Filmi Geek

Gaja Gamini (2000)

गज गामिनी

Dir. M.F. Hussain

Gaja Gamini, M.F. Husain's first excursion into filmmaking, is absurd in almost every aspect, and not in the cool intellectual sense.  It is just ridiculous.  It's a series of laughably poor attempts at profundity, which are often embarrassing to watch.  It is safe to say that were it not for the reverence attached to Husain himself, the project would never have attracted either financial backing or the high-profile stars who dupe innocents like me into enduring it.   It is, as a Twitter acquaintance so concisely summarized it, senseless.

Gaja Gamini is widely described as Husain's tribute to his "muse," Madhuri Dixit.  If this description gives you pause - as it does me - it's with good reason.  Gaja Gamini is every bit as objectifying and regressive as it sounds when it comes to paying tribute to a woman, or to women, or to Women.  It is brimming over with revoltingly pompous references to the Ageless Mystery That Is Woman and Woman's Mystical Power and other such claptrap that one associates with the sort of self-congratulatory man who says things like "I'm not a misogynist; I love women." 

The titular Gaja Gamini (Madhuri Dixit), is a mysterious, flitting creature whom all men are in thrall of though none fully glimpses.  She incarnates through several ages as a series of women, most of whom have this in common:  Each waits alone on her conceptual pedestal for an arrant man to come to her and be inspired by her beauty to create their own masterworks.  One incarnation, Shakuntala, is the muse of the epic poet Kalidas (Mohan Agashe, a co-producer of the film credited here as Dr Mohan Agashe as if his academic credentials bolster the thin tissue of Husain's wanky fantasy).  Shakuntala's decidedly unworthy mate is a doltish, Jodhpur-wearing, banduk-toting rajkumar.   In another incarnation, Gaja Gamini is Mona Lisa, who is, of course, the inspiration of Leonardo Da Vinci, embodied here by Naseeruddin Shah - you read that right - in a stupid costume coughing up even stupider lines while waving his compensatory paintbrush in the air. 

What?

The supposedly modern incarnation of Gaja Gamini, Monica (note the western name), enjoys a light romantic dance with Shah Rukh Khan before the important manly work of covering a war (he is a photojournalist) wrenches him from her arms, leaving her teary and anxious.  This is M.F. Husain's great vision of the timeless power of woman - the endless ability to sit around on our asses crying while our men  create art, science, culture, and shape the world.

In some kind of token nod to feminist themes, one incarnation of Gaja Gamini, Sangeeta, inspires a group of village women including Shabana Azmi, Farida Jalal, and  Shilpa Shirodkar, to take up their lanterns and march against - well, against what it is not clear, but their march is stern and angry and they wield their lanterns fiercely.  But even this powerful Sangeeta is debilitated; she is sometimes blind, sometimes mute, and each of the other women transforms into her, ensuring that none of them is whole either.  And even Sangeeta waits for the rescuing hand of her ageless lover Jayant.  Feh.

Why, Shabana ji?

There is plenty more; the vapidity of Husain's vision is nearly boundless, and Gaja Gamini indulges it to the fullest in over two hours of excruciatingly scripted, stiffly acted nonsense. You might think that a movie conceived and executed by an artist of Husain's stature would at least have visual appeal, but not so Gaja Gamini.  The sets are, I suppose, meant to be theatrical, minimalist, and evocative, but for the most part they come across as amateurish and low budget.  The film's early sequences take place on an abstracted, primary yellow Banaras ghat that looks more like the hastily hammered and painted set of a high school play than that of a high-concept art film.   The Monica and Shah Rukh sequence occurs on a set bisected by a large brick wall (one side represents the past and tradition, the other the present and modernity, get it?) - and when Shah Rukh Khan's choregraphy requires him to lean against it, it shudders and sways, belying the papier-mâché beneath its brick facade.  Only the blue-and-white Dal Mandi set on which the women's march occurs is anything close to evocative.  One just expects more from such a revered visual artist as Husain.

I have been to Banaras, and you, sir, are no Banaras.

Prancing about on these poor, pliant theatrical sets, the array of actors comport themselves woodenly and self-consciously; the experienced stars gracing this cast are as forced and ridiculous as Husain's unknowns.  There is nothing wrong with highly stylized direction when the style serves a purpose, but here it only lends pomposity, a sense that someone (well, Husain) believes these characters have such profound philosophical insights to deliver that they must speak them in the patronizing tones of a small child's religious teacher.  It compounds embarrassment upon painful embarrassment, in an utter disaster of a movie that is more pointless than profound.

