Filmi Geek

Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd. (2007)

Dir. Reema Kagti

In Honeymoon Travels Pvt. Ltd., six newlywed couples begin to make the adjustment to married life.  These crucial first days of marriage are pivotal for everyone - some marriages grow stronger, some don't even make it through the film, and others come out somewhere in between.   For the viewer, though, the journey is delightful - tasty and sweet, and a little bit salty too. 

Traveling together on a package honeymoon to Goa, the film's six couples run the gamut.   Hitesh and Shilpa's (Ranvir Shorey and Diya Mirza) marriage was arranged, but Shilpa won't stop weeping, and the more she cries the angrier Hitesh gets.  Aspi and Zara (Abhay Deol and Minissha Lamba) are childhood sweethearts who have never had a fight - but more than that makes them a little different from everyone else.  Pinky and Vicky (Amisha Patel and Karan Khanna) are young and raw; Pinky is a dreamer, and Vicky doesn't really know who he is.  Bunty and Madhu (Vikram Chatwal and Sandhya Mridul) met on the internet; both are recovering from heartbreak, but they have a lot to learn about one another.  Partho and Milly (Kay Kay Menon and Raima Sen) both need to loosen up before they can learn to be happy.  Finally, Naheed and Oscar (Shabana Azmi and Boman Irani) are fifty-ish and on their second marriage; they have seen one another through some very tragic times and are ready to face the world together.

Oscar and Naheed provide the anchor for the film, not just because they are played with perfect tone and timing by two of India's most talented actors, but also because their sad backstory brings to the group the gravity of life experience that the other couples have not yet weathered. In one of the film's pleasing mini-arcs, Naheed and Oscar first draw titters and whispered comments from the other couples, tickled by the idea of "oldies" on their honeymoon; as the story advances, though, they seem to lead by example, and the younger newlyweds come to look up to them as a model couple, both pragmatic and ideal.  Indeed, Naheed gets the final word in the film, a slightly heavy-handed but very touching summary of the film's message about love and openness. 

The other couples lack Oscar and Naheed's grounding and so some of their stories are left unresolved at the end of the film.  One of the couples appears to have reached an uneasy compromise; though they are content at the film's close, it is still clear that their marriage may be stuck in unnavigable waters.  Another couple is left to face difficult times as they get to know themselves and one another.  This is not a weakness in the film, however; it is appropriate, and true to the subject, as the problems in these marriages (as in real marriages) are too complex to achieve more than a superficial resolution in a two-hour film.  Any attempt to tie up the threads of every marriage would have seemed facile and false.  Instead, Honeymoon Travels takes leave from its characters at a moment of contentment, which the audience knows is only temporary for some of them. 

The film's music, by the team of Vishal-Shekhar, was excellent too, setting the light, fun tone from the opening credits, set over the infectious straight-up funk "Albela albela," one of the two best songs in the soundtrack.  The very best song comes toward the end of the film - "Sajnaji vaari vaari" is a free and sun-soaked celebration in which all of the honeymooners participate, some with more loosened inhibitions than others.   There is also a smoking salsa number and a couple of gentle love songs to round out the music. 

The performances of the young actors were adequate, with one exception.  If there is one weakness in the film, it is the performance of Vikram Chatwal, whose delivery is wooden and expressionless, weakening the important and challenging arc of his character Bunty and of Bunty's marriage to Madhu.  Still, most of the others are up to the task presented to them, especially Kay Kay Menon and Raima Sen, whose strait-laced, nervous Partho and Milly undergo perhaps the biggest transformation in the film.   

Honeymoon Travels has been criticized for a lack of depth and focus, but this strikes me as unfair.  The film is not trying to do too much; it never takes itself seriously and operates in a cinematic universe that is self-consciously a little different from the real world.  Judged on its own terms, Honeymoon Travels is light, gentle, and very, very funny; often sweet, and a little magical.   It is a fully enjoyable ride.

Honeymoon Travels was my 20th Shabana film!

Eklavya (2007)

एकलव्य

Dir. Vidhu Vinod Chopra

Murderous monarchs, shady princes, royals of questionable parentage, duty-bound guards hell-bent on revenge - Eklavya's first act is Shakespearean in tone.  Unfortunately, despite a few very well-crafted elements, the payoff is superficial and unsatisfying. 

