Three Idiots...

...Aamir Khan has now kissed both Kapoor sisters.

...a film so designed to be 'feel-good' that it's almost obscene in how 'good' the audience is made to 'feel' - solicitation of pleasure laws should apply, for aren't people paying for this?

...if you want to make movies with 80s sensibilities, then you should have made them in the 80s.

...the lack of attention to detail is often insulting, that this is almost a sci-fi film. Predicts mass use of futuristic tech in the late 90s (calculating for an engg. student born in '78) such as cell-phones, webcams, broadband.

...in addition to Chetan Bhagat, the writers did not prominently credit those who write the jokes that eventually become email forwards.

...funny that a film whose story consistently praises 'innovation' over the 'formulaic system' uses a mix of old Bollywood techniques, with only the occasional meta-film references that we are used to from modern Bollywood films.

...the best 2-3 sequences or one-liners in the film went largely unnoticed in the audience; occasional sparks of originality glimmered anonymously.

...Engineering education might need a positive PR exercise in India.

...after vamps, kisses, and revealing costumes went mainstream, certain hindi words that were solely the preserve of Ranjeet & co. have ceased to be embarrassing in family films.

...life isn't worth living if one isn't a hero of one's film, i.e. if your life has an Aamir Khan and you are not him (one more coin in the doesn't-Aamir-Khan-do-the-same-characters? fund)

...and finally, we're in serious trouble if such a large quantity of people in the audience need to be given hope and reassurance (but ultimately, you've got to take the hard decisions about what you want; watching it vicariously is no use)

Alternatives: read Richard Feynman's "Surely, You're Joking Mr. Feynman", get a copy of "In Which Annie Gives It Those Ones", or try a more honest, though raw rendition of the same themes in "Silicon Jungle", a film by Rabi Kisku, an IIT Madras student.

Ghajini - the anti-review

Where am I? Who am I? More importantly, why am I wearing a purple jacket?

The last thing I remember is going into that indie theatre. This shifty-eyed bloke from Bradford gave me a ticket to this movie that he recommended. Have a look, curry-breath said. See if it reminds you of something.

It must have seared my memory, because all I feel now is this bloodcurdling intestinal rage. I felt a sticky something on my forehead. A Post-It. "jacket your Beneath." I wasn't in the mood for a prat's idea of a joke, so I crushed it into a ball and flung it outside the window. Which is when I looked at the ceiling. It read: "read everything in reverse, you eejit." There was even a footnote: ".above the except". I ran down and rushed past a bored looking receptionist.

After an hour's search, I found the crumpled note. Then, I thumped my head (made the throbbing worse) and opened my purple jacket. Tattoos all over. Garamond, 40 pt. This must have been serious enough to bear the cost and pain of the serifs.

(Where am I? It doesn't look like London outside. We don't have yellow taxis and hot weather.)

I have looked at all the words. Except the ones on the back. I now also have a sprained neck trying to get a look at my back. What I know so far is this: a severe trauma has left me leaking memory like a RAM chip made in China. I am tracking someone. To kill. Or at least to demand a lengthy explanation. Thanks to the spread needed for the large font size, all I can read of the people who left me in this state is: "...i of Mahmud" and "killed was meme..." I need a mirror.

After two hours of intense confusion, I realise I need two mirrors.

Update: my feet say the cryptic words IMDB and nm0634240. Also, I seem to be wearing lots of white make-up and a clown's lipstick.

From the newspaper, I have realised this is Bombay. Under the bed, I notice several polaroids of a short, dark, moustachioed man. He is always behind another short, fair man clutching several moustaches and scissors in his hand. My hotel is opposite a hairdressers'. Do these guys work there? Disturbingly, an arrow on one polaroid points to the dark bloke and says: "They complete me".

Who the heck am I? Like some strange bug, I've been following two people using a memory like a full-sized golf course. I have a framed postcard of a big mountain on the table that reads "remember?". I keep tossing and turning at night. Nor can I sleep in the day - my head hurts from the roars of a cricket match on the telly that has just begun. I feel like a canary in a magic trick - will I die or will I be revealed to the audience's cheers? It is day but I'm still in the dark.