Ooga booga!

If Gaja Gamini has a redeeming feature, it is Madhuri herself.  How many movies can one say this of?  If there is any actor who can make the unwatchable bearable for a moment with a dazzling smile or a crisply executed mudra, it is Madhuri Dixit.  Thankfully, here she is as radiant as ever.  M.F. Husain's tribute to her may be objectifying bakhwas with a camera that dwells embarrassingly languidly on the exaggerated sway of Gaja Gamini's ass, but you can't say Madhuri is not a worthy choice of muse.  She is at her best, of course, in the movie's songs, which are by far its highlights.  Bhupen Hazarika's music is quite lovely throughout, and the songs are smartly (if weirdly) choreographed. Indeed, I had seen two of the songs years ago, "Meri payal bole" and "Do sadiyan ke sangam," and rather wish I had left it at that.

 

Janamdin mubarak Shashi ko!

It's Shashi Kapoor's 75th birthday and I'm delighted to celebrate with some of my favorites of his songs.

Like nearly everyone else, I love Shashi Kapoor.  Apart from being good-looking with a perfect mixture of doofy bashfulness and sparkling charm, he's also a fine and versatile actor.   The first movie of his I saw was Shyam Benegal's Junoon, where he gave a riveting and soulful performance, characteristic of the quality of his work in serious and artsy cinema.  Later I came to adore him in his jaunty masala avatar, the Ravi, the straight-laced do-gooder who occasionally cuts loose and does the mashed potato. 

Most recently, I've watched him as a child artiste in his brother's Aag (review forthcoming), in which he was the best thing about the movie by a country mile.  

Awww!  Cho chweet.

The internet at large knows Beth as Shashi's no. 1 fan and Chief Minister of Shashi Pradesh, and the title is not in any way undeserved.  But I do take some credit for this myself, because some years back I introduced her to Shashi.  At the time, I had seen Junoon and perhaps one or two other of his films, and something told me Beth would like this man, with his jouncy curls, his mile-long eyelashes, his snaggletooth, his remarkable acting chops.  Something told me she would like him A Lot.  So I urged her to watch, and watch she did.  And the rest, as they say, is - well, you know.

So without further ado, here (in no particular order) are a handful of my favorite Shashi songs.  What are yours? 

 

"Nain milakar chain churana"-- Aamne saamne (1967)

 

This movie is somewhat flawed but nothing about this song is, from Shashi's Shammi-like shimmy in his hot white stovepipe pants (60s men's fashions are my absolute favorite), to Sharmila's pout, to Rafi's vocals.  60s perfection!  My dil goes "squish" when Shashi sings "Sharmila dildaaaaar!"  (Bonus:  Prem Chopra doing the mashed potato.)

 

"Dil mein tujhe bithake" -- Fakira (1976)

 

More or less average masala (with a few notable highlights), Fakira does offer a couple of splendid songs.  This one is just deliciously naughty.   Shabana's character and Shashi's are secretly married - her family doesn't know - so he must sneak into her room for a romp, which wakes her parents.  They even break the bed, as the shot immediately after the song reveals ...

Clicketty for a full-size view of the naughtiness.

 

"Kehne ki nahin baat" -- Pyaar kiye ja (1966)

 

I love this song in which Shashi leads an energetic band of young men to Om Prakash's doorstep to demand work.  It's everything good about the 60s, and everything good about 60s Shashi.

 

"Main to beghar hoon" -- Suhaag (1979)

 

This song epitomizes straight-laced, uptight Shashi, trying to resist the advances of a rather inebriated Parveen Babi.  I always lose it when he ties her to the jeep.

 

"Khilte hai gul yahaan" -- Sharmilee (1971)

 

And this song epitomizes pretty Shashi, turning on the charm for a cabin-full of impressionable young girls.  It's not really a fair fight, is it? 

 

"Hum to jhuk kar salam karte" - Fakira (1976)

 

I would not have guessed that this movie would end up twice on this list, but here it is.  There are a couple of songs along these lines, in which Shashi poses as a qawwal to pull off some scheme or another.  But this one gets the nod here because of appearances by Iftekhar, Asrani, and Danny Denzongpa. 

