Filmi Geek

Khamoshi: The Musical (1996)

ख़ामोशी

Dir. Sanjay Leela Bhansali

This movie is so lovely I hardly know where to begin.  Driven by the truly outstanding work of its actors, Khamoshi: The Musical tells a story that in its particulars is specific to the concerns of its deaf-mute characters, but that nevertheless resonates universally for anyone who has parents or a child.

Joseph (Nana Patekar) and his wife Flavy (Seema Biswas) are the deaf-mute parents of a hearing daughter, Annie (Manisha Koirala).  In the film's opening scenes Annie is gravely wounded in a car accident.  As she lies in a hospital bed clinging to life, the narrative shifts into flashback, and Annie recounts her life story.  When Annie was a young girl, her love of music was fostered by her singing, dancing grandmother Maria (rendered adorably by the legendary Helen).  As she grows up, and her family weathers hardship and tragedy, Annie becomes distanced from her music.  Her parents - especially Flavy - grow to resent the music because they cannot hear it; they fear that it will pulls her away from their world and from them.  As an adult, Annie meets Raj (Salman Khan), a musician and music producer.  Raj falls in love with Annie's voice, and with Annie, redoubling the tension between Annie and her parents.  Raj wants both to record Annie and to marry her; Flavy hates music, Joseph hates Raj, and Annie is agonizingly torn between her love for and responsibility to her parents on the one hand, and her need for autonomy and for music on the other. 

The film's story is poignant and well-executed; like other films by Sanjay Leela Bhansali, it is melodramatic and a little bombastic, but unlike some of his others, the melodrama and bombast are deflty executed in just the right measure to magnify and project emotions rather than parodizing them.  (Contrast Bhansali's terrible Devdas, which I can hardly believe was made by the same person.)  But more than anything, it is the stellar work of the actors that makes this film so powerful.  Nana Patekar and Seema Biswas, as the deaf-mute couple, had a difficult job to do - conveying their emotional states with their faces and hands instead of with words - and they were simply mesmerizing.  The tenderness between them was beautiful, and their interactions with their daughter - whether sharing joy or locking horns - were just gripping.  I can't tell you how many times the work of the actors stopped my breath while I while watching this film. 

Manisha Koirala was outstanding as well.  Anyone who has seen Dil se knows what Manisha can do.  She was excellent throughout Khamoshi but one scene stands out and haunts me particularly; after a dispute with her father Annie stands outside their house screaming out her frustration through the door and signing frantically, even though Joseph can neither hear nor see her.  It's a moving speech bringing to the fore the undercurrents of Annie and Joseph's relationship; Annie suppressed a lifetime of resentment at Joseph for using her as a mouthpiece, for wanting to keep her a child, for stifling her music, and it came bursting magnificently forth in this one intense scene. 

Khamoshi: The Musical is ironically and evocatively titled; "khamoshi" means "silence," and so the tension between the silent world of Joseph and Flavy, and Raj's music-filled world is compressed into the film's title.  But while the details of the story turn on Joseph and Flavy's deafness - their fear of interacting with the hearing world and their fear of losing their daughter to it - the film's themes translate to generational conflict more universally.  Parents sometimes fear losing their children to pursuits they don't understand; children sometimes experience guilt at seemingly abandoning their parents to pursue their own lives, marriages, careers.  Khamoshi addresses these universal conflicts touchingly, through its story of a family that has faced more than its share of difficulty and yet still bonds together with tremendous love. 

If there is a weakness in the film it is the music, which is largely unmemorable and ordinary, and at times worse than that.  This is frustrating to me, because I have often found that movies about music - where you might expect particular attention to be given to this aspect - nevertheless have poor music.  This was an irritation in Morning Raga and Tehzeeb and it is an irritation here as well. Still, this is a minor quibble - the movie is so fantastic otherwise that a couple of middling songs are easily overlooked.

(Khamoshi: The Musical is available for free download at Jaman.com)

Kuch kuch hota hai (1998)

कुछ कुछ होता है

Dir. Karan Johar

When I sat down to watch Kuch kuch hota hai ("something happens"), although I had seen nearly 100 Indian films, I was a Karan Johar virgin.  "K-Jo," as the filmmaker Johar is sometimes called - both affectionately and contemptuously - is a polarizing figure among fans of Hindi films, westerners and Indians alike.  Sure, he has created a number of massive hits.  But some dismiss his work as candyfloss - emotionally manipulative, saccharine fluff, embodying the worst stereotypes of Hindi movies.  Others adore his work in spite of - or perhaps because of - the very characteristics that engender those criticisms. 

There was no particular reason that I'd missed the K-Jo boat; I hadn't deliberately avoided his films.  For a while I was under a self-imposed moratorium on Shah Rukh Khan (who stars in every one of Johar's films), but if a friend had invited to me to watch one of Johar's movies I would not have refused.  I just never got around to it.   When I decided it was time to take the plunge, I chose Kuch kuch hota hai, because it is the beloved favorite of several people who I think are really, really smart.  What I found in Kuch kuch hota hai is a film that is cheesy, sentimental, and manipulative - mostly, in all the right ways. 