I remember something. It wasn't an indie theatre, but an Indi-theatre. And songs were playing. One thing is for sure. I'm taking no prisoners.

The short men have walked out into the open. Time to go.

Ground-breaking stars

Ground-breaking stars

Aamir Khan is no stranger to heart-racing climaxes that culminate film competitions, having successfully pulled it off in films such as “Jo Jeetaa…” to “Lagaan”. But to see him execute, as actor and story-teller, a quietly exhilarating end to “Taare Zameen Par” in step with the story’s rhythm came as another step in his evolution as a man of the movies. As with the ending, there were several creative decisions by the debutant and the film’s main creative force, Amol Gupte, which could have easily gone awry. But to their enduring credit, most of these decisions came off with a flourish matched by Ishaan and Nikumbh on their respective canvases.

The result is a film of a rare kind. Take its music (Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy), which finds a harmony with the story-telling in a way few other films have achieved. From the sparkling harmonica riff to the guitars accompanying the evocative lyrics (Prasoon Joshi), it had the right amount of rebellion and longing. Its actors allowed themselves to be awkward and uncomfortable, painting middle-class mindsets through the unsure mother (Tisca Chopra, seen so often on TV before, and wonderful to see her do such a fine job here) and the all-too sure father (Vipin Sharma, who's slightly unidimensional at time), not to forget the rare cinematic sight of a clever AND sympathetic sibling (Sachet Engineer). The film scores in its refusal to take the easy route out in painting easy villains. Instead, it tries to replace them with a bunch of people in grey-scale: conditioned, overworked, and unquestioning of life, just like most of us.

It was good to see a mainstream Hindi film that took imagination seriously. Amol Gupte’s hands make magic, first on the blue walls of Ishaan’s room, and later in the various art-ifacts that dot the movie, ending with *that* Ishaan portrait. Not a pixel of the opening credits sequence or of the Spaceman Spiff sequence goes wasted – clearly the film is a greater blend of various artistic talents than we may realize. Consider the genius of the choreography in “Jame Raho”, and you’’ll know what I mean.

The film does flicker occasionally, threatening to fall prey to that great enemy of good intentions: the ‘preaching’, such as Nikumbh ticking off Mr. Awasthi who meekly caves in. Thankfully, like Ishaan, whenever the makers stumble across this line, they get right back up. Often, the rescue is led by fine cinematography (Setu) who, along with his director, captures the slow descent of a paintdrop, is wonderfully mobile in following Ishaan into puddles, and is confident enough to attempt a Vertigo-zoom to capture a moment of fear for Ishaan.

What I liked best about the film was how well it captured the sense of loneliness that comes from not being part of the mainstream. Anyone who’s felt “atypical” should recognize the sense of yo-yoing from arrogance, helplessness, denial, and frustration. Such are the ideals of academic meritocracies that they can sometimes ruthlessly cull anything that doesn’t “fit”, which is why it was good to see the teachers at the Mela experience the feeling of being awful at a skill.

What will happen to the obviously talented Darsheel Safary when the buck teeth fall out and life catches up? We’ll wait and see. Just cherish the lad for what he is right now. As for Aamir Khan, full points for not stealing any thunders. My usual complaint about him playing the same kind of strong-willed, confident, sensitive, earth-moving personalities holds. Wonder if directorial success will give him the impetus to play more diverse types rather than just diverse occupations. But he remains a filmmaker (we can use that word now) to watch out for. But let’s not pass judgment on his skills just yet. I’d wait for a film which completely belongs to him without an Amol Gupte to do the groundwork.

Back at the end. Usually, I’m left alone reading the end-credits. But this time, I wasn’t. That, and the spontaneous applause tell a tale of their own.

At #125, starring...

At #125, starring...

There, between Indiana Jones's Last Crusade and Yojimbo, is this. Interesting.

(note for readers from the future: Taare Zameen Par was on the IMDB top 250. By then, you'd know for how long.)