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Reviews
Agent Vinod (2012)
A humongous poop-job.
For a film to have technical glitches and inadequacies that are so blatant that even the naivest of audiences find them obvious, is an embarrassment difficult to conceal. To say this about Sriram Raghavan (Ek Hasina Thi, Johnny Gaddar), who has entertained us well in the past if not enthralled, might come as a surprise. However, as far as his Agent Vinod (Saif Ali Khan) is concerned, that is the inconvenient truth. If you cast aside all the glamour, explosions and pseudo- spyishness, what form the crux of this film is a directionless story that takes a man trying to be cool through scenic location in the hunt of reasons for the murder of his colleague. And as Lady Luck would have it, he just happens to stumble upon a ravishing spy of the opposite sex, Dr. Ruby Mendes (Kareena Kapoor), on his way.
You know how a story in most action films is a vessel whose only onus to carry the action sequences through? This vessel has a massive hole in it. I'll forgive the fact that it is all too generic, for the moment. There is a book with a detonator in it, which is sought after by most of the world's leading terrorist organisations. Someone noble and good-of- heart must get it. The only person who can do this and save the blighty people is an unshaven, frog-eyed man, who has a penchant for dancing in front of hidden cameras - Vinod, that is. Apparently, simple enough. But in the hands of Sriram Raghavan and Arijit Biswas (the script writers) the story turns into a convoluted mess that resembles the remains of a dog that has been run over by a speeding battle-tank. Twice.
Saif plays the role of the almighty redeemer for the film. He isn't as bumptious as spies and anti-heroes (casts a furtive glance at another member of the Khan bastion) usually are. The man himself is not larger than life and without the overbearing fungus smeared so generously on his face he even manages to look strangely human. The sins that he must pay for are those committed by the accompanying-cast. There isn't a clear nemesis for Vinod; instead, he gets half a dozen flies to ward off. The characters are shoddily constructed - no defining traits, no vile idiosyncrasies, nothing to remember them by. The actors don't bring much to the table, either. The movie is a playfield for those blighty souls who never got a chance to make it big in the industry. And, as as the movie illustrates so magnificently, there is a reason for that.
Agent Vinod proudly pontificates the fact that it is an action film. It tries to masquerade as one and its attempts lead to desperation. It is out of this desperation, or so I am forced to believe, that the director did things that one absolutely should not while shooting action films. The movie does not get your adrenaline pumping, while the supposed high- octane sequences are contrived. Too many shots are vying for screen-time at the same time, resulting in a metaphorical train-wreck, further exacerbated by shoddy editing. Judging by the way the camera leapfrogs from wall-to-wall makes one conclude that the cameraman is most certainly suffering from febrile convulsions. And yeah, just in case all of that was not enough, there is also a longer-than-necessary scene shot entirely upside-down for no fathomable reason.
Once the films runs out of things to do, it decides to do the things it has already done all over again. This goes on for over one hundred and fifty-minutes, which is far too long for an action movie by any stretch of imagination. Vinod travels to another country, meets a few foreigner baddies, there's more kiss kiss bang bang, a few explosions, a dozen dead blokes and the good guy saves the day. Just when that starts getting onto your nerves, following the precedent set by her fair- skinned mango-juice-loving counterpart, Kareena does a lacklustre mujra. Saif, then, tries to outdo her in another jig of his own. And succeeds. Someone's going to go hungry for a week for stealing the spotlight from his soon-to-be wife.
With the film managing to get its act together only on rare occasions, the ending could have come sooner. It definitely should have. With a Captain America-esque touch to it, the film drops into a gradual denouement. Or so it seems to, before lasting another twenty minutes and then crossing the finish line; rather tumbling over it. The movie is like a bad sexual experience, and the end justifies the statement - tiring, unsatisfying, but leaves you grateful that it has ended. Alas, when you are halfway into the film, the only things that stick out are the amateurishly shot action sequences, jarring editing and Kareena's unattended body fat. And that's the better half.
The Artist (2011)
Some things are best left unspoken.
The Artist actually does all the things that it shouldn't be doing if it wants to appeal to the generic herd of moviegoers - monochrome, silent and not consisting of any cinematic behemoth to carry the mantle of wooing the audiences. It is undeniable that the allure of a black-and- white film of the silent era remains highly esoteric. 'It died for a reason,' one might say. 'Sound killed it.' Agreed. But the fact that The Artist does better than almost all the other movies of the year comes across as a rather delightful irony.
The transition of movies from silence to sound has been remarkably captured through the various perspectives of a plethora of those affected by Singin' in the Rain and Sunset Boulevard, to name two. The Artist seems inspired from the former, with its quirky sense of humour and all, while has a protagonist who shares the dogma of Norma Desmond as far as 'talkie' movies are concerned. The man is George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), a conceited, debobair, illustrious actor of an era where facial contortions and subtitles did most of the talking. While celebrating the success of his latest movie, he bumps into Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), who later turns into the luckiest of his throngs of worshippers. There is the spark of romance there, but that flame is left unkindled, since Valentin is married to Doris (Penelope Ann Miller) despite rather unhappily. But his tidal wave of confidence soon tosses him ashore with the introduction of sound in cinema, with Peppy being one of the harbingers of the winds of change. With the writing on the wall being all too clear, it is Valentin's amore-propre that blinds him, as the zeitgeist sweeps through like a storm, leaving him stripped of everything but his vanity, as the artist now has to learn the artform of survival.
The movie is like a monologue of how change is inevitable and how we must adapt or get run-over by it. It preaches this lesson by drawing parallels between the old and new. The initial comparison is between wordless movies and cinema after the inception of sound and how the unfortunate former perished at the hands of sound. However, this comparison is also personified, as it betrays the appearance of a metaphor between the characters of George and Peppy - the former an imploding star, the latter a new sunrise. 'Out with the old, in with the new. Make way for the young!' Peppy says, as George overhears her. Just like soundless movies were annihilated out of existence unceremoniously, George realizes that it might be his turn to suffer the same fate if he doesn't embrace the change.
