The 'Game' Review

The climax of ‘Game’ is so bad I'm embarrassed to have seen it and therefore am a bit ashamed to write even an unkind review. 

The film’s supremely-dumb script has insurmountable problems as it panders it’s way, replete with far too many loose ends, asinine plot devises and laughable red herrings until it splutters, chokes, and finally loses itself to its own insanity. What really wounds is that ‘Game’ has a premise with a pedigree and a little promise – its got snazzy, exotic locales like Greece, London, Turkey, Thailand; an antagonist with a very interesting motive; love for Agatha Christie’s ‘And then there were none’ on full display complete with an underlying menace. So the possibility that this ostensibly dark whodunit might actually be good springs eternal for a full ten seconds -  exactly the amount of time that passes until someone utters the first of writer Althea Delmas Kaushal’s tragically cheesy lines. It would be misleading to say that ‘Game’ is a missed opportunity, because in spite of the film’s large cast (Jr B, Kangana Ranaut, Jimmy Shergill, Boman Irani, Anupam Kher, Shahana Goswami, Gauhar Khan and newcomer Sarah-Jane Dias), this flaccid corpse, like its characters, seems to be dead on arrival. 

‘Game’ is a half baked murder mystery, structurally less solid than Surendra Mohan Pathak’s Hindi language khooni potboilers one buys at railway stations. Of course, since this is a Bollywood whodunit - a weird strain of cinema in which all women, no matter how shrill and unpleasant, are nothing less than saints, and all men, with the singular exception of Imran Khan, are heartless (in the comedies) or violent (in the thrillers) – so the killing spree has to be the work of some MAN. And ‘Game’ gives us plenty to choose from.  We have Abhishek Bachchan, an Indian Drug Lord in Turkey, Boman Irani, a Prime Ministerial candidate in Bangkok, Jimmy Shergill, an actor, Anupam Kher, a multi zillionaire in Greece. Also in the mix are drunk reporter Shahana Goswami and investigating officer Kangana Ranaut. Director Abhinay Deo  builds up the usual false suspects before lazily revealing the murderer to be the person we should least suspect, who is altogether too obvious because of the well worn formula. It all wraps up in the usual way, with characters who’d earlier been shady and suspicious suddenly turning solicitous of the murder victim. Of course, there is a big kahani me twist, but it is so ham-fisted you almost expect Porky the Pig to make an appearance. 

I must admit that ‘Game’ begins with a bang – a 20-something named Ayesha (played by the hot hot hot newcomer Sarah Jane) collides with a car, and we’re treated with abstract imagery of various characters: Vikram (Shergill) is a Mumbai-based actor who has just killed someone with a glass bottle, OP (Irani) is a politician in Thailand with truckloads of black money and a lot of interest in child prostitution, Tisha (Goswami) is an alcoholic journalist cooling her heels in a London jail for DUI, Neil (Bachchan) is an Istanbul-based drug overlord making a getaway in a fast car. They all receive a mysterious invitation letter from a well known gazillionaire named  Kabir(Anupam Kher) – he offers Vikram a chance to escape imprisonment, OP a chance to turn all his black money legit, Tisha a chance to cover a huge political scandal and change her life, and Neil a cool 20 million dollars. The despos oblige, travel to Samos and finally meet Kabir on his island paradise (yes he owns the whole damn island, and has a butler and a secretary). Introductions are made, but almost immediately the defecation hits the oscillation when Kabir reveals his true intentions. It turns out that Ayesha was Kabir’s (estranged) daughter, and that all four guests are responsible for her death in some way. 

Much to everyone’s horror, Kabir has gathered damaging evidence against all of them, has already called the cops, and wants sweet revenge. As the guests have conniptions in the dark of the night, a shot rings out, and Kabir is found dead in his study, a bullet hole in his right temple, his right hand hanging limply by his side, with the gun lying underneath it on the floor, and his final Will burning in the dustbin. 

Suicide? Murder? The unintentional hilarity of the script begins with the arrival of the International Vigilance Squad hottie Sia (Kangana Ranaut), a character with keen eyes for detail and a severe allergy to wisdom. She finds absolutely no reason to take the four to the station and interrogate them. Everyone present at the crime scene is let off the island. Even OP, the corrupt politician who runs child sex rackets is allowed to go home to Bangkok.  Lo and behold, a rash of murders begins. And as the killer is unmasked at the end, the entire memory of the story seems to fade from one’s memory faster than Jr B’s career.

