a rehabilitation-centre/concentration-camp designed on the lines of ones shown in Schindler’s List, a gross-inching- towards-gruesome take on Fidel Castro (a cigar made in Havana named 'In-Fidel Castrated' marketed by K’s close friend in India) and a ‘Memento’-ish rewind-play-rewind-play experiment which falls flat on its face. The final assault on human sensibility comes in the form of sepia-tainted black & white flash-backs of John and Shorey’s childhood escapades. One scene has the unmistakably imbecile John prancing with orgasmic ecstasy at having puffed at a cigarette, along with Shorey, in a locked bathroom only to be caught by Shorey’s father. Having caught two teenager boys holed up in the seductive refuge of a bath-room the father prepares to deliver a lecture on the monstrosity of a man-man relationship, when interrupted by Shorey’s clarification of the ‘real motive’ he sighs with understandable relief.

“Lucky man!” every person in the hall exclaimed, for relief wouldn’t be coming their way for another hour, they knew. So, in honest rejection they banged their heads against seats in front of them. But, to no avail.

The second half is replete with ‘Symbolism’, where ‘the Soul’ and ‘the Body’ is separated by a glass barrier (and interestingly the soul fails to communicate with the body for need of a One-Rupee coin). A filthy hodge-podge of murder, suicide, police interrogation, leaping into water, scuba-diving in bath-tub, waking up in Siberia is complete with a shoot-out( remember the first scene ?? ). But alas! John is still not dead. He still lives (or rather his ‘body’ lives). A body bereft of soul due to habitual cigarette smoking. And now there’s an ‘intelligent’ hint in the closing scene which tells us that the evil of smoking isn't confined in the white-paper wrapped svelte-menace but, it lives somewhere else.
In us.

And how we thank our lucky stars it does!

Cancer is more welcome than a 'Kashyap'!

From head to toe ‘The Biggest Cinematic Disaster’ of our times, the film leaves enough message to galvanize the average cinema enthusiast in mobilizing a resistance against the unholy alliance of Kashyap & Co. with Agra and Ranchi Mental Hospitals. Every ticket denied to them is a victory for sanity. Every moment inside the theater excruciating brutality.

Smoking could kill.

'No Smoking' will..