Irai – Prey (Tamizh Web Series on Aha OTT platform)

The 6 episode Web Series is certainly a change in normal viewing.

When one is used to eating Idli –Dosai or at best upma or pongal for breakfast day in and day out and one fine day as you sit on the breakfast table sipping your kaapi, slides in a plate that contains Buttered Toast, eggs sunny side up, with a strip of bacon fried onion and sausages…some marmalade and a glass full of fresh orange juice… the change is not merely startling, it brings on a smile and one can’t wait to dig into it.

That is the impact Irai makes from the very first frame. It is slick, graphic, the camera is clear , penetrating and very wide.

Just like how a pure vegetarian may make a face at the above breakfast with absolute disgust, we are confronted with the subject of the series just as bluntly ; Child abuse and paedophilia. Very few crimes even in the genre of crimes could be just as unspeakable. Crimes against children who neither understand and hence are in no position to defend themselves is one of the most heinous of acts and creating a movie around such a delicately disturbing subject required courage of a huge proportion. Rajesh Selva, captains this venture with elan and sensitivity. He pulls in no punches in his narrative that is inspired from the book Birds of Prey.

 
What starts off as a kidnap drama and the switch from an years ago flashback to the present day creates a leit motif which is very interesting to begin with in the beginning but stretches a tad bit far when it gets used again and again losing the grip on the narrative. Ghibran’s background music adds an eerie and sombre note to every frame increasing its gravity. It is a very very violent film simply because the violence is just absent from the visual frames yet the narrative and the characters bring it out in their performances.

 Sarathkumar as ACP Robert Vasudevan, an experienced old hand consultant is so much in character that all along he doesn’t shift even a tiny bit. The grey shaded character has skeletons loaded in his cupboard threatening to come out but at some place falls in the stretched narrative space adding nothing new. There was a distinct promise here to make it crisper and sharper and yes a wee bit clearer. The foil to his character is the razor edged performances from the TV veteran actor Abishek Shanker as MLA Sivakumar and Srikrishna Dayal as Ashok. These two in their own styles bring the violence to the film without displaying any action openly. Their presences are menacing and very real. While Dayal is still openly villainous it is Abishek Shanker who is the surprise packet. He walks a very fine line between wayward charm, a shrewd politician, a victim and a menacing villain without any change in his getup. His eyes change and one then starts to hate him. Srisha the relative newcomer infuses her police inspector Watson role to Sarathkumar’s Sherlock quite competently but the senior Nilzhagal Ravi could have been used more. His is the talent not put to full use here.

As an OTT content, undoubtedly nothing as bare as this has ever been seen in the Tamizh  Cinema space for years together. And disturbing though the content can be one is all the more richer for having seen it. 

Saw her ... yet again

The sparkle of refracted light caught my eye and there she was. The soft sunbeam had hit her hair. From my angle the stray droplets of water sticking to her hair seemed like dewdrops. Light through them had caused this phenomenon of refraction; one that I had studied from a Physics textbook in school long ago. Yet, this was pure Chemistry at work and not Physics at all. The subjective turn of phrase as it came to mind had the corners of my lips lifting up.

Driving through an older part of the city had halted at a red light. A few minutes earlier a mild cloud burst had come and gone. The wispy clouds were dispersing and sunshine peeked through. My damp spirits immediately lifted at the sight of her; the shower that had briefly caught me on the two-wheeler had sprayed those lovely tresses. Droplets clung to them and seemed absolutely reluctant to let go. She was a sight for sore eyes. On a sidewalk bereft of people she stood poised in a very ordinary deep blue dress.

She did cut a very captivating picture in the drab surroundings yet exactly what about her grabbed my attention is something I could not put a finger on. Was it the way she carried herself or was it the sheer ordinariness of her attire and an extremely becoming  chubby face or was it the curtain of dark long, straight hair or her smiling visage; maybe it was all of it. She held a phone in front of her face and tried out a wide smile. Every single one of her 32 white pearls flashed bright. She looked utterly fetching to me but something seemingly was not agreeable to her because she switched on to another expression rather quickly. Now the same smile became a quarter smaller and then a few more expressions were swiftly tried out without a single one meeting her fastidious approval. She frowned intensely. I was looking on rather amused as this was far more entertaining to behold than the dreary traffic around me. And then she looked up, and our eyes met.