 As you can probably tell, ‘Game’ is riddled with cringe-inducing whodunit clichés and plotholes the size of Javed Akhtar’s oeuvre.  Writer AD Kaushal makes sure she portrays international police as earth-shatteringly stupid as possible – only at the climax does a character deduce that Kabir was left-handed, but was shot on the right side and hence was… murdered. No really, a whole unit of the esteemed, impeccably named International Vigilance Squad working on the case, cops who have made a thorough inspection of the crime scene with fingerprint scanners, green coloured laser examiners and all kinds of fancy techno gizmos, and not a single officer bothers to find out if the victim was right-handed. The butler and the secretary aren’t questioned either. And if all that weren’t silly enough, a character coolly escapes International Vigilance Squad’s surveillance by simply outrunning them in a lane – he also manages to shuttle between Mumbai, Turkey and Bangkok as he pleases, and even hacks into another country’s satellite television networks. There are many more ludicrous contrivances and hilarious plot devices which unfortunately can’t be discussed without giving away the mystery. The locations are inexplicable as well – what was the point of setting the film in London, Turkey, Bangkok, Greece etc? The same story could’ve been much more effective had it been set entirely in India. Even the unmotivated flashbacks featuring Ayesha are as dull as their tendency to feel unnatural. 

‘Game’ cribs elements from ‘Gumnam’ (which itself was a remake of ‘And then there were none’), Abbas Mustan’s ‘Race’ and every other Hollywood killer-thriller from the last few years. Actually, there is another movie that seems to provide even more inadvertent inspiration, but to name it would give away the ending - not that you couldn’t figure it out within 20 minutes. There is a tradition in such films where the detective always takes the time to explain exactly why the killer is doing all of these things, just to give the villain enough time to grab the gun or escape. This big speech in ‘Game’ is easily the dumbest, most deranged example of such that I have ever seen in all of my years of movie-watching. The seemingly airtight suspense is annihilated instantly with shabby dialogue, boorish performances and tedious music.

‘Game’ is shoddily structured and wholly derivative. It doesn’t cover any new ground in the thriller genre and, if anything, is a mere rehashing of tired story lines. How this story worked its way up to Excel Entertainment and got a green signal will probably be the first question on KBC’s new season. Bollywood really needs to climb out of this rut. Or retire. 

The Dhobi Ghat Review

Some Bollywood films boast definite punchlines, while others capture a mood or offer up an open-ended slice of life. Dhobi Ghat hits the sweet spot. 

This film is a triumph. It is nothing short of a slam-dunk for cineastes, romantics, and Mumbaiphiles. Dhobi Ghat is gorgeous, bittersweet, tender and transcendent. It doesn’t reveal its writhing agony until the final act - it's risky material for a first-time director, but Kiran Rao’s involving screenplay and her remarkably assured handling of the material somehow brings it all together into an effective, charmingly offbeat whole. Rao sustains a lyrical, moving tone all the way to the film’s satisfactory ending, and invests a great deal in every scene - the power of even the briefest of human interactions and the fall-out of being in the wrong place at the wrong time are communicated with depth and economy. This is Rao’s audacious ode to Mumbai - a dark place where intense sadness and closure co-exist side by side. Pain resurfaces, and though washed in redemption, it still demands a sacrifice.  

With grey shots of a rain-soaked Marine Drive, Rao begins on slightly shaky ground, but once she settles in, she gradually twists the fabric of her film into something moving, deep and sophisticated. Dhobi Ghat explores an array of timely and time-tested themes such as infidelity, grief, loneliness, racism, immigration. There is beautiful imagery - most fine are those scenes that strive to capture the swooningly mysterious, grungy atmosphere that's endeared so many to Mumbai. The film is rooted in the relationship between four people, as well as between those people and their milieu. Atmosphere and mood are-a-plenty as we see Munna (Prateik) taking a bath near the railway tracks outside his chawl, Arun (Aamir) painting in torrid rain to the backdrop of Siddeshwari Devi and Begum Akhtar, Munna and Shai (Monica Dogra) strolling along the yellow gaslit Mohammad Ali road. Examinations of varying degrees of compassion accumulate through many of the scenes until it infects the film as a whole. With plot threads about people jilted, married, or about-to-be-divorced, about relationships about to begin or that could have been, Dhobi Ghat movingly weaves a quilt of optimistic humanism. If there is a recurring theme, it's the power of love, or perhaps the endless possibilities of the city. What is amazing is how each sub-plot of Dhobi Ghat involves you in the plight of characters you identify with and resolves their predicaments in a devastating manner. There is a scene where a character repeatedly tries to inscribe letters on a sandy beach, only to see the waves wipe them away  each time - of all such segments that comprise the film, it comes the closest to depicting honestly what it feels like to fall helplessly in love. 

Dhobi Ghat ends on an unexpectedly wistful note (though it could also be hopeful, depending on your perspective). It's not sexy or stylish or glamorous or any of the things you might assume Mumbai to be after watching such horrendous films as OUATIM or Life in a Metro. 

