Luck needs some luck

Soham Shah's Luck, starring two generations of actors from Hindi movies (make that three if you consider Sanjay Dutt to be a later than Mithun Charaborty and Danny Denzongpa), needs all the luck to be credible as a film.

There is that cliché that to watch a Bollywood blockbuster, one needs to leave one's brains at home. While this may have been true earlier, the recent spate of Hindi movies begs to differ. And so I ask, why should I leave my brains behind?

The answer, my friend, is this: To enjoy this movie as a paisa vasool (getting your money's worth) entertainer, you need to watch it, enjoy the rather expensive thrills and forget it. In fact, it is more of a series of campaigns stitched together by common characters, than a single movie. That Soham is a brilliant visualizer shows — from the stylized title/logo, to the brilliant promos, to the thrill-a-minute stunts. But unfortunately, this is where the film falls flat. The soul of a film is its story... and this film has none. Thus the opening credit that mentions Soham as campaign designer is ironic in the sense that he remains that... he doesn't progress to be the film's director.

If this was a soap or a saga, the characters and their backgrounds could have been fleshed out. But what we get is very sketchy.

A few things leave a bad taste.

For example, Mithun's character. Not only is the disco superstar of yesteryear made to reprise an army man's role done to death by him in numerous B-grade flicks, he is also made to mouth the horrendous "Koi shaque?" dialogue. I was of the opinion we used the dialogue to poke fun at the veteran actor, not make him an object of ridicule when he is starring in a film.

While it is unfair to compare, what Mani Ratnam did with Mithun in Guru is a lesson in using this actor. Mithun, too, seriously needs to think hard without signing on the dotted line, even if it is for friends. For those of us who've seen the brilliance of his acting (especially in a few Bengali films), feel disappointed that he is reduced to acting out such characters.

I think the industry needs to have some fresh ideas about bhais (mafia dons). Sanjay Dutt has been seen in such roles so many times that whenever we see this face, fatigue sets in. I'm sure the actor can walk through these films blindfolded, like the death-defying stunt at the beginning of this movie. Sanjay Dutt as the lovable Munna scores any time over Moosa.

While Chitrashi Rawat's character was again, without much of back story, it was enjoyable to a certain extent — especially the scenes with Mithun and Imran Khan. But she should try exploring roles which are a bit different from Chak De's Komal Chautala. Whether in Fashion or this movie, her characters are always loud-mouthed.

Imran Khan's character is possibly the most incredible one, and not in the good sense. Ram Mehra is a banking executive who robs ATMs and gets away scot-free. Don't ATMs have cameras installed? Can't the guards shoot at a fleeing thief? What is "ek ka char"? What does he plan to do in the US? While the young actor's acting prowess tries to do justice to the role, it is the writer's fault for letting this character down.

Danny, as Tamang, gives an understated performance, which comes as a breath of fresh air in this film. Again, the character is not fleshed out. How does he confront his demons? How does a habitual gambler like him stay away from the sport? Even then, this is possibly one of the well-written characters.

Ravi Kisshen as the lucky psycho is credible. Again the character could have been fleshed out better. But within the limitations, Kisshen performs admirably. Will he be the next Ashutosh Rana? Only time will tell,. Meanwhile, he should try and act in a few more Hindi movies.

Shruti Haasan. With that name, those looks, that pedigree — are you God's favourite child? While one hopes the pedigree bit doesn't hang too heavy on her, she is possibly the best thing in the movie. Agreed, her vocal variations are still raw and need some polishing, but my, what a presence! With drop-dead looks, hats off to this youngster for doing all those stunts herself. Not to mention the fact that acting is just a tiny facet to the girl — she's a singer, lyricist and composer as well. Only time will tell if the Kamal Haasan-Sarika product is a winner, but she's got it all. Now it only needs a good director/mentor to nurture it.

A special mention must be made about the fabulous stunts, but then isn't that what we expect from Allan Amin?

And the styling for the movie was superb.