My friendly amusement must have got to her and something passed between our locked glances. She raised an eyebrow in inquiry and I indicated her three quarter smile to be the best. I am not blessed with the best of looks and as a designer, the maker up above certainly must have had an off day while creating me. It must be admitted though that where he fell short in his engineering design he over compensated by ladling loads of  openness and chutzpah into my mould, is what I have been told. It must be true too because she immediately acquiesced. In her quest for the perfect selfie, as that is what this generation calls clicking one’s own snaps on a mobile smartphone, she like all women on such occasions was finding it rather hard to decide what suited her best and obviously was searching for another opinion. Being the only one around looking at her very naturally I slipped into that role. It often happened more so at apparel showrooms where glances would meet through mirrors or across distances and a frown or a smile from me has decided a particular purchase for colour, style or a cut.

She quickly refreshed her lip gloss, struck that pose and looked my way. I slowly nodded an approval as she clicked and no sooner had she done it, than she was looking at that photograph to check out the result. It must have been stunning because her smile widened to reach her eyes as she looked across at me and mouthed a thank you.

Just as silently, I inclined my head indicating that the pleasure had been all mine. The traffic light turned green & raising the accelerator I was on my way. Looking in the rear view mirror, I saw the girl walking the other way on the same sidewalk with a noticeable bounce in her step. Something told me that I was instrumental for that spring and it warmed me up inside.

Some seasons are magical and the Mumbai monsoon is one such spectacular season. The torrential downpour is not funny and causes havoc at times but in this month of Shravan the flavour of romance abounds. The umbrella of a few days back, utterly useless in heavy showers assumes an objective importance for lovers or triers. It is the phase of love and song.

As I cruised on my scooter towards my place of work, I wondered whether I would see her again and knew that was quite unlikely. The day passed beautifully as it always does when one has done a good deed and it was acknowledged. Don’t you ask me what again now … I like having this feeling, in fact love it. On my way back home took a different route to break the routine and passed alongside Bandra Bandstand where the rocks banked the sea.

I love the sight of the sea and the way it smashes against these boulders in high tide and in lower tides it’s a spot where lovers would sit, cuddle, nuzzle and do everything silly under hormonal instructions. The rocks are the only thing grey here and far ahead I watched a couple arranging themselves. They seemed like colourful specks on a dull background. The boy was facing the sea and looking out into the beyond while the girl wearing a sunny yellow sari was awkwardly arranging herself on the rock next to him. She looked to be worried more for her sari not attracting any stains from the wet stone. It told a story all its own of a new romance not having found its feet and traction yet. Seasoned love is not bothered about clothes. The scribe in me was noting this account as the scooter approached closer and the girl looked up. Our eyes met for the second time that same day. Recognition flashed as she smiled beautifully and blushed. This time I raised an eyebrow and she looked at the presence next to her; looked up to the sky indicating who knows, but she was willing to give it a try. I smiled back and gave her an all the best wave and moved on.

Funny is this city and this season, the unexpected happens quite naturally. Twice in a day sure is a rarity and the feeling of fuzzy well-being stayed with me for long. It had been just one of those days when coincidences happen, those that are pleasant. Maybe the being above wants you to keep on smiling and somehow… among the billions of others he put on this earth, selectively locates and blesses you. Love him lots in this mood of his.

Gully Boy : Only Characters , No Actors, a Divine Experience

There are times when one goes into a Lunch home and orders an ordinary Thali. One gets served and while the reputation of that restaurant / lunch home is good, that particular day, each item in it is made with such loving care, it is simply spectacular. One doesn’t look around but simply at ones plate and keeps eating and only after one is finished does one gazes around with a slightly dazed look, a smile creeps up on ones face and an involuntary burp is expelled. This is the connect one makes with the Divine .