King Rana (Boman Irani) is a figurehead monarch in modern-day Rajasthan; occupying a resplendent fortified palace, he has wealth and land but no real power.  In the film's opening scene, he is comforting his ill wife (Sharmila Tagore); when she calls out for his royal guard Eklavya, though, Rana strangles her in a jealous rage.  Learning of the queen's death, her prodigal son Harsh (Saif Ali Khan) returns from London, and receives a letter his mother had left for him before she dies, telling him that his father is not King Rana, but Eklavya (Amitabh Bachchan).   Meanwhile Rana plots to have Eklavya killed, with the help of Rana's bitter, envious brother Jyoti (Jackie Shroff) and Jyoti's spoiled, ambitious son Uday (Jimmy Shergill).  From there the story winds grimly through a series of double-crosses and vengeful confrontations. 

There is potential in this set-up.  Eklavya, named for a character in the Mahabharata who cut off his own thumb when his guru demanded it, is so blinded by duty and loyalty that he cannot perceive that his King has betrayed him.  There is potential, too, to illuminate the privileged yet bleak world of the impotent figurehead monarch, distinguished by nothing but noble birth and centuries of tradition, his opulent palace really little more than a house of cards.  And there is potential for the prodigal prince Harsh, educated in the modern world, away from the ancient ritual trappings of kinghood, to effect some kind of change in the palace, or to offer a psychological study as he struggles against the new knowledge of his parentage, or of his mother's murder.  But none of this potential pans out.  As my friend Darshana put it so succinctly, "The grid is laid out, but nobody really walks on it."

The film has its strengths.  It is mind-bogglingly gorgeous, in both interior and exterior shots; the intricacies of the palace and the red-yellow glow of the Rajasthani desert present a visual feast.  There are also some fascinating shots with lingering focus on tiny details - a tear dripping off of a character's face; a scarf billowing in the wind.  One conceptual detail that is handled quite nicely is the disconnect between the royal sanctum and the modern world.  Outside the palace, we have a few hints of modernity - a helicopter, an SUV, a screening of a modern movie.  Inside, though, the royal world is completely cut off from the technological evidence of the progress of time.  There is not so much as a television set; all of the palace's residents wear traditional clothes.  Even the royal automobiles are of ambiguous vintage.  The excellent effect of this is to convey two things: first, the ancientness of the venerable royal traditions, and second, the isolation and disconnect of the royal family from the rest of the world.  They are above society and apart from it, completely, not even beholden to the march of its time.

Also, Eklavya demonstrates that Bollywood studios can use modern filmmaking technology - synch sound, quality film, up-to-date special effects - without turning out films that are imitation-Hollywood.  Eklavya, despite its brevity - it clocks in at 100 minutes - and almost complete absence of songs, is still a very Indian movie.  Its use of melodramatic devices - heightened rather than understated acting,  a swelling, occasionally bombastic background score - enhanced and magnified emotions in a fashion that is distinctly Bollywood.  Eklavya is at times quite suspenseful, and even that suspense is slower and grander than the same story would have been in a Hollywood film. 

Still, despite these strengths (along with an outstanding performance by the astonishingly talented and rangy Boman Irani), Eklavya ultimately amounts to little more than a violent revenge fantasy capped by a facile and inappropriate concluding scene.  Eklavya dives in to an ugly and fascinating world - men scheming at one another, men challenging one another, men yelling at one another, men insulting one another, men praising one another, men killing one another - but comes up with little of substance to say about what really drives men to do these things.

Being Cyrus (2005)

Dir. Homi Adajania

Damaged people make for really good stories.  Being Cyrus is a dark, raw story about a dysfunctional family full of broken people, shattered by the intrusion of a man who is not what he appears to be. 

Dinshaw Sethna (Naseeruddin Shah) is an aging, reclusive, pot-addled artist who lives in a dingy, cluttered rural bungalow with his restless wife Katy (Dimple Kapadia). One day Cyrus Mistry (Saif Ali Khan) shows up at their doorstep.  Cyrus, who narrates the story, offers his services to Dinshaw, and ends up taking on a wide variety of household jobs and errands for the family, especially Katy.  Cyrus introduces the Bombay branch of the family - Dinshaw's frail, elderly father Fardoonjee (Honey Chhaya), Dinshaw's brother Farokh Sethna (Boman Irani), and Farokh's demure bride Tina (Simone Singh).  As Cyrus's narration grows increasingly dark and cryptic, he airs the Sethna family's dirty laundry.  Fardoonjee lives in squalor and dementia in a back room of Farokh and Tina's apartment, starved and neglected.   Katy, flirtatious and frustrated, is having a clandestine affair with her brother-in-law Farokh.  And Cyrus, as his narration announces, is "playing them like a violin."