 

"Yahaan main ajnabee hoon" -- Jab jab phool khile (1965)

 

This movie is loved by some and despised by others.  I find it mostly interesting as a reflection of a certain conflict of its time.  But never mind that.  There are few movies in which Shashi looks more beautiful than this one.  And while any song from it offers that prettiness and deserves mention in this list, this song gets the nod because it is simply a gorgeous, sad song.  

 

"Hands up jaani" -- Bandhan kachchey dhagon ka (1983) 

 

Another movie I have not seen, this makes the list for its sheer WTFery.  Groovy Usha Uthup disco, whild outdoor parties, and Shashi temporarily mesmerized by Zeenat Aman's rack (I mean, who wouldn't be?), at least until upstanding-Shashi takes over and his gaze turns from lustful to disapproving.  Pure wackadoodle.

 

Honorable mention:  "Dhadkan har dil ki" -- Abhinetri (1971)

 

Beth brought this song to my attention the other day when I was discussing this idea for the post with her.  I haven't seen this movie yet either [ed: now, I have], as Beth - even as she gave me a copy - warned me that it was dire and regressive.  But this song is hilarious - as if a 10-headed pantomime Raavan-horse isn't already bursting with awesome, we have dire and regressive Shashi looking vastly uncomfortable at the very idea of a cabaret show.  THE VERY IDEA.

 

Happy Birthday, Shashi sahib.  Thank you for all the years of delightful entertainment.  May you live well and joyfully for many years more!

Ishqiya (2010)

इश्क़िया

Dir. Abhishek Chaubey

Any movie that opens with a languid, warmly-lit amble along the rolling curves of the supine body of Vidya Balan is a movie I am going to like.  A lot.  When I mentioned I was watching Ishqiya, several friends expressed surprise that I hadn't yet seen it.  ("That is basically inconceivable," said Beth.)  For what it's worth, I do have an excuse. I was a late boarder on the Vidya train; I did not realize that this mind-stompingly gorgeous woman was the love of my life until halfway through my first viewing of Kahaani just about a year ago.  I have been playing catch-up - but pacing myself - ever since. Having said that, in Ishqiya, Vidya is about as ohmigodHOT as a woman can be without violating several multilateral treaties.

Indeed, I don't know how to write about this movie without dissolving into a gelatinous heap of gush.  And not just for Vidya, either.  Ishqiya's director, Abhishek Chaubey, studied at the knee of Vishal Bhardwaj (who produced the film), and Bhardwaj's masterful influence is all over this striking, wry movie. Its tone is reminiscent of the most dry and funny vignettes of 7 Khoon Maaf.  Its narrative is less rangy than that of 7 Khoon Maaf, however, and therefore less lurchy.  Two of the dumbest criminals ever to cross a filmi screen, Khalujaan (Naseeruddin Shah) and his nephew Babban (Arshad Warsi), are in flight from their boss, Mushtaq (Salman Shahid), whom they have cheated out of some 25 lakhs.  The pair takes refuge in the home of Krishna (Vidya Balan), widow of their erstwhile business associate, the smuggler Vidyadhar Verma (Adil Hussain).  Both men fall for the quiet, intense Krishna, who hatches a plan to kidnap a local steel magnate KK Kakkad (Rajesh Sharma) for ransom.  But the kidnapping soon unravels and the men slowly realize that Krishna has manipulated all of them - Khalu, Babban, and even KK - for her own mysterious purposes. 

There is craft in every aspect of this Ishqiya. It is as beautifully shot as any Bhardwaj movie, and in the same warm, enveloping earth tones that can make a a movie as seductive for the eyes as lush caramel is on the tongue.  From the throaty reds of Krishna's sarees, to the damp brown clutter of the interior of her home, to the salted beige landscapes of the Uttar Pradesh countryside, every frame of this movie is almost tactile in its richness.  Bhardwaj's score, as his music usually does, adds texture and character, from the jaunty swagger of "Ibn-e-Batuta" to the sweet lilt of "Dil to bachha hai ji."