Did I just say, Divine ? Call it simply a divine providence. This is what happened when Zoya Akhtar introduced me to the hitherto unknown underground rapper Divine, by telling a story around his art form ; Hip Hop and Rap, his story and that of his fellow artiste Naezy. Zoya Akhtar, is a scintillating movie director and with every offering has only raised the expectation bar. From her very honest first offering “Luck By Chance”to “Zindagi Milegi na Dobara” and”Dil Dhadakne Do” the lady has only gone places but with “Gully Boy” she lays it bare, stepping into the world of underground music into an entirely new ethos in which her story resides, Dharavi, the eponymous slum heartland of this megapolis, Bombay or Mumbai.

Murad is a drivers son who stays in Dharavi and is hooked upwith an aspiring doctor , a firebrand, chit of a girl, Safeena. Theirs is a love story that simply exists, he is hers and she is his. No running around the trees, songs, dropping books after a proverbial collision kind of preamble to it. They are each others and that is understood. Murad’s father is a typical misogynist who into this slummy paradise gets another girl as a wife to grace his new mattress relegating Murad’s mother to the was status. Murad watches all this and is stifled with frustration at his situation yet it his stoic quiet demeanour that reaches out and touches you more than any bombast could. He pours out his angst into fiery words. In his sojourn with his girl he runs into a rapper Sher and is hooked to the art. This is what he wants to do and Sher is the kinda secure artiste who encourages Murad to find himself. In steps an evangelical girl making a project on street music with funds to spare and a song gets made. It is launched and goes viral. Yet in all of this the unsure character of Murad remains unsure, some insecurities don’t die away that easily but a tipping point with his father is reached and he tells him rather quietly. I will not change my dream to accommodate reality, I shall instead change my reality that it is in line with my dream. And just as simply an artiste is born. 

When one only remembers the character, sees only the character and hears only the character and never really looks at the actor playing him or her, it is the absolute pinnacle of a performing artists act. Ranveer Singh has delivered just that kind of a wallop with a performance that simply rocks or should we say raps. He is the soul of the movie and carries it along with the other chameleon Alia, one of the most instinctive performers of recent times, to such another level that one is made a part of the plot. The viewer may have been physically in the cinema hall but the heart has traversed that portal which is the screen that separates the seat from the world created by the director as she tells a story. Vijay Raaz as his father, Amruta Subhash as his mother, Kalki Koechlin, Vijay Verma and every single one of the supporting cast has delivered and how, yet the standout support comes from Siddhant Chaturvedi who plays Sher. This actor is so naturally charming that one sees only the rapper M C Sher. Ranveer Singh has stayed so magnificently in character that there is no pomp or bluster, he just is Murad.  

The camera work and cinematography presents Mumbai in its myriad moods and forms so eloquently and beautifully it is superlative. There is absolutely no disconnect in the distance covered between Dharavi to South Mumbai whether by road, bus or train, Bombay throbs as Bombay does at its various time and geographies.

Zoya Akhtar deserves not just a pat on the back for a job well done she has also got her father the talented Javed to write rap and he does that in style. If I have to summarize in a line, one would be missing an experience if one misses this movie. It is that kind of an ethereal experience.

Ani … Kashinath Ghanekar

This movie is Subodh Bhave’s third attempt at a Bio-Pic after his immensely successful Bal Gandharva n Lokmanya Ek Yugpurush. His presence in the earlier filmed version of a popular staged play “Katyar Kaljat Ghusali” and now Ani…Kashinath Ghanekar, is slowly but surely pulling him towards a period era and just as gradually he may have done so many that on a very light note when it is the turn of Subodh’s own bio-pic to be made, wonder who would star in it, was a question curiously asked by a middle aged lady sitting a row behind me in the cinema hall.

Dr. Kashinath Ghanekar, a light eyed, immensely flamboyant, hedonistic dentist turned actor crash landed on the staid Marathi stage ethos that was practically going nowhere during the 1950’s. The 8^th born of an extremely critical father, he remained a man forever seeking his father’s approval that was just as spitefully and viciously denied to him. These are the shades of the man very well captured as they not only became his main driving motivation to seek that compensative approval and adulation from his audience.  Once that was achieved got him so severely addicted to it that he could not survive without it.