The performances are fabulous, with a special mention going out the dog, who deserves the honour of being the best canine I have ever seen. Dujardin with his pencil moustache gives his act a certain authenticity, while the gregarious, affectionate Peppy is right in her shoes. The differences brought about in the acting, as compared to regular movies due to the absence of a voice are palpable - subtlelties are paid special attention to, physical movements flow like a cadence and the eyes convey most of the emotions. Though the acting might seem overdone, with all the accentuation and exaggerated movements, one must remember that it does justice to its requirements and to history, and is hence befits the film.
But the movie has its shortcomings, some of which are too blatant to ignore. Primary of these is the rather hackneyed storyline. If you want a movie that talks about what a silent-movie-icon goes through once sound is introduced, you need to look no further than Billy Wilder's Sunset Boulevard. The only thing that movie did different from The Artist is track the downfall of its protagonist into insanity, while The Artist doesn't go that far. The parallel subplot about a youngling shooting to stardom as another falls has also been done before, though not to death (A Star is Born, for instance). So, that's hardly a surprise too.
Since the film begins as a comedy, and masquerades like one for a sizeable proportion of its run-time (heck, it won the Golden Globe for Best Picture Comedy), once it gradually descends into a tragedy, The Artist fails to get its viewers along, who happen to get stuck in a limbo between laughter and sympathy at the protagonist's fate. The seriousness that one needs to empathize with Valentin is amiss because the movie begins on too much of an upbeat note. This failure, arising from trying to balance on two rafts at the same time, unfortunately, makes it a case of being lost in transition.
The Artist isn't merely a movie with a message, it is also an ode to movies of the day when Hollywood was popular as Hollywoodland. The movie exudes an air of the late 1920s and early 1930s - every third man wearing bowler hats, the paparazzi hobbling around with archaic cameras, movies that ended as soon as the director got bored of shooting. The film has a panache, a vivacity, that one rarely gets to see in modern times. However, the salute is accomplished when the film makes its final move - outdoing most other films of the year in terms of excellence, which shows that Valetin, actually, might have been right.
Jodaeiye Nader az Simin (2011)
Even the silence speaks.
A seemingly prosaic, mundane drama, A Separation didn't hook many people at first impression, for we're world that goes to the movies for escapism and not to be buffeted under a snow-storm of a ubitquitous quotidian lifestyle, coming straight from the particularly delightful land of Iran. However, this contemporary Iranian drama, when given the chance to, impresses one by its sheer simplicity and strikes a chord of mutual association with the viewers, turning it from a film about family grievances into a microcosm on life itself. The conundrums faced by the characters are not unheard of, their reactions not unexpected and the sequence of events not unforeseen. A Separation is a slice from the pie called everyday-life.
Nader (Peyman Moadi) and Simin (Leila Hatami) decide to call it quits after leading fourteen-years of a married life that has resulted in the birth of a female offspring, Termeh (Sarina Farhadi). The woman is clearly more intent on the split of the two. She wants to leave the country, but her husband insists on staying, for he has an Alzheimer's- inflicted father to look after. The court rejects their application, and the impasse provokes Simin to leave Nader and Termeh, to reside with her parents. Being a working man, Nader hires a pregnant, devoutly religious maid, Razieh (Sareh Bayat) to look after the household and his father. However, things soon go awry, resulting in harrowing consequences, as the lives of entirely good people are mercilessly tossed into the storm.
The characters, all fabulously acted out, are made up of real flesh-and- blood, who touch a deeply resonating chord. Despite a conflict being the chief motivator for the film, you find it difficult to choose sides, which is a sign of having endearing and genuinely human characters. Unlike most movies, where the central struggle is stretched to unrealistic proportions and the winner can be picked as easily as picking fallen money off the street, A Separation really makes you think as to who deserves your shower of sympathy. And ones you reach that conclusion the movie questions it, repeatedly, till you aren't very certain anymore.
The film presents interesting observations on some stark dichotomies - initially one between the poor who work for others and the well-off who pay them. In the highly conservative Iran, the poor lead a desolate life. They must ensure that cleaning a really old man after he has just helplessly wet his pants isn't a sin. She must ask for her husband's permission before she can work at another household. A woman of the middle-class, on the other hand, can abandon her family and live with her parents without a God being there to chastise her. The two lead females, Simin and Razieh, display this contrast with finesse, not merely through their independent lifestyles, but also through the subtleties, like their attire and speaking mannerisms.
The other dichotomy is between the judgement of the world from the perspective of an adult and a child. The former knows the ways of the world, and he must act accordingly, regardless of whether it appeals to his conscience or haunts him with guilt. A child, with all his innocence, takes everything at face value, and holds veracity in the utmost importance. This difference is shared by Nader and his daughter, Termeh, and shows just how much things vary with age rather beautifully.
The deafening silence in the film resonates of the emptiness prevalent in the lives of each of its characters - a man without his wife, a daughter without her mother, a woman who's lost her child, a jobless man; everyone has a vacuum in their life. What the film captures adroitly, is the functioning of these flawed human beings in the equally scarred world. How we must bend the truth for the greater good, how misunderstandings snowball into disasters, and how a person is often forced to balance too many things on his plate, adopting different roles at different times, because circumstances compel him to do so.
Director Asghar Farhadi plants each element into the film with subtle, artistic perfection. There are observations that are passed onto the viewers, despite remaining unsaid. The higlight of the movie remains the fact that A Separation isn't afraid to ask questions. Does an innocuous accident which results in a heart-rendering loss for the poor need to be heavily compensated by the rich perpetrator?
I don't even think that question has a right answer.
Don 2 (2011)
Not the cops, but age has caught up with Don.
Don 2 is a film that throws light on the megalomanical tendencies of Shah Rukh Khan - a film that loves the growing-old-faster-than-the- speed-of-light man more than it loves the audiences.