The characterizations are meticulously detailed  in both writing and performance. Khalujaan is philosophical and poetic, the brighter bulb of the two thieves, but not by a lot.  As he trims his beard, dyes his hair, dons handsome traditional clothes, and discusses the finer points of evergreen filmi songs with Krishna, Khalu projects the air of a man who does not necessarily want to shed the grit of his criminal life, but who wants to look as though he wants to shed it.  His love for Krishna is a touching mixture of passionate and avuncular; it's not clear exactly what relationship he wants to have with her, but it's clear that it's very loving.  Babban's style is more bombastic; his stupidity displays in rash, testosterone-driven bursts rather than Khalu's intellectual posing.  In one scene, Mushtaq and his men track down the pair when they run into Babban at a brothel in the town near Krishna's village; one has the impression that Mushtaq knows well that the most efficient way to find Babban in any city in the country is always to make a beeline for the nearest brothel. The performances of Naseeruddin Shah and Arshad Warsi as these not-so-clever medium-time crooks are pitch perfect, just the right mixture of grit and scene-chewing to be both endearing and eye-rolling.  It's hard not feel sorry for them when it becomes clear just how outclassed they are by Krishna, even when you facepalmed at their ill-considered antics just a few scenes before.

And then there is Vidya Balan, as smoldering, fierce, and sexy in this role as in any other.  (I considered doing this review in the style of my piece on The Dirty Picture - a debate between my analytic intellectual ego and my horny lesbian id - but my id did not have much to say beyond "Guh...."  A superbly executed sex scene had me wistfully craving an alternate universe in which I could be Arshad Warsi.)  But as gorgeous and fierce as Vidya is, there is a great deal of nuance to Krishna; the character is not merely a cartoon femme fatale with an eye for manipulable men.  Krishna begins the film as a loving wife, anxiously imploring Verma to give up the dangerous smuggler's life and turn himself in to the authorities.  Krishna's circumstances and what she has endured - not an inherent vicious streak or a flaw in  her nature - drive her to the bold and violent actions she takes as the film unfolds.  This is evident the first time she overtly betrays Khalu and Babban.  The men have gotten into a fight - mostly over her - while she waits in their getaway car with their kidnapping prey, the dazed and bound KK, lolling in the backseat.  Krishna hesitates nervously before taking the wheel and speeding away with their prize.  This is a woman with a plan, but not a woman so cold as to have no need to muster her courage before executing.  It is just one of a myriad finely wrought details that make Krishna - like everything else about Ishqiya - thoroughly compelling.

Filmi Geek on Filmi Geek

Last fall, Mette asked to interview me for Ishq, a German-language magazine about Hindi movies.  She emailed me a few questions and I replied with my answers. Mette translated my answers into German, and (as far as I can tell) the interview was available only in the print version of the magazine.  So here, in the original English, are (somewhat edited) Mette's questions and my answers.

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About Filmi Geek

I started Filmi Geek in 2006. It contains a review of of every Hindi movie I have seen.  I like to think that my reviews tell you as much about me as they do about the movies; they chronicle my mental adventures as I have studied the rich cultural fabric of South Asia.  I strive to make my reviews small narratives in their own right, something more than just plot summaries or bullet point lists of things I liked or didn't like about a movie. The reviews I am the happiest with place the movie in some kind of context, whether cinematic, historical, or cultural, and have something to say about the movie beyond whether I liked it or did not. 
 

You describe yourself as an "overanalyzer of Hindi movies" - is it easier for the non-Indian viewer to indulge in Indian films that way, than it is for the Indian viewer?

I don't think so. I think it's more a matter of mindset. I have the impression that it was only fairly recently that large numbers of Indians started wanting to think analytically about Indian movies.  This impression may be wrong; it may be an example of recency illusion or a result of the internet raising my  awareness of what other people are thinking about.  But I perceive that there has been a wonderful explosion of smart, critical, incisive, thoughtful writing about Indian movies.   And while I am part of a significant firangi presence, most of this thinking is, in fact, coming from Indians. 

The nature of the analysis I do is surely different from the nature of analysis done by someone who grew up with these movies and the cultural environment they shape and reflect.  For me, the analysis is often about what I learn as often as it is about what the movies say.  But watching Hindi movies with one's brain engaged can be a satisfying experience for anyone inclined to it, whether Indian or firangi, and more and more people have been realizing that and doing it. 

Which actors that haven't shared the screen yet, would you absolutely want to make a film together?

I would give my right arm to see Shabana Azmi and Vidya Balan in a movie together.  Something akin to Tehzeeb (Shabana and Urmila Matondkar as mother and daughter) or 15 Park Avenue (Shabana and Konkona Sen Sharma as sisters) would be superb - something that substantively explores any kind of relationship between two adult women.  These two are both such strong actors; with the right script they could tell fantastically subtle and profound stories. 