A very understanding fellow doctor wife who was a gynaecologist supported his fanciful longing for stage and fame while dealing with his eccentric and self-centred persona. The man worked very hard for his success as is known that he despite having a successful practice in Mumbai worked the nights doing odd jobs on the stage circuit, one of them being that of a voice prompter. From his first big break of getting Vasant Kanetkars play…”Raigadala Jaag Yete” where he played Sambhaji with such élan and finesse that the forgotten son of the famous father came alive in him onstage. It helped that he was a handsome man and the audience that had long since given up on Marathi stage thronged back to it in hordes. A new sun had risen and started blazing on the turnstiles.

Just as proportionately the success went to his head, where his extreme arrogance brought a promising career to a full stop many a time, during the first lull Sulochana his wives patient and mentor pushed him towards cinema under the tutelage of the veteran master Bhalji Pendharkar. Cinema never attracts an actor who starts from the stage, one who is used to the phenomenon of a live interactive audience and its instantaneous feedback. Prabhakar Panshikar another Giant of the stage was staging the author Kanetkar’s new play “Ashrunchi Jhali Fule” and here in a barely 20 minute part Ghanekar with his character Lalya became such a rage, he from the opening night owned the play. It was here in these intermittent visits to Sulochana’s house he ran into her school going daughter Kanchan and the young girls falls for him, hook line and sinker. Her calm and cool demeanour also drew him to her and tilted him away from his wife in this journey ahead. The forever craving soul gets a perpetual fan and his wife of many years who had refused that role categorically, moves on. Arrogance and an extremist starry behaviour rarely keep friends, associates or colleagues and there always are those stepped upon toes waiting to hit back. Three shows per day, excessive alcohol, tobacco use and the obsessive compulsive need for the applause addled the first ever superstar of Marathi stage to such an extent that he collapsed on stage in an alcoholic stupor.

Heady fan approval instantly switches sides and turns into hate…in this painful gap stepped in another powerful actor Dr.Shriram Lagoo and all of Ghanekar’s parts leaked out to Lagoo triggering off a cold war of mammoth proportions. Lagoo’s method acting v/s Ghanekars spontaneous flamboyance was another tipping point that was the harbinger of another change coming over Marathi stage… this battle saw Ghanekar meeting an extremely tragic end. Fickle is the bitch goddess of success and her loyalty often taken for an entitlement and for granted can be disastrous. 

This was Ghanekars’s story in a nutshell, captured for a much later generation by Subodh Bhave and writer Abhijit Deshpande by researching and partly through the book, Nath ha Maaza,  by Dr.Ghanekars second wife Kanchan. 

It is a brave attempt and the cameos are the ones that have stolen the show, because some of them are very well etched out. Prasad Oak as Prabhakar Panshikar, Anand Ingle as Vasant Kanetkar and Sumit Raghavan as Dr.Shreeram Lagoo are excellent. Nandita Dhuri as Dr.Iravati has again delivered a superbly grounded low key performance after her sterling Elizabeth Ekadashi previously. Prajakta Mali the bouncy telestar shines briefly as Gomu in a song “ GomuSangti Na” from one of his biggest hits towards the end of Ghanekars filmy career ; “Ha Khel Sawalyancha”. Sonali Kulkarni as Sulochana is clearly a misfit but Vaidehi Parshurami as her daughter is very good and a sight for sore eyes. And like the title ani…Subodh Bhave as Dr.Kashinath Ganekar is very sincere. Subodh loves a challenge, takes it up and fulfils it with his inbuilt restraint. There are explosive moments written in the script befitting the character. These are the very moments where one wishes that had Subodh let himself completely go, totally unrestrained, it could have added a different dimension and depth to the character. Alas, I missed that. Yes, he can be excused for never having met the star and studying him through his cinema but one must remember that was a medium and platform never favoured by Dr.Ghanekar. The actor lived for the stage, lived to walk through the crowds cutting his way out, listening to the hosannas falling on his ears and like all such artistes who get made by the maker with a self–destruct button.