Narrating in first person, Don (Shak Rukh Khan), voice filled with hauteur, talks about how noble a man he is by selling drugs at a lower price than his European counterparts, and how those ruthless, clinical men, whose only purpose in the film is to raise their hands like kids in a kindergarten when asked a question, want to assassinate him for jeopardizing their business. At that time, Don is in Thailand to receive his drug-shipment. However, that facile mission goes awry when the naive men try to kill him, ignorant of the fact that Don's awesomeness at slaughtering people like pigs. So, after filling about a dozen coffers of hell, he returns to Malaysia and surrenders himself to Roma (Priyanka Chopra) and Inspector Malik (Om Puri). Whether that falls under the purview of his dictum of 'Don ko pakadna mushkil hi nahi namumkin hai'- a little too Napoleonic - is debatable.
The reason he goes to prison voluntarily is the oldest one in the book - he wants a cohort for his future undertakings - and who would that be but his old arch-nemesis, Vardhaan (Boman Irani)? Don, femme fatale Ayesha (Lara Dutta) and the scowl-faced Vardhaan travel to Switzerland, hire an Indian bad-ass called Jabbar (get the ingenious Gabbar inclination?) played by what looks like a wooden plank, make plans and blackmail high-placed officials, with the sole purpose of extorting the Vice-President of Deutsche Central Bank - just the act of a man who can't differentiate between intrepid and asinine.
The image of a Don cultivated by classics like Godfather and Goodfellas is mercilessly disemboweled by Shah Rukh Khan. Don isn't who he ought to be; not suave, not debonair, instead he strikes a figure of a playground bully given access to a lot of power and wealth, which makes that prestigious title a mere aggrandizement. A Don is a man of respect, who bestows favors upon others and stands up to the status quo, not an avaricious crook who steals because he thinks that the millions of dollars in his bank-account aren't enough.
However, at the same time, he is portrayed as a narcissistic God-like figure that commands pawns on a chessboard, which is a blatant character-contradiction. He can either be the sophisticated man driving fast cars and wearing masks or the absolute play-maker who has everything planned out without getting his hands dirty - either Ethan Hunt or Michael Corleone. Between masquerading as the two, the movie seems to get befuddled by what kind of man it wanted Don to be, and the mouthing of dialogues in a Bale's Batman-esque, hoarse voice makes that all the more palpable.
Don 2 lacks the adrenaline-pumping action sequences that you would expect from the film. For some unfathomable reason, the movie restrains itself on the edge-of-the-seat, hair-raising stuff that are an exigency in a movie that terms itself as a member of the action genre. Instead of a classy tuxedo that gorgeously embraces the body, the action comes across as a pair of socks that fit loosely around the legs.
The film is a farrago of movies that have already graced theatres in their days. After shamelessly plagiarizing the poster Batman Begins' poster for Ra One, he borrows heavily from a plethora of movies in Don 2 too. The bank-heist (some originality, that) is an Ocean's 11 casino- heist rip-off, some of the action is plugged from Die Hard and the part in the jail is nothing you haven't seen in a hundred different places. Zurich has been shown in a manner similar to The Bourne Identity and even Vardhaan's demands from the cops towards the end is Dog Day Afternoon done again and done horribly wrong. It is here that the movie - makers forget the basics of cooking - while making a dish out of stale food, conceal the fact well.
The crescendo is what Bollywood is notorious for serving. Shah Rukh speaks the usual mawkish, romantic lines to Priyanka as they enter the battle-field, a bullet in the fleshy part of the waist miraculously doesn't kill a person, Shah Rukh goes berserk and tops off a few guys with WWE inspired pyrotechnics, and the film culminates with a shoddily done 'surpise!' But the Jack in the Box is marginally better than the rest of the movie itself, which isn't really saying much.
50/50 (2011)
Smile. Cry. Feel grateful you don't have cancer.
Cancer is probably the most egregious of all diseases. Once the doctor proclaims those doomed words, it becomes a sword hanging over your head with the rope getting burnt every minute. That leads to redemption, as shown in movies, and acts as a catharsis; I vent to let it all out, now that you know that the clock is going to chime soon. This theme has been frequently exploited by films. Hindi movies like Anand did it, Japanese ones like Ikiru has been there too. Heck, even Hollywood served it through Funny People, The Bucket List and a plethora of others. And then came 50/50.
Staking someone's chances of survival or death at 50/50 is the worst thing you could do to a dying man. At 90/10 he knows he is a goner. At 60/40, he still knows he is a goner. But at 50/50, he will only be a goner if lady-luck decides to screw him. And that glimmer of hope, is torture most unbearable. Adam (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is a twenty-seven year-old, who does things every twenty-seven year-old is expected to do - jog, not smoke or drink, obey traffic rules, not force his girlfriend into having intercourse and work honestly. Does any of that look like a cause for cancer? Hence, it comes as a bolt from the blue for him, when a rather sadistic, heartless wretch of a doctor blurts out in the most unsubtle way imaginable 'It's a malignant tumour.' Blur out, start music, life in slo-mo - Adam walking through the crowd in a daze, Adam reading about neurofibrosarcoma schwannoma online, Adam travelling in a bus staring outside the window and Adam breaking the news to his girlfriend - end music. He then tells about it to his closest, and apparently only, friend Kyle (Seth Rogen) who reacts by saying that he wants to throw up. Finally, he tells his paranoid mother, who has enough on her plate managing her husband who suffers from Alzheimer's.
Adam then enters mental therapy with a twenty-four year-old nearly-a- doc, Katherine (Anna Kendrick). He makes new friends at the cancer centre, takes drugs for the first time, shaves his head entirely, and learns to cope with life with the help of Kyle, who constantly insists on him getting laid, along with coping with the pain of his girlfriend cheating on him and them breaking up, before finally undergoing a make- it or break-it surgery.
Here is a a problem with that story - it is predictable. The idea, per se, isn't bold or daringly original - it is used, hackneyed and washed up. If you want to impress your new girl by predicting the future, you should take her to the film and keep saying what is likely to happen next, because it does happen that way. Even with the look in her eyes, you know Adam's girlfriend is going to break up sooner or later. Judging by the relation between the two, you know that Adam and Katherine are sooner or later going to have something between them (Dying Young, anyone?). You know Adam is going to do things he has never done before - like taking drugs, driving a car or burning a painting. Adam makes two friends at the cancer centre, and you know that someone is going to die. These aren't spoilers; these are events that you know are indubitably going to occur in the film.