As the film spins and twists toward its grim climax, the wrinkles in Cyrus's psyche unfurl in a series of complex metaphors - chess games, scrambled eggs, torn dolls - suggesting the film's themes of manipulation, of irreparable, catastrophic change, and of the lasting effects of familial contempt and dysfunction.  The symbolism is at times a little too thick, too self-consciously arty, but on the whole Being Cyrus is suspenseful, engrossing, and satisfying.   

Being Cyrus offers fresh cinematography and evocative visuals.  Everything in Dinshaw's rustic home is gray with pottery dust, and the garden is a verdant tangle of overgown brambles; Fardoonjee's one-room Bombay prison seems caked in a layer of grime.  The film also sports spooky background music that sets a sinister tone long before the narrative has begun to uncover the Sethna family's lurking demons.  But what really drives the film is the astonishingly good performances from all of its principals.  Saif Ali Khan presents Cyrus as shielded, methodical; wearing the numb, languid expression of a man who is truly broken, he is both chilling and sympathetic.  Naseeruddin Shah, though underused, is perfect as the tripping, philosophical potter. 

Dimple Kapadia, though, thoroughly steals the show.  Her Katy vibrates like a fly trapped under a glass, straining and agitated, driven to distraction by the failure of her life and marriage to live up to her romantic, cosmopolitan expectations.  It is a tremendous credit to Dimple's talent that she is vastly charismatic and appealing, even when playing a singularly unappealing, trashy, and narcissistic character.  Being Cyrus is a compelling illustration of the range and potential of this fascinating actress. 

Chalti ka naam gaadi (1958)

चलती का नाम गाड़ी

Dir. Satyen Bose

The masala film was not an invention of the 1970s. Chalti ka naam gaadi is delightful proof of that, a raucous blend of farce, romance, and intrigue with a flavor reminiscent of the Marx Brothers.  Top it off with a lead pair who sparkles together on screen and a catchy, toe-tapping SD Burman soundtrack and Chalti ka naam gaadi ("the moving thing is called a car") is the perfect entertainer that stands up brilliantly nearly 50 years after its birth.

Brijmohan, Jagmohan, and Manmohan are a trio  of brothers (real-life brothers Ashok Kumar, Anup Kumar, and Kishore Kumar, respectively) who run an auto garage.  They seem competent enough as mechanics, but in relationships they are poorly socialized and hapless.  The eldest, Brijmohan, a retired prizefighter, having been once bitten by love, is far more than twice shy, harboring superstitions about women so extreme that he won't allow them in his garage even if they are paying customers.  His phobia is affirmed late one rainy night when beautiful young Renu (Madhubala) turns up with a flooded engine.  The youngest brother Manmohan fixes her car, but she leaves without paying, and as Manmohan tries to track her down to collect his "paanch rupaiyya barah anna" (Rs.5.75, a total immortalized in of the film's most delightful songs), his adventures really begin.  He and Renu find themselves rather sweet on each other, but Renu is about to become engaged to a Prince.  Meanwhile, we learn more about Brijmohan's sad romantic past; Renu's friend sets her sights on the middle brother Jagmohan, and Manmohan witnesses a murder.  Eventually all these threads come together in grand masala style in the film's silly and satisfying climax. 

My friend Sanni said about Chalti ka naam gaadi that she loved it so much that she despaired of finding enough positive adjectives to praise it.  I know what she means.  I smiled from the opening scene straight through to the end.  The most delightful aspect of the film is the effervescent romantic and comic chemistry between Madhubala and Kishore Kumar.  Madhubala teases him mercilessly throughout the film and her adorable giggles are a pure delight.  The gorgeous Madhubala knocked my socks off the first time I saw her, depressed and defiant in the epic Mughal-e-azam; here, she plays a very different character in a very different kind of film, but she is every bit as stunning.  Kishore, for his part, is a masterful comic performer.  He has long been my favorite playback singer; here, in addition to singing his own playback, he dances with seemingly limitless energy.  As the romantic hero of the film, he alternates between suave confidence and flustered sputtering, and is equally engaging in both modes.