Whether Dr.Kashinath Ghanekar was really such an important a pillar of Marathi stage that we needed a bio-pic of him is by itself a debatable question, one that never arose in the making of Bal Gandharva. Ghanekar was a very popular star who kept the till ringing at a time when the Marathi Maanus had lost interest in that medium. It is a good movie that stops several yards from being a great one. Is it watchable, yes it is, only if you do want to know who Dr.Kashinath Ghanekar cursorily was?

Thugs of Hindostan – I Went … I Spent … I Slept.

There are various different kinds of movies made under the generic heading of Cinema. They are classified under two main categories, Types & Adjectives.
Commercial Cinema, Art Cinema, Short Films, Talkies, Silent Movies…then within the same category one does find small cinema like a Badhai Ho , or a big budgeted cinema like Bahubali. The Adjectives spread between Blockbuster, Hit, Flop, Dud, Good and Bad and many others.

The same movie house YRF –Yash Raj Films, that gave commercial hits, romances and musicals of a high calibre and even some sterling small movies like Band Bajaa Baraat has created an absolutely new concept of a movie called “The Multi-Crore Inane Opus”. 


Thugs Of Hindostan is the pioneer and breaks new ground by launching an entire new sub-category of movies by itself.

So what do they do ? There is this dude called Vijay Krishna Acharya who had just missed reaching this milestone with his earlier film for YRF called Dhoom3. He goes and sits in a room with Aditya Chopra and they ideate. Acharya says Aamir gave us one of the biggest hits with Dhoom3 and he is the one I want. Adi Chopra says check. Aamir is in. There was a time when this Khan , the most visibly cerebral among the three Khans of Hindi Cinema actually would try and get into a character and do a lot of homework on it. Today he has reverted to the veteran genre of acting which is the Pran style of performing.  Here one creates a look, assumes a mannerism for the character and then hams away until eternity. Aamir has decided that he likes Captain Jack Sparrow and his look in the Pirates of the Caribbean series, now no one told him that his character is almost entirely a land lubber and barely on sea, but no Aamir liked the outlandish style of Johnny Depp which looks utterly charming and suits Depp but on Aamir it looks forced, sluggish and silly. 

Then Adi said I want to beat my Dads record of casting coups. His movie Silsila had made a lot of noise purely on the basis of the casting of Bachchan , Rekha and Jaya Bhadhuri. I want to top that. Aamir is the only Khan to never have shared screen  space with the big B so …check Big B is also in. Suddenly almost 50 crores have been budgeted with these two names in. So who next ? Aamir with the idiotic character cannot have a love interest but we do need a a seriously good looking woman who can look divine as she wriggles about. Acharya raises his hand and says like in Dhoom3, I am comfortable with Katrina. 5-10 more crores have been instantly earmarked. We need ships, forts, cannons, armies, pirates, foreigners and how the heck are we going to make a story out of this?

Then the director laughs at the naiveté of his producer and tells him, you are too old fashioned. Stories and plots are overrated, who needs them? We can looking at the mood of the country try and inject some amount of Nationalism, ekhaad tadka , Nationalism and patriotism sells and then the lead characters can do every single type of nonsense and it shall be swallowed. When we turn a criminal into a revolutionary and patriot anything goes. So we have something like this happening onscreen, unmelodious totally un-hummable songs, forgotten the moment the song has finished, Katrina sings and dances, Aamir Dances and Sings, Bachhan looks suitably intense and the angry young man that made him the Big B having gone, he is now an angry old man who looks rather unsure rapeling down a rope or riding a horse and doing serious sword fighting. Some of the wrinkles under his chin wobble these days.

All in all this is what happened. I find my seat, sink into it and before long Ronit Roy of the Perry Masonish, Adalat fame from TV comes bizarrely garmented as a Maharja who is shown owning a fort for exactly 13 minutes after which he is killed and his daughter is taken n brought up by Khudabash aka Bachchan…and once Aamir hits the screen, sense leaves. My eyelids had become heavy and they dropped. The six word honest review of this movie would therefore be. I Went … I Spent … I Slept. 

My final bit of a suggestion is that if you cannot avoid going for this movie is to choose a cinema hall with the most comfortable seats.