Rahul (Shah Rukh Khan) and Anjali (Kajol) are college students, best friends, and friendly rivals.  The tomboyish Anjali is forever challenging Rahul to games of pick-up basketball - and winning - while Rahul, for his part, teases her mercilessly.  Enter Tina (Rani Mukherjee), the glamorous foreign-educated daughter of the school's principal (Anupam Kher).  She brings out the gentleman buried beneath Rahul's rough-and-tumble, boys-will-be-boys exterior.  Inevitably, they fall in love, leaving poor Anjali out in the cold, as she realizes that she is in love with Rahul as well. 

We know from the film's opening sequence - the college story is told in flashback - that Tina died shortly after giving birth to a daughter, whom she instructed Rahul to name Anjali after their college friend.  On her deathbed Tina wrote eight letters to be given to little Anjali on each of her first eight birthdays.  Now eight years old, little Anjali receives the final letter, setting forth her mother's dying wish: that Rahul be reunited with the elder Anjali.  Little Anjali hatches a scheme to fulfill Tina's request, with her spunky grandmother (Farida Jalal) as her partner-in-crime.  The conspirators have their work cut out for them; while it doesn't take much for Rahul to realize what he could have had in grown-up Anjali, in the meantime she has become engaged to a gentle sweet fellow named Aman (Salman Khan). 

The story may not sound like much, and its resolution holds no surprises, but in one aspect the film's message is a bit refreshing: rather than supporting the romantic but depressing notion that there is just one perfect match, one true love, for everyone, Kuch kuch hota hai acknowledges that even romantic love can come in different forms.  In the world of Kuch kuch hota hai, losing one's true love does not doom one to never have true love again.  Rahul recites the old saw a couple of times, insisting that love is a once-in-a-lifetime venture - but he's proven gloriously wrong. 

The bloom comes off this rose somewhat, though, when it is considered that the mature Anjali has shed her track suits and tomboyish ways for a sari and a job as an instructor of Indian classical dance.  Rahul never noticed her until she transformed into a girl who couldn't beat him at basketball. Well, it isn't just that she can't beat him.  It's that she doesn't think to change out of her sari before hitting the court.  It's as if Anjali can be only one thing at a time, either a rough-and-tumble free spirit, or a seedhi-saadhi prim and proper lady.  There's no room for multiple facets, for shifting as circumstances warrant.  That's a pretty damn depressing and restrictive idea. 

For me - as Shah Rukh Khan's smarminess is not my cup of tea - Kuch kuch hota hai is not more than a solid timepass.  Still, I appreciate some of what sets it apart.  There is something pleasingly escapist in its view of college - a place for basketball, track meets, cheerleaders, and dance competitions, but not much in the way of classes or studying.  There's also a comically bumbling principal and an overly flirtatious sexy teacher (who even gets her own leering sound-effect every time she takes the screen).   While it seems that every stop is pulled out in achieving the apex of melodramatic bombast - ominous thunderclaps to signal significant moments, swelling music playing out the characters emotions, glorious and lush wedding preparations, even divine intervention when needed - somehow, the film maintains a sense of humor, a tone of self-awareness.  It's over the top, but it's over the top with a wink at the audience.  Combine that with the sweetness of the story, and the result is that it's very easy to play along. 

(For a terrific analysis of Kuch kuch hota hai through the lens of postmodern theory, have a look at Meredith's post on the board she runs, the BollyWHAT? forum.) 

Khamosh (1985)

ख़ामोश

Dir. Vidhu Vinod Chopra

Khamosh ("silent"), a 1985 mystery thriller by Vidhu Vinod Chopra, is clever, self-referential, satirical, and thoroughly entertaining. 

Shabana Azmi and Amol Palekar - playing themselves - are at an idyllic mountain resort with a film crew, shooting a thriller.  When their co-star Soni Razdan (also playing herself) turns up dead, the crew and the local police assume it is a suicide.  Then a taciturn CID inspector (Naseeruddin Shah) turns up and begins his own investigation.  He is convinced that Soni's death was no suicide, and as he learns of the secrets and feuds that seethe among the cast and crew, his eye shifts from suspect to suspect - the producer Dayal (Ajit Vachhani), publicly humiliated by Soni; the mother of a young starlet competing with Soni for a part in Dayal's next film; Dayal's drug-addled brother Kuku (Pankaj Kapur), desperately in love with Soni, and others.  As the body count grows and the red herrings proliferate, it quickly becomes apparent that few of this rag-tag bunch are who they appear to be.

The plot is a straight-up murder mystery, quite Agatha Christie in feel, since it features a tense group, confined to close quarters, criss-crossed by passions and rivalries.  What makes Khamosh different from other exemplars of the whodunit genre is that it is stuffed with in-jokes, references, and homages.  It pokes fun at slapdashery in Bollywood filmmaking, when the director spontaneously decides to rewrite the script and orders the dialogue-writer to produce new scenes for the actors to shoot the next day.  Vidhu Vinod Chopra pokes fun at himself with a running joke of the director repeatedly saying, "This is just a thriller!  Wait until my next film!"  And the actors poke fun at themselves as well - the Shabana Azmi of Khamosh, for example, sleepwalks, reads stories about herself in the gossip rags, and declares that she "can't understand politics."  Khamosh also acknowledges its debt to the films that went before it; one standout scene pays explicit homage to the shower scene in Psycho with a reference to The Godfather for good measure.