Finally, Chalti ka naam gaadi sports one of the finest upbeat, silly soundtracks I have encountered, distinguished by the playful style of Kishore and the very young Asha Bhosle.  Their musical dialogue in "Haal kaisa hai janab ka" is a delicious confection, picturized with adorable winking sweetness on Kishore and Madhubala.  Kishore is teasing and sensuous in "Ek ladki bheegi-bhaagi si," and "Main sitaaron ka tarana," the song I mentioned above, highlights to perfection both Kishore's boundless comic energy and Madhubala's gift for teasing mischief.    Chalti ka naam gaadi includes a wonderful musical surprise as well, a very early performance by Helen, Bollywood's top dancing girl for several decades.  Here she delivers a mesmerizing mujra together with her mentor, a dancer called Cuckoo, whom she thoroughly outshines.  I had no idea Helen could dance kathak!

Below:  gorgeous Madhubala and proto-Helen.  Thanks to Sanni for all the screenies.

Sparsh (1980)

स्पर्श

Dir. Sai Paranjpe

Sparsh ("touch") is part tender love story, part psychoanalytic character study, and part message-driven social drama.  The parts don't always gear together smoothly, but the film's sweetness outweighs whatever flaws it has, and the result is enjoyable and touching.   

Kavita (Shabana Azmi) is a depressed widow; though her close friend Manju (Sudha Chopra) urges her to step back into life and society, Kavita spends her days at home, tending to a meticulous bonsai garden (a metaphor for her stultifying confinement) and singing sad songs to an audience of herself alone.   When she accidentally meets Anirudh (Naseeruddin Shah), a bristly but charismatic blind man who runs a nearby school for blind children, Kavita is moved to offer her time to the school, and begins reading to the boys and teaching them music and crafts.  Kavita is touched by the children, and begins to welcome warmth and happiness back into her life.  She is also touched by Anirudh; a tender romance blossoms between them, and they become engaged to marry.  The romance sours, though, when Anirudh begins to fear that Kavita is marrying him not for love, but only in search of a way to martyr herself, sacrificing her youth and independence to the care of a hapless handicapped man.   

Films about relationships between blind people and sighted people - or indeed between any "handicapped" people and "normal" people - always run the risk of waxing trite and preachy, and Sparsh does not fully avoid this hazard.  Some of its uncomfortable moments feel canned and facile, as when Kavita, at one of her early meetings with Anirudh, refers to his students as "those poor children;" Anirudh bristles, telling Kavita to remove the word "poor" from her vocabulary, as his children do not need her pity. 

Accordingly, Sparsh is at its best when it focuses tightly on Kavita and Anirudh as individuals, rather than as iconic representatives of "The Blind" and "The Sighted".   Kavita and Anirudh are fragile people.  Anirudh is proud, and that pride makes it hard for him to let Kavita care for him.  Kavita, for her part, is eager for a way out of her loneliness but not quite ready to move beyond her husband's death.  They are both navigating strong emotions, but they are also both uncertain and very reserved by nature; that, together with Shabana and Naseeruddin's understated performance styles, yield a very muted tone, with few outbursts of emotion.   Indeed, Kavita in particular is so out of touch with her feelings that it takes Manju's psychoanalytic interference to resolve the major conflict of the film.  The resolution is unsatisfying, with a kind of a deus ex machina feel as Manju swoops in to explain to Anirudh everything that is going on in Kavita's head.

Despite these minor weaknesses Sparsh is nevertheless quietly sweet and engaging; the characters are warm, sympathetic, likeable.  Kavita is a wounded bird; even her smiles are a little sad.  This may be what makes the young Shabana and Naseeruddin work so well as a screen couple, they both carry in their faces a kind of droopy, puppy-dog sadness.  Their romance is delicious, sweet and even passionate at moments.  And there are some truly beautiful scenes.  In one, Kavita shops for a new sari, closing her eyes and using her fingertips to choose one that Anirudh will like.  In another, Anirudh makes Kavita blush, describing for her why he finds her beautiful - her fragrance, the sound of her voice, the softness of her touch.