But, here is the worst of all - the tagline of the film, as it proudly proclaims on the poster, is 'It takes a pair to beat the odds.' Past this point, it doesn't take a genius to figure out what happens in the end.
If you forgive the movie for that not-so-little-blunder it does make a rather enjoyable and emotional watch. By making the character of Adam so morose, pitiful and submissive even, it justs makes you want him not to die, which creates an emotional attachment between the viewers and the protagonist; a must for a film of this genre. He is a good man, but cancer has the tendency of always picking the good guys. The film brings forth a plethora of sentimental moments, that thankfully aren't mawkish - the way he responds to the doc's cold-hearted tumour statement, portraying the initial impression of mocking disbelief, but you can see the smile fading as the doctor pronounces his death like a radio broadcast, Adam learning about his girlfriend's betrayal, him being wheeled in for surgery after longingly hugging his mother - all deeply touching and heart-rendering, especially so because Adam doesn't deserve it.
What is interesting is the interplay of colours imposed in the movie. The colour scheme of each scene varies with Adam's emotions. The screen has yellow as the dominant colour when Adam tells about his condition to his girlfriend and mother. It is white and bright when Adam is relatively happy, when with Katherine and in the company of Kyle. The palette changes to a darker shade of yellow when he is alone and depressed. These subtle changes, are not only wonderfully done, but also elevate the feeling of morbidity and joy.
The background track, despite being used infrequently, works wonders for the movie. It plays a role similar to the colours, and strikes a resonating chord. Both the lead performances are adroitly delivered - Adam as the morbid cancer-inflict and Kyle as the ebullient friend-in- need. It is heartening to see Kyle maturing from a get-drunk-get-laid guy to a person who cares, drives his friend to the hospital and reads 'Facing Cancer Together.' In a similar way, it his heartening to see Adam smile through his pain and sorrows. Sadly, 50/50 adds plenty of characters that serve no major purpose whatsoever, instead of leaving it as just an Adam-and-Kyle show.
Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Does entertain. Doesn't impress.
Someone has been taking Napoleon too literally when he ambitiously stated 'There is no such word as 'Impossible' in my dictionary,' because someone needs to teach the Mission: Impossible guys the definition of the word impossible. With three movies titled Mission: Impossible that consist of nearly impossible missions that are miraculously accomplished in the end, even the most hard-boiled crepehangers would find it difficult to believe that any further movies would actually comprise of a mission that is really, earnestly and absolutely impossible. What they should have done is named the fourth instalment Mission Nearly Impossible; just for the sake of honesty, if nothing else.
The grudges I bear against the title of the film don't hold true for the film itself. Contrary to the established precedent, where the story was often contorted to resemble scrambled eggs, Ghost Protocol keeps things comparatively simpler. Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise) returns to his element in classic Ethan Hunt fashion by making an escape from a Russian prison with the help of his associates, Jane (Paula Patton) and Benji (Simon Pegg). Their almost impossible mission requires them to stop an obnoxious Russian badass, Hendricks (Michael Nyqvist), from gaining control of a satellite and nuclear codes that will allow him to instigate a nuclear war. The reason he provides, as any man who has been conked on the head a little too hard would do, is that once life on Earth is annihilated it will lead to the dawn of a new era, where the weak will die and the strong will survive - a result of taking Darwin's survival of the fittest theory way too literally. To stop this lunatic from bringing nefarious scheme into action, the team throws caution to the wind and jumps headfirst into the imbroglio that leads them from Russia to Dubai to Mumbai all the while fighting bad guys with guns, getting smacked in the face by a sand storm, driving flashy cars and occasionally climbing the world's tallest building, Burj Khalifa, with merely the help of sticky gloves.
The action sequences even eclipse Tom Cruise to become the absolute show-stealers in Ghost Protocol. Director Brad Bird, who displayed his penchant and skill in making action films through The Iron Giant and The Incredibles, makes a seamless transition from animation to the real world by charging up the nearly-dead franchise with enough action to resurrect it. The sequences are plenty and all are choreographed adroitly - Ethan's escape, the dust-storm fight and even the finale set in a futurustic parking-lot. The scene which shows Tom Cruise going all Spiderman on the Burj Khalifa not only made me secretly hope that he would tumble to a crushing over 100-story drop and get splattered onto the road as castigation for Knight and Day, but also got the adrenaline glands pounding like they were having a seizure.
The movie also does well on a front where most action flicks fail miserably - making an emotional connection between the characters and the viewers, such that one actually feels lugubrious at the death of a character, instead of mere apathy. Even with the little screen-time some of the side-cast has been granted, you form an attachment with them that makes you want them not to die. That doesn't happen in many movies nowadays - Captain America and the latest Harry Potter movie exemplify this. The only other film that scaled this forlorn peak this year was Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes, and that's because the monkeys were my ancestors.
Ghost Protocol falls rather short on a story-line - it seems like a vessel to flaunt the enviable tools and tricks that Team-Hunt, or Hunters, carry with them. But going to a Mission: Impossible film hedging your bet on an impressive story-line would be as foolhardy as going to the world's greatest hooker with empty pockets and high expectations. Another shortfall that the movie faces is the nebulously characterized Hendricks who wants to blow up the world. He is as generic as antagonists get, having nothing to distinguish in the tide of villains - no battle-scars, no evil-dialogues, no physical peculiarities, no idiosyncrasies - except that he's Russian. Pitted against the Hunters, he seems piteously milquetoast. The real danger is essentially just the nuclear missile.
The film doesn't stumble into the booby-trap of 'I'm-going-to-bore-you- to-death' with the owl-faced zombie-slaying Simon Pegg providing the much needed comic relief, with the accompaniment of Jeremy Runner as a covert, ex-agent named William Brandt. They bring a sense of humour previously unseen in any of the Mission: Impossibles, which includes Brandt procrasting jumping into a behemoth of a fan with only a metal underwear and a disconcertingly minuscule magnet to prevent getting shred to strips. While the scintillating action does make up for the lag, at 138 minutes the movie seems to drag occasionally with the extra minutes hanging by the side of its head like a dead foetus.
And then of course, there's Anil Kapoor reducing all Indians to a rather embarrassing stereotype. Someone ought to put the man out of his misery by giving him a few movies.
American Psycho (2000)
Funny murders are always a sight worth beholding.
Having a psycho, or a lunatic, as the protagonist does make things a whole lot easier for a director. He/she doesn't have to justify anything the protagonist does, because all the acts he commits, regardless of how unfeasible or irrational they are, are forgiven since he is a psychopath. The 'W' word of inquisition is tossed out of the window. For instance, in this film, Patrick Bateman hacks people to death, tries to feed a cat into an ATM machine and hides decapitated heads in his freezer, and all of these atrocities pass unquestioned, for he is, as the title proclaims, the American Psycho.
Americans have really begun scaring me now. American Pie came up with some of the most outrageous sex ideas ever, American Beauty was a thoroughly unsettling experience and American Psycho is eerily disturbing. Patrick Bateman (Christian Bale) is a narcissistic banker living alone in a posh New York apartment. He lives a stereotypical banker life - have a girlfriend, sleep with another, a music afiocinado and flirting with his secretary - nothing that calls specific attention to him. However, the banker is just a facade he adopts to fit into the normal world - a Dr. Jekyll to his inner My. Hyde. He has an alter-ego residing inside him, one that has only two emotions - greed and and disgust - and wants to kill people in the most remorseless and sadistic ways imaginable, because that is his definition of catharsis. Patrick Bateman isn't merely misanthropic, he is quite literally the epitome of cruelty. He is a the kind of person who watches The Texas Chainsaw Massacres while exercising, and for whom the hardest conundrum in life is whether he wants to get his next victim with a nail-gun or a chainsaw.
The character of a straight-faced murderer is not just disturbing, but also funny, in a morbid way. Despite having a dark and uncanny atmosphere, the ironies and the obvious pleasure that Bateman gets from heinously murdering hobos, peers, hookers and even random pedestrians with utter indifference makes you cringe and smile at the same time. Every time an axe hacks into his co-worker's flesh with a dull thud as Hip To Be Square plays in the background, you can't help but guiltily laugh to yourself. The murders follow a well established and contemplated about modus operandi and have an aftermath too. Bateman doesn't just kill people. He premeditates the commission, derives ecstasy during the act, and then sits back and relaxes, smoking a cigar, while admiring his handiwork. Bale carries the role of this two-faced beast with perfection. His poker-face maintains the facade, but his frigid gaze gives away the rather inconvenient and a whole lot frightening truth.
What is interesting, is that the film maintains a light-air through the gruesome occurings, like a reflection of the protagonist himself. It talks about visiting cards, about the plethora of cosmetics Patrick uses, often to the sound of a piano cortet or otherwise ebullient music in the background. Even Patrick's apartment is refreshing with clean, white walls, which is an amusing dichotomy with Patrick himself.
Not everything is froody with the film. A character like Patrick Bateman could have become a modern-day icon, if only he had more deeper and an insight had been presented into his psyche. His murders, his vicious idiosyncrasies all seem superficial, making the viewers wonder who he really is, or what made him this way. Between masquerading as a lackadaisical banker and a rabid psychopath, he never really offers an explanation to why he is the man he is. Childhood trauma, car accident, sexual harassment - nothing.
Another disappointing is that the movie introduces too many people without offering a satisfactory ending to all. There is a detective who just doesn't appear in the last thirty minutes, people whose purpose is only to stand by the side of the normal Patrick, a mistress who purpose on screen remains mysterious and even a girlfriend who seems to have been tossed into this mayhem for no reason whatsoever. These, however, are trivial things in the bigger scale of things.
The movie has an ambiguous ending, and this by far, is my favourite part of the film. It lets you choose your own path to reach a satisfying conclusion, but there's one, and the most likely, that asks a really provoking question - who really is more beastly, Patrick or the world? After Patrick commits his crimes, the world and its people try to bury them. Towards the ending, Patrick wanders into his peers apartment where he has stashed away many of the bodies, to find it clean and painted sparkly white, as if nothing ever happened there. The landlady creeps up to him for behind and asks him to leave and to never return, which if pondered upon, is a ghastly and horrifying concept.
American Beauty (1999)
A bird that flaps its wings but never quite takes off.
Roses play a special part in the film. In the very second minute, the wife of Lester Burnham (Kevin Spacey), Carolyn Burnham, is shown pruning those blood-red beauties. Seven minutes in, they make an appearance on the dinner table, followed by another at Carolyn's work table. Their significance could have been of some value, just when things get a little creepy, because rose-petals start appearing from inside a teenager's top as she opens it. They fall like fresh snow on Lester as he lies in bed. However, they do not feature merely in the imagination of a forty two year-old cougar. They have also been, and this by far is the most creative use of rose petals I have ever seen, used for tactfully covering exposed parts of a female's body as she lies in a pool full of, guess what, roses. And just in case the movie didn't make it obvious enough so far, it is titled American Beauty.
The film begins with a video recording of a teenage girl describing how her father is a 'horny, geek boy' who has the nasty habit of spraying his shorts whenever she brings a girlfriend a home. The man's daughter wants to 'put him out of his misery.' A male voice in the background asks if she would like him to kill her father. She stares at the camera, looking very much like the Ring-girl, and says 'Yeah. Would you?' because that is just how normal people behave.
The aforementioned man is the also-aforementioned Lester Burnham. He narrates the story in first person, which comes across as odd, since in the very sixth sentence he says that he will be dead in less than a year. Somehow, digested. He leads a rather unhappy life working at Media Monthly Magazine, constantly being overwhelmed by his wife. He lives in a world of hate - he hates his job, he hates his neighbours, he hates his boss, his wife hates him, his daughter hates him - not a very pleasant situation to be in. He is, by all standards, a gigantic loser going through a mid-life crisis; the time in his life when his wife doesn't even want to have sex with him. But, that isn't the worst of it. It isn't long before he develops an infatuation for one of his daughter's friends, Angela Hayes (Mena Suvari), whose mere sight serves as an aphrodisiac for the craving Lester. He dreams of her, gives her blank calls, eavesdrops on her conversations and goes to great lengths all in an attempt to get laid.
Instead of trying to keep things simple, American Beauty takes the wrong inspiration from Robert Frost and travels The-Road-Not-and-Should-Not- Have-Been-Taken, which leads to superficially and unnecessarily complicating things. Unfortunately, this serves as the ultimate digression for the movie. Heaping onto the basic storyline, the film introduces a scrupulous ex-military man as Lester's new neighbour, his laconic, lackadaisical son who has a penchant for spying on neighbours and shooting videos of perfectly normal things like a plastic-bag flying in the wind, Carolyn's competitor who she decides to sleep with while cheating on her husband, drugs, adultery, uncanny hallucinations, parental problems, among a plethora of other elements - till it turns the movie into a farrago of unrecognizable things, eventually making it masquerade as a cross between a wannabe-comedy and pretentious philosophy.
The message that the movie is trying to convey, through this almighty mess, is very similar to what Dead Poets Society (1989 - ten years before) and Fight Club (1999 - the same year) have tried to preach - stand up to the status quo, don't let your belongings own you, live life the way you want to - same old, same old. The anarchistic streak that Lester develops is inspirational and funny, but not really a way of life that should be adopted by people, and the end very well justifies why not.
The film had the potential to be great comedy. The situation and atmosphere were ideal. So were the characters - a pushover of a husband, a termagant wife, a daughter who hates them both, a hot-friend with the man falling for the latter. Though not highly original, that script, had a high laughter-capability. Unfortunately, in an effort shove more down the throat than it could handle, it wasted it all. There are a few moments of glory though - Lester learning to stand on his feet, jerking off in bed, lifting weights with nothing but socks on - scattered laughter here and there, but nothing that could have been.
The movie maintains a dark atmosphere that culminates in a dark ending, both really impressive features. The film holds onto its funereal air and this moribidity becomes palpable in the end. Though the finale comes through an unbelievably, incomprehensively stupid misunderstanding, it holds good on its own, while even managing to touch an emotional chord. The last ten minutes or so play a heroic act for a film that has its moments but never manages grows to its capabilities.
The Adventures of Tintin (2011)
A roller-coaster ride on a theatre seat.
Spielberg has always been the master of using the locale extensively - a fact subtly demonstrated by the ripples-in-the-water-glass scene in Jurassic Park. In a film by Steven Spielberg, the surroundings are rarely allowed to go wasted; almost everything is put to use in one way or the other, making the movie more vibrant and lifelike - as if the objects in the film have life themselves. Tintin follows this precedent. The Adventures of Tintin too involves the ardoit usage of the environs - may it be the falcon chase sequence or even the battle with the cranes. This trademark move appears succinctly in places, giving it a distinct Spielberg-ian feel and making Tintin another feather in his fedora.
Doing justice to the character created by Herge', Tintin (Jamie Bell) remains the bland, ageless adventurer that he originally was. A miniature, antique ship is broken in his apartment. He meets the villain Ivanovich Sakharine (Daniel Craig) in a dilapidated bungalow and chances upon another ship of similar make. Tintin's sense of adventure leads him deeper into the mysterious abyss and only when a man is shot at his door do the dangers of the situation dawn upon him. Never being one to shirk from trouble, he delves head-first into the adventure as he, Captain Haddock (Andy Serkis) and his dog, Snowy, are tossed from the land to the sea to the Sahara, into a farrago of pickpockets, detective lookalikes, an overambitious antagonist, an inebriated captain and Unicorns, all in a quest to find a sunken treasure and resolve vendettas that have returned to haunt from the dead.
This beautiful film reiterates why I hold well-made animated films so close to my heart. Animated movies, almost always, are filled with exuberance, joy and life. Rarely do they allow ennui to creep into your heart. With it witty punchlines, affable characters and adrenaline- pounding action-adventure sequences, Tintin the movie brings forth such excitement that is rarely displayed in movies. Through the interplay of bright colours, an overwhelming soundtrack and ebullient demeanour, it takes you to the point of wanting to jump and cheer the protagonist through this arduous journey.
Tintin precisely captures what an adventure means. Similar to the Indiana Jones movies, it doesn't tax your grey-cells by keeping the plot very basic instead. But the hardships the protagonists have to undergo to accomplish that goal keep the movie ticking, and make it so appealing. Tintin gets chased by a vicious dog, chases a falcon, flies an airplane, gets shot at - but keeps trudging along. By not delving into various intricacies in an attempt to superficially deepen the plot, the movie keeps the real Tintin alive - light-hearted, simple and pure fun - and it has been a while since we saw such films.
The target audience of the film isn't entirely clear, because it works well for everyone. Grey-heads who lived in the Tintin comic-book age will pounce upon the opportunity to revel in the nostalgia, while children, who have no idea of who Tintin is whatsoever, will also be equally delighted by the introduction they are provided with him. Very rare movies are able to accomplish the extraordinary feat of holding a natural appeal to people of all ages, so Tintin does score points here.
All the characters have been portrayed in a remarkable manner. Add to this the fact that they have been created by some of the most lifelike animation I have seen in recent years. Tintin is spot on; sharp as a whip, brave in the face of danger and persistent. The innocuous detective twins, Thomson and Thompson (Nick Frost and Simon Pegg), are classic comic characters; they unwittingly get involved into things of gigantic proportions without having a clue of what's happening. They are naive to the point of being nincompoops and the acts they commit under the impression of mistakes accounts for plenty of smiles, if not outright laughter. Sakharine is the perfect Tintin nemesis - evil, for difficult to despise - just as the villains of children's' movies are meant to be. Captain Haddock, however, steals the spotlight. This Captain and his alcohol-addled brain make a bold impression, one stronger than Tintin himself, bringing back memories of the original character. A Haddock always remains a Haddock, even if he is brought back to life after years of virtual non-existence.
Mr. Spielberg does nothing wrong in the film, yet it doesn't come across as extremely strong. This is the kind of film that you can watch hundreds of times for the very reason because of which it loses out, though slightly - the lack of complexities. It is too simple - a hunt for a treasure being the oldest trick in the book. However, Tintin isn't James Bond. He was always meant to be the soft-spoken, almost effiministic ideator, and that is how the world likes him.