Having the actors Shabana, Amol Palekar, and Soni Razdan play themselves - rather than playing fictitious movie stars with made-up names - was a stroke of absolute genius that added a self-referential layer to the film, lifting beyond the realm of cute, entertaining murder mystery.  The film operates on several layers at once, playing with the viewer's sense of movie-reality and suspension of disbelief.  I am accustomed to seeing Naseeruddin Shah and Shabana Azmi together on screen, but here there is a strange and pleasant disconnect; he is in character, and addresses her as "Shabana ji."  The loopiness also alters the viewer's expectations about what can happen to the characters and what they can do.  It's difficult to explain the full scope of this effect on my experience of the film without giving away too many of the plot details!  But it was very enjoyable.

The sleuth at the center of the story, Naseeruddin Shah's Bakhshi, was entertainingly fallible - far from the flawless master of deduction, he jumped to conclusions and acted rashly as frequently as he showed investigative insight.  And the story itself was sufficiently twisty and surprising to sustain the suspense.  My friend Amit points out that Khamosh suffers from a few plot holes.  To a certain extent, I think he's right - it rare that a script with complex twists can stand up to detailed scrutiny.  But I barely noticed these small weaknesses on first viewing, because I  was just having too much fun enjoying the ride.  It may be "just a thriller," but it's a solid, suspenseful, and thoroughly entertaining film. 

Bluffmaster (2005)

Dir. Rohan Sippy

Abhishek Bachchan, scion of Bollywood royalty, is a tall, handsome fellow with some hints of his father's screen-filling presence.  While he has the looks for dark, brooding characters, he is at his ease and at his best in brash, goofy roles, embodying a certain kind of nerd cool.   Indeed, so appealing is Abhishek in roles like Bluffmaster that one wonders why anyone bothers casting him in films like Umrao Jaan.

Roy (Abhishek) is young, handsome, rich, and engaged to the girl he loves, Simi (Priyanka Chopra); he's on top of the world.  He's also a world-class con man, though, and when one of his unfortunate marks turns up at the engagement party and cries foul, Simi tosses him out of her life.  Devastated, Roy half-heartedly resolves to go straight, and full-heartedly to win Simi back.  Before long, though, Roy runs into Dittu (Riteish Deshmukh), an aspiring con man himself, who convinces Roy to teach him the art.  Dittu seeks revenge upon a shady hotelier named Chandru (Nana Patekar), who, Dittu explains, conned Dittu's father out of his life savings.  Roy takes on the challenge.  Then Roy's avuncular friend, Dr. Bhalerao (Boman Irani) - whom Roy had previously rescued from one of Dittu's schemes - delivers some life-changing news, and Roy is forced to look at the con game with a new perspective.

Bluffmaster is charming and fun, thanks in equal parts to its star power and to tight, clever scripting.  The most entertaining parts of a good con movie are the cons themselves, and here (as in Abhishek's comparable vehicle Bunty aur Babli) Roy and Dittu's gutsy schemes drive much of the fun.  It makes no difference that the hustles would have little chance of success in real life - the frisson comes from being in on the game as the characters work their mojo on unsuspecting marks.  And Abhishek and Riteish Deshmukh have ample appeal to pull it off, though in contrasting milieus; Abhishek is slick, handsome, and well-dressed, while Riteish brings a more everyman sensibility.  Both are crisp and engaging. 

The supporting characters, too, are colorfully rendered.  Boman Irani, as always, throroughly inhabits his character with quirkiness and humor.  Nana Patekar is both menacing and comical as Chandru, the "big fish" whom Roy and Dittu set out to take down - he performs worship rituals before his own reflection.  And the city of Bombay is itself a significant player in the film as well, portrayed with both grit and extraordinary beauty.  The film is full of rooftop and balcony shots set before sweeping cityscapes that are truly lovely. 

There are self-referential and expository themes in Bluffmaster that perhaps set out to comment broadly upon deception in real life, and particularly in films.  (I have been told that in these aspects Bluffmaster borrows heavily from Hollywood's Matchstick Men and Argentina's Nueve Reinas, neither of which I have seen.)  Bluffmaster never lets the viewer forget that it is a movie - from the title sequence in which a pimped-out Abhishek dances broadly on a stage set backdropped by a flashing marquee bearing the film's title, to the occasional framed still shots that introduced each of the movie's principal characters.  There is undoubtedly metaphor lurking in all that self-conscious theatricality.  But the truth is that Bluffmaster invited me to watch it with my brain off, and I did - I just enjoyed the ride, with all its abrupt swerves, and didn't look too hard for meaning or message.  Bluffmaster, whatever else it may be doing, just spins a rippingly good yarn.