A word of advice for Soham. The next time he directs a movie, he could request Anurag Kashyap or Imtiaz Ali to write him a story. He could, in turn, become the stylist/campaign director for their films.

My Friend Sancho — Reflections

I have three things in common with Abir Ganguly.

I'm a journalist, a Bong and spend most of my earnings on books and music. But it ends there and I seriously start ruing the fact that other than the journalist bit, I don't have much in common with Abir's creator Amit Varma.

And I'm sore that I'm an unsuccessful blogger. Having been a very early convert to PCs and the like (early 90s), I started blogging in 2004. But the total visitors I've ever had to my blog are possibly lesser than the views of Amit Varma's immensely readable blog scores in one second.

Now that I have expressed my interest, lets get back to the task of talking about the book My Friend Sancho. I didn't tell you, did I, that Abir is the protagonist
in this book.

A fairly racy read, I finished all 217 pages of it in one go. While it took me about two hours, I'm certain if this wasn't after office, I'd have finished it earlier.

Varma's debut novel, is realistic in so far as its characters and events are concerned. In fact, it's a perfect example of how a simple incident (a brief as the book mentions) can be turned around to a chain of events aka a story (novel).

While the premise is just perfect, it's what it leads to a little fantastic. Or is it my 'domesticated' bias? While I'm sure any young man (and this is when I turn gender-insensitive) who has experience such pangs will identify with, the characters seem uni-dimensional.

And by the end of the book, even after we are privy to snippets of Abir's 3,000-word feature, do we get the full picture of Mohd Iqbal or what really happened that day? This is where the book fails.

However, if you're prepared to take off your thinking cap (and stop thinking like an editor on the crime beat) this book is a good read which doesn't tax your intelligence too much.

You don't need to think. Just loll in bed with this book.

The only time you need to think is at the end — which is open ended. In these days of options, the author provides you with three separate endings, before the book ends. You are welcome to pick yours.

 

PS: I think the book has the potential to be made into a play/radio play. Just pay attention to Abir's exchanges with the lizard. Can't see it as a film though — the essence would be lost.

A Comedy of Fire Mishaps

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Admittedly, the title is a misnomer.

But that's exactly what has happened to me. While I did have a serious fire accident while a toddler, the rest, though quite painful, seem comic in hindsight.

The first instance comes to mind is one that goes back to my days as a fresh university student. I was in the first year of my graduation.

My parents had provided me a kerosene stove so that I could prepare my morning tea. Our classes used to commence at the ungodly hour of half past six in the morning. Since my boys' mess was half a kilometre bicycle ride away, I had to start off at six.

That fateful morning, around half past five, I started preparing my morning tea. I wasn't an expert at lighting matches (I'm still a klutz), but that was the only way to light a stove.

Lighting all five wicks took long... the matchstick singed my fingers and I dropped it in agony — on my foot. Havin managed to get both hand and foot burnt by a single matchstick I proceeded to spill boiling water on the other foot while pouring it into a cup.

But I wasn't done. I had to put the stove out. Having tried all ways to extinguish it, I tried blowing it out. Suddenly, a flame shot high and singed my face, burning my beard and moustache (I cultivated facial hair then).

I should have known better to stay away from flames then on. But I kept getting into tight situations with fire, though my memory fails to recall any other major incident.

Till yesterday — Sunday.

Having been informed rather late in the day that my cook wouldn't be coming, I tried preparing some instant soup for lunch.

I selected a matchstick, whose strength seemed suspect... but I proceeded.

As I struck the match, I heard the familiar flaring sound, but was aghast to find that I held the bottom half of the stick. Then where was the flame?

I realized a moment later, with an yelp of pain. The flaming tip had broken off and flown down to land below the sole of my left foot. Needless to say, I was barefoot.

I guess matches manufacturers will have to design special safety matches for a klutz like me. For I've realized the hard way that safety matches for mere mortals are as safe as a keg of gunpowder for me!