Manhattan (1979)
Glittering with grandeur in monochrome.
Having released in 1979, Manhattan is a movie that was shot in black- and-white, though it didn't have to be. But that clever move is one of the most delightful characteristics of the film. Seeing New York is monochrome, its diners, its snow-covered streets, its pavements, people going about their moribund lives, its buildings - skyscrappers and the common-man's abode, its skyline, the sunset, the city by the night and firecrackers in the dark give Woody Allen's beloved city an unearthly yet heart-warming touch. Through his initial four-minute montage backed with a witty monologue, Mr. Allen not only manages capture the beauty of New York in gorgeous B&W, but only gifts it an ode in one of the best comedies the world has seen, and that is probably the greatest gift a mortal can present a city with.
Manhattan, as the title so subtly suggests, is set in the town of Manhattan, New York. Centering around Isaac (Woody Allen), a 42 year-old balding man, his predicaments - like preventing his second-now-lesbian wife from publishing a tell-all book about their marriage - and conundums - like dating a 17-year old high-schooler Tracy (Mariel Hemingway) or his best friend's mistress Mary (Diane Keaton). That is all the movie has to offer in terms of a 'solid plot line.' What the rest of the film is about how Isaac handles each of his issues. He meets Mary, who at that time is dating his married friend Yale (Michael Murphy) and forms an initial impression of hers as a 'little yo-yo' before falling in love with her. He tries talking his ex-wife into not publishing the book, who remains adamant as a brick. He asks his high- school girlfriend to move to London and to remember him as a 'fond memory,' with a Casablanca-esque touch. And in classic Woody Allen- fashion, he fails, in accomplishing almost everything.
Movies by Woody Allen hardly rely on events in films to carry them through. Instead, they work on the characters, dialogues, tracking days as they fly-by without merely focusing on D-days. And that is where Manhattan derives its beauty from. Take the characters, for instance. All of them have distinct personalities - Isaac is the neurotic and highly intelligent protagonist, Mary is the beautiful and dilemma- stricken divorced woman looking for love, Tracy is the innocuous teenager who lacks the ability to distinguish infatuation from love, while Yale is the adulterer playing the balancing act on boats heading different ways.
The dialogue is always the highlight of any Woody Allen film, since the man pays special attention to it, often writing the script himself. Manhattan keeps the precedent he set in Annie Hall alive. The dialogue, especially mouthed by the nebbish Isaac is sharp, witty, though often hurtful and cynical. It won't make you laugh out loud, but will make you silently smile and marvel at the intellect of the man and the delivery. It is spontaneous; seemingly impromptu, which adds to the authenticity of the delivery. Here is man whose believes that the best pick-up line in his arsenal is 'I had a mad impulse to throw you down on the lunar surface and commit interstellar perversion.' Crazy, or what?
The soundtrack really strikes you as definitive in the film. In a way, with its old-school instrumentals and symphonies, topped with trumpets and violins, the soundtrack gives the movie an archaic feel, like cinema originally had. That, perhaps, is Mr. Allen's ode to the real-movies they had in old times. The cinematography, too, is breathtaking, the kind that makes you want to revel in it. The interplay between shades of black and white is gorgeous, and is naturally appealing to any movie aficionado.
Manhattan is a film whose humour cannot be explained, you have to experience it yourself. It is very niche; if a bar has to be set to differentiate between people who got real jokes and ones that didn't, I would call it the Woody Allen Line. His humour surpases almost everything else I have seen in movies - not slapstick, but subtle, gentle and intellectual - the kind you either love, or don't get at all. In a world where every comedy film tries to be the canon, Manhattan remains the arrow, but the latter is always the true test of marksmanship.
After his supposed magnum opus Annie Hall, Woody Allen goes ahead and tops it up with a better Manhattan. He matures and mellows as a director, not resorting to slip-on-the-banana-peel humour anymore.
The film is aesthetically appealing and reeks of sheer brilliance. However, these very words remind me of another film - Annie Hall. Comparisons? Inevitable, since Manhattan looks like a closely related cousin born two years later. We'll have them another time, because that will be another chapter entirely. But I do personally believe, that Manhattan remains the genius's true opus.
The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 1 (2011)
An abortion ad which isn't sure which side to support.
The Twilight saga is not the smartest thing that has happened to the universe, but for a moment I am going to cast all my past disdain aside. I am willing to forget that it has repeatedly raped vampires. I am willing to forget that it has no logical consistency whatsoever and I am also perfectly willing to forget that my girlfriend dumped me for not being 'sparkly as Edward in the sunlight.' With Breaking Dawn, like the title suggests, it is a fresh start - a new dawn.
That's a lie. Obviously.
First scene - Jacob Black (Taylor Lautner) and his muscles (Photoshop) storm out of the house in a fit of rage. They barely walks two steps when they decide that they don't like their shirt very much and Jacob removes it to reveal his perfectly sculpted, Greek-God-like body. He does that in the zarking rain, by the way, just because that makes a whole lot of sense. The move achieves the desired result - drool, drool, drool. Jacob and his muscles have an understandable reason for their apoplexy. Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart), who is their crush, and Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson), the glow-in-the-sun vampire, are finally getting wed. But our part-time werewolf isn't happy, no sir.
First thirty minutes and they are still getting wed in the most depressing public gathering I have seen. The camera meanders through Bella's face, to her feet, to the cape she's dragging behind her, to her face, to the back of her head, down her neck, down her back and back to her goddamn face again; all as she walks down the aisle with her father Charlie (Billy Burke). Everyone's happy, except Bella, who maintains a jizzed-in-my-pants expression on her face, and does pretty good job out of it. Jacob and his muscles make a "surprise" appearance to warn Bella against the dangers of vampire-intercourse and pregnancy, before Bella and Edward sneak off to Brazil to celebrate their honeymoon.