Problems? Yes there are a few - as a singular essay on Mumbai, the film doesn't quite succeed because the vision behind it isn't unified. Instead, it achieves success sheerly through the talent involved.  What you're left with is somewhat disjointed and only as satisfactory as the quality of the plot shards that agree with you. It's like having the sample plate at a restaurant - it never feels quite like a real meal, yet can be delicious just the same. A generous critic might try to conclude that Aamir’s English is, in fact, intended to reflect a virulent strain of urban Mumbaiyya lingo. Shockingly, it’s not, and it comes off as jarring and unconvincing. Regardless, it's a bitter piece of dessert with which to conclude Dhobi Ghat's assortment of trifles.  Shame, because Aamir’s eyes can communicate in five minutes what most Bollywood actors couldn't do in half-an-hour. Interstitial shots of Aamir painting don't add much and veer dangerously close to saccharine.   

While too fleeting in grace to be a truly great film, Dhobi Ghat does however reward the hope offered with this prestigious cast and crew. Both Prateik and Monica Dogra are excellent finds - and these two are given the space to win us over gently.  Prateik in particular is marvelously subtle as the young Bihari immigrant dhobiwala who moonlights as a wannabe actor and a gigolo. Kriti Malhotra is excellent as a hapless wife of exquisite complexity, as her character grows increasingly crucial to the film's emotive punch.  Director Kiran Rao communicates the understated despair of average individuals with poignancy, humor, and sympathy. It's amazing how much depth was drawn from quick character sketches and how deftly they worked my emotions with simple performances and the film’s ingenious narrative. Watch.

The Tees Maar Khan Review

There are students finalizing masters degrees in Artificial Intelligence who were newborns when Akshay Kumar last appeared in a watchable comedy. And if they’re still debating their thesis, they might consider Akshay’s synthetic fixations, given nauseating display in ‘Tees Maar Khan’. There is something to be said about Bollywood production houses when a film as desperately inane as TMK comes along - only a human vegetable could have seen the final cut of this movie and not have had any concerns about the putrid level of quality on display.

Hideously directed by Farah Khan, ‘Tees Maar Khan’ just staggers on as if it is paralysed, completely oblivious about what to do and how to do it. The film is nothing but a gimmick in masquerading as a movie – how to get Akki into as many silly costumes and deliver as many stupid expressions as possible, plot mechanics be damned. This poor excuse of a comedy is so misconceived on every level, it's almost mesmerizing to watch, if you don't mind pain, that is. And Sirish Kunder  knows how to make you hurt. On a scale of cinematic pride, Farah Khan qualifies a rung above the makers of snuff films. There is not a shred of originality or invention in 'Tees Maar Khan', as Messrs. Kunder and Khan borrow listlessly from a certain 1966 Peter Sellers film which poked fun at movie stars and film critics. I'd recommend this Bollywood remake for a good nap, except the grating, infuriatingly out-of-place sound effects and cheaply conceived music by Vishal-Shekhar would jar you awake.

‘Tees Maar Khan’ has all the nuance of a film made to entertain a donkey – the cast and crew members receive Oscars at the climax, no less. At the very thought of Akki dressing up in different costumes and conning the heck out of everyone, with Katrina gyrating to ‘Sheila ki Jawani’, one may expect some timepass entertainment value. Sadly, we’re treated with Tabrez Mirza (Akki), who while in his mother’s womb is inspired to rob. The lad grows up to be Tees Maar Con and dates a dumb-as-a-doorknob wannabe actress (Katrina). The conniving Johri twins (the annoying Raghu Ram and Rajiv) brief Tabrez to rob a locomotive full of antiques, and what follows is a train wreck barrage of recycled spoofs and excruciating jokes that render you stonefaced. It’s all just a poorly disguised cesspool constructed as a motion picture, complete with blaring inappropriate music within badly bungled gags. ‘Tees Maar Khan’ also appears to be chopped up and put back together again by Mr Kunder, as the narrative profusely leaps around from one scene to another, relying on irritating plot conveniences to fill in the blanks. It’s this kind of negligence to the art of comedy construction that plagues the film. You get the feeling that Akki gave his all, and that he and Farah Khan relied on the belief that gold could eventually be culled from Akki’s hamming.  It only makes for the cinematic equivalent of a kid who annoys you by repeating everything you say.