As a new-coming Hindi film actress, would you rather opt for glamour or serious films?

I think with this question you might be asking me what kinds of films I prefer to see a new actor  do?  I'm going to answer a slightly different question.  I don't prefer one kind of film over another - I enjoy both, as long as they are well crafted. And different actors are suited to different kinds of roles.  So, it's a great thing that studios are making such a variety of films.

Also, Indian films have a long tradition of movies that are both glamorous and substantive - this is  something that Indian movies do perhaps better than any other film industry.  For instance, some of the great movies of the 1970s, movies like Sholay, Kaala patthar, or Deewaar manage to make profound statements about social issues while still offering a full meal of glamor and entertainment value.  Even earlier, Raj Kapoor did this too - Shree 420 is packed with entertainment and glitz and it carries a strong social and political statement.

So, I find that the art/mainstream or serious/entertaining dichotomy is a bit of a false one.  There is a continuum between thoroughly serious and thoroughly entertaining, and some movies manage to be both at once in very fascinating ways. 

Your favourite setting in a particular film?

It is interesting that you have asked this question now, because lately I have been thinking a lot about the role of location in films.  I took my first trip to India early in 2012 and found that seeing Indian cities, villages, landscapes, and environments in person has had a startlingly resonant effect on my experience of the movies.  I described it like this in a recent review on my blog:  watching Hindi movies has made India a fascination for me of limitless depth and life, and seeing India in person has made Hindi movies breathe with a new vivacity.

So I am especially fascinated by movies in which a location has so much vibrancy as to be a character in its own right - such as the Calcutta of Kahaani, or Chandni Chowk as brought to life in Delhi-6.  In older films, most of the time locations serve only as pretty picture-postcard backdrops (like Kashmir in Kashmir ki Kali and countless others), some of them do more to bring their locations to life, like Calcutta in the classic Howrah Bridge, or the bustle of workaday Bombay in Chhoti si baat.

Most recently, I enjoyed the location scenes in the brand-new Ek tha Tiger, especially the segments shot in Cuba.  As an American, I find Cuba an almost impossibly exotic locale - I have never seen a movie shot there and was completely thrilled to see it used so colorfully in that film. Who would have thought that after more than 200 Indian movies, the location that would feel to me the most foreign and exotic would be right here in my own hemisphere?

Is there a star you're missing on the big screen at the moment? 

Well, I am looking forward to the movies that Madhuri Dixit is working on. I think there is a shortage of Hindi movies (just as there is a shortage of Hollywood movies) that tell age-appropriate stories about mature women, and I'm hoping that studios can be convinced to make such movies with actors like Madhuri, Dimple Kapadia, and the like.  I am very excited about Sridevi's upcoming English Vinglish for that reason as well.  [Ed: I loved English Vinglish.]

Filmi Geek's Favorite Movies:  Too many to mention, and they often change, but my pretty constant top 5 for many years has been (in no particular order) Sholay, Jewel Thief, Lagaan, Shree 420, and Chalti ka naam gaadi.  Please see my Favorites category for a much more comprehensive selection.

Filmi Geek's Favorite Actors:  Again too many to mention; one of the reasons I love Hindi movies is that so many of the stars are maginificently charismatic and fun to spend a couple of hours with.  Shabana Azmi was my first love and remains a deeply admired favorite.   Some others worthy of mention include Ashok Kumar, Madhubala, Sharmila Tagore, Shashi Kapoor, Amitabh Bachchan, Hema Malini, Madhuri Dixit, Aamir Khan, Rani Mukherjee, and Vidya Balan.

Filmi Geek's Favorite Directors:  I have not been as clued in to directors over the years as I would like to be; recently I have started to remedy that.  And so I can name a few:  Vijay Anand, Shyam Benegal, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Manmohan Desai, and Vishal Bharadwaj.