The honeymoon is the second most creepy thing that happens in the movie. Ensconced within a cozy hut, this is the place where Bella and Edward finally do it. The entire purpose of the series is accomplished here in one nasty night. That is why everyone was reading it, seeing it and going gaga about it. They wanted to know how the process of inter-specie human-vampire coitus feels. Why is it creepy? a) If you didn't read it correctly, I just said human-vampire coitus. Yes, a human having it with a vampire! Is that even legal? b) Bella is 18, Edward around a hundred. If you consider his other age, 17, he becomes a minor in half of the American states. c) They break the bed while doing it. What is he? A baby elephant?
And guess what happens then! Oh, you already know it! Bella gets pregnant! Surprise, surprise! How could Edward do this?! With his lifespan he still hasn't learnt the use of protection! What a dumbass! Jacob and his muscles warned her! What will happen now?! She will die! But, wait! Maybe she will shove a few contraceptives down her throat! Or maybe she'll abort the foetus! But she is Bella Swan, The Vanquisher of Death! She won't do any of those things! Because human-vampire intercourse often kills common sense!
The thing that single-handedly grabs the prize for being the most egregious thing about the film is the story. They made a hundred and seventeen minute-long movie on marriage, childbirth and the benefits of abortion. Are you kidding me?
The acting isn't world class, either. All the actors do is maintain one- pained, long-drawn expression on their faces - of anguish. The three lead characters, Lautner, Pattinson and their prized-trophy Stewart, still haven't learnt what it takes to become real actors. At this point, it isn't even funny; it's just pitiful.
The most creepy thing that happens in the movie is the child-birth process, and if creepy isn't bad enough, the movie also makes it disgusting. Bella's face contorts into hideous shapes, she screams like her head is on fire and there is even plenty of blood and biting. Sure, it might be realistic and all but that is not what the viewers paid for. They don't want to know how cross-breeds-between-vampires-and-humans are born. There was absolutely no reason to show it the way they did. Eating your popcorn and drinking coke during that scene is a very bad idea.
Jacob and his muscles are the only sane ones in this almighty mess, after all he seems to be the only one who knows that inter-specie sex is a bad idea indeed. With the exception of Jacob, his muscles and their sanity in this asylum, along with the decent soundtrack, the film is sickeningly obnoxious. What I really want to see after this is what happens after 50 years when they are sick and tired of each other and realize what incredible fools they were to take such drastic (REALLY DRASTIC) steps on mere infatuation. My guess is that they will blame it on the hormones. Everyone does.
Ah, another thing before I forget. The film scores some brownie points for asking some really thought provoking questions like Bella asking Edward "Are you a virgin?" or the even more amazing concerning her pregnancy "I know that it's impossible, but I think I am pregnant... Can this really happen?" Good questions, Mrs. Cullen.
The Graduate (1967)
Contrary to popular belief, love can be funny too.
The most interesting feature about The Graduate is the allusion to the protagonist being perpetually underwater. In one of the initial scenes of the movie, Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) is shown talking to his father resting against a fishtank in his room, his voice interspersed with the bubbling in the background. As the film proceeds, Ben walks into a swimming pool, oblivious to what everyone is excitedly screaming around him and remains there, still as the cadaver, as the camera retreats slowly, moving through water itself. Further more, there are several scenes that have him floating lazily on the pool, drifting away, both literally and metaphorically. The message in the bottle is clear - Ben is confused, dazed and drowning helplessly - and this forms the crux of his character.
After returning home from college, Ben is worried about his future. He is smart (a recepient of the coveted Helpingham award), he is an athlete and is the son of rich, proud parents who just can't enough of their son. Yet he is worried; talk about first-world problems. He meets Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft) at a party that his fiesty parents have arranged on the occasion of his homecoming. She asks him to drive her home and then invites him inside. One thing leads to another and before Ben can do anything about the events (though he does understand what's happening), a woman twice his age who is also the wife of his father's business partner, is standing naked in front of him, trying to seduce him. He makes a desperate dash for the exit but it isn't long before he calls Mrs. Robinson again, thus beginning a series of secret, cheap, hotel-room flings. However, things take a turn for the wilder side when the Robinsons' daughter, Elaine (Katharine Ross), returns from Berkeley and Ben falls in love with her despite Mrs. Robinson's protestations, who is 'prepared to tell her everything' in order keep Benjamin away from Elaine.
The neurotic Benjamin Braddock has been played superbly by Dustin Hoffman. The vacant expression on his face as he stares into nothingness, the trace-like quality to his gait, along with the underwater metaphor tell a lot about him. There is a distinct Woody Allen-esque feeling to him. He is an innocent, curious twenty year-old with a clean conscience, but is merely lost and doesn't know where his life is heading. The acts his commits - sleeping with Mrs. Robinson, being rude to Elain initially, seeming brash and arrogant to people at the party - though intentional, are often a result of being in this mental state. Though many actors could have pulled this role off, hardly anyone would have done it as beautifully as Dustin Hoffman.
The film has been made in a really intelligent manner, and you don't get to hear that very often for rom-coms. By not attempting to drag the movie very far from the realms of reality, it presents a kind of humour that keeps the laughter trickling, without overwhelming you.The film doesn't overdo the jokes; they are simple things that grab your attention and make tickle your funny bone - like Mr. Robinson repeatedly giving Ben a scotch even though he insists on having a bourbon, Ben's accidentally driving onto the pavement when Elaine mentions the Taft Hotel (the place where he had the flings) or Ben's encounter with a hotel clerk at the Taft. Along with Ben, the humour does break loose entirely in the head, which appears like a gradual crescendo and does have you gasping for breath through all the laughing, even though it seems slightly amateurishly done.
The cinematography, occasionally, really stands out from the rest the of the film. Parts of the movie that interlace the night Ben and Mrs. Robinson spend together with Ben's stay at home, merging the two in a confusing yet clever manner is really well done. It shows that despite his initial refusals, Ben actually enjoyed the time they spent together and thinks about it in his waking dreams, perhaps even without guilt. It does come as a nasty turn to see Ben lying on Mrs. Robinson and hearing Ben's father ask him the background 'Ben, what are you doing?'
By maintaining the right balance between the romance and the comedy, The Graduate, made in 1967, does set a precedent for generations of future romantic-comedies to come. It even has the iconic