It becomes impossible to pity Akshay Kumar as he stars in another loop in his shame spiral, a path that began right where ‘Tashan’ ended. A glance at his filmography makes one wonder if Akshay is deliberately trying his best to sabotage his own career. And his career will not recover from this mess, though on the bright side I doubt that anyone will ever care. Katrina needed a paycheck so that's understandable, but after a such a surreally horrid turn in a movie like this I hope she isn't expecting to pick up another. Third-rate cameos by Akshaye Khanna, Salman Khan, Arya Babbar etc are inexplicable. There is just one person who scarcely manages to muscle his way out of the wreckage - Chunky Pandey - the man is so far above the insulting material he has to work with that he might as well have filmed his scenes in outer space.

‘Tees Maar Khan’ is brutally unfunny, horrendously contrived and wholly annoying. There is nothing more nightmarish than a comedy film that doesn't have even a single tolerable moment of hilarity, unless it is a film that doesn't have even a single tolerable moment. ‘Tees Maar Khan’ has achieved such a feat. 

The Nagavalli Review

There was a time when P. Vasu was a great director. In 1998, he made his splash in 'Suyamvaram'; in 1999, he burst onto the horror scene with the spine tingling 'Hogi pyaar ki jeet'. Of course, his best film was 1996's masterpiece 'Love birds', but he also made 2004's 'Apthamitra', and its 2005 remake 'Chandramukhi'. Somehow, Vasu lost his touch, with junk like his failed 2008 remake of 'Kadha Parayumbol', to his uninspired but successful sequel 'Aptharakshaka' and 'Gajibiji'. Those movies, however, look like cinematic works of art compared to his latest film remake. Neither the spooky antagonist's novelty nor Vasu's horror skill have aged very well, as evidenced by the schlocky 'Nagavalli'.

 

It is a sad state of affairs when the trio of Anushka, Richa and Venkatesh can star in something as misguided and flatly written and filmed as 'Nagavalli'. This film leaves you with a groan: a groan that this tired series may not yet be over; a groan that you blew hard-earned cash to see it; but most of all, a groan that you've just lost 150 minutes of your life that can never be recovered. Nagavalli's got loud music, it's got cringe-inducing humour, it's got jarring camera angles and sinful psychosis. It's only a matter of time before it's declared a sacrilege. As in most desi horror films, there isn't much character development, just a lot of screaming, dancing, pouting, gasping, eyebrow arching, costume flaunting and makeup. There are a few surprises and some attempt at a plot, but generally, despite a promising start and generous footage of Richa Gangapodhyay quivering, this movie fails to rise above the muck of the horror genre.

 

There is, in fact, an awful lot of hokey lore to absorb in the story - the characters spend far too much time telling each other (and the audience) a lot of mumbo jumbo that presumably they already should know. They also regularly remind each other of the rules of ghost hunting (Rule No. 10: You can't ever buy a big mansion as it will most certainly be haunted). Keep track of all this because there's a quiz before they'll let you out of the theater. Here we have a wealthy bloke (Sarath) whose eldest daughter Gayatri (Kamlinee Mukherjee) dies after being gifted a painting of a certain medieval dancer in Revlon and Maybelline (Anushka).  Naturally odd things begin to happen, and Mr Cash calls Head Shrinker (Venkatesh) for help. Like in 'Apthamitra', 'Chandramukhi', ' Aptharakshaka' and 'Bhool Bhulaiyya', the psychiatrist moves into Mr Cash's home to solve the case. Forget prayers and jadui tabeez: it takes a lot of aggressive hamming and singing to subdue a ghost enough to get her out of a dark shelter. 

 

All of the added humor does not make 'Nagavalli' a good film - just a campy one. In fact, the film's big problem is just that, being too over-the-top too much of the time, from the acting (the dreadful Shraddha Das in particular) to story developments (yes, six leading ladies and Venky wearing jewelry are a treat to watch, but still...). Even a film called Nagavalli could use some restraint and be all the better for it. The most disheartening thing about Nagavalli, however, is not its campiness, but its lack of scares; it's hard to believe the same man who made the elegantly scary Captain Vijaykanth classic 'Sethupathi IPS' directed this piece of schlock.

 

What Nagavalli does get right is atmosphere. A great deal of credit goes to the cinematography by Shyam Naidu, and Rama Rajamouli's costumes which are convincing and, yes, less than repulsive. Venkatesh's insufferably smug performance makes the character even more unsavory. He is into his I'm-just-holding-on-to-sanity-by-a-thread persona here. Anushka in her minuscule role harnesses a certain look in her eyes and various gradations of trembling to convey a striking range of conflicted emotions. Richa's telepathic frissons help deepen the film's basically irreverent stance.

 

There is not an ounce of intelligence, or excitement in 'Nagavalli'. If anybody out there doesn't have enough corn in his life already, consider giving Vasu's newest remake a whirl. I do admit his prowess behind the camera and his ability to make you unintentionally laugh, although not his creative ability.