Bhumika (1977)

भूमिका

Dir. Shyam Benegal

When female actors get married, they are no longer heroine material. At best, a heroine who marries another actor might continue to star opposite her husband. Or she disappears from the scene, and returns some years later for the occasional mother role. At least, that has been the conventional wisdom. Shyam Benegal's Bhumika ("role") turns this conventional wisdom on its head. Usha (Smita Patil) is a movie star who would like to quit the business, take care of her daughter and mother, focus on her home. But her husband Keshav (Amol Palekar) insists that she keep working. Keshav has not had much success in business and he needs the money her work brings in, to enjoy the luxuries he has become accustomed to. And so with each successful movie, Keshav, acting as Usha's manager, negotiates a still more lucrative contract. For most heroines, marriage forces the premature end of their careers. Usha's marriage forces her career to continue.

There is no ambiguity in Bhumika. Usha is a victim from the very beginning, and Keshav is a creep. Flashbacks to Usha's childhood show an angry, drunken father and a mother (Sulabha Deshpande) who constantly scolds her.  Keshav teases the young Usha and inists that she will marry him, inappropriate ribbing that clearly makes her uncomfortable.  At the same time, Keshav pushes boundaries of intimacy with Usha's mother. Keshav's intervention after the death of Usha's father is nominally benevolent; to help the family make ends meet, he works contacts in Bombay to get her into the movies.  But there is a sinister air about Keshav; one has the sense that his plan from the very beginning is to manipulate Usha into stardom and milk her for all she's worth, and as their marriage wears on he seems more like a pimp than a husband or a manager.

And indeed, married to Keshav and working entirely at his demand, Usha comes to hate her stardom.  Here, as well, Benegal illustrates another of the many ways that women, and especially female actors, get screwed.  Keshav, who forces Usha to work, also suspects her of hanky-panky with her perennial costar, the handsome but somewhat vapid Rajan (Anant Nag).  Keshav is no better than the gossip-mongers who make hay out of every rumor.  Usha works in the movies only because Keshav forces to, and yet Keshav presumes Usha guilty of the moral lapses imputed by the judgmental janta to any woman who works in the movies.  His jealousy and her resentment combine to corrode their marriage.

Usha finally does get fed up with Keshav, but leaving him renders her even more powerless than she was in her home.  Rajan has always loved her, but rejects her when she offers herself to him now.  Usha finds her way into a sequence of singularly submissive relationships.  The first is an intense attachment to a pretentious intellectual art film director (Naseeruddin Shah), which Usha hopes will provide her ultimate escape.  Later, she discovers what she believes to be her domestic ideal with Kale (Amrish Puri).  Kale's wife (Dina Pathak) is disabled and bedridden, and Usha slips easily into a role that is part second wife, part housemaid, part governess to Kale's child.  But Usha soon learns that even the life she has dreamed of comes with a price.  In the world of Bhumika, a woman simply cannot win - not too different from the world we live in.

The bleak story of Bhumika is told in textbook Benegal style, with comparitively little dialogue and much meaning conveyed in the grim expressions and body-language of its star.  I am about to say something controversial:  The more I see of Smita Patil, the less I am convinced that she was as good an actor as she is reputed to be.  She is often labeled a "natural" actor, and vocally rejected the studied approach taken by some of her Stanislavsky-esque contemporaries like Shabana Azmi.  Her performance in Bhumika highlights both the best result of this approach and its shortcomings.  Smita Patil renders well that which she is best at - dejection and suffering - but does not show a tremendous amount of nuance within that.  Usha moves through her troubles with an air of contained anger and resentment, a sense of teeth gritted, that is fairly constant throughout the film.  When she needs to move away from that space, she - and consequently Usha - seem a little bewildered.  It's not at all a bad performance, but it is at times somewhat superficial.  It is perhaps why Bhumika is far from my favorite Shyam Benegal movie.

Benegal fills out Bhumika's dramatis personae with many of his regulars, such as Nag and Puri, and Kulbhushan Kharbanda as the producer who makes most of Usha's movies.  This crowd is as familiar as a class reunion.  This is not a bad thing, as they are all fine actors and Benegal of course uses them very well.  But it inspires games, in the same way that Welcome to Sajjanpur made me want Shyam Benegal Bingo.  (Anant Nag does something pathetic and impotent - DRINK!)  It's also an interesting bit of cognitive dissonance, after a string of Amol Palekar's cutie-patootie movies (like Golmaal and the delicious Chhoti si baat) to see him here as a real piece of work, smarmy and creepy and unredeemable and mean. I am reminded of Khamosh, a very different sort of film in which Amol Palekar's creepiness is, in a sense, the punchline.  There's nothing funny about him here, though.  He is the avatar of every injustice that is dished out to women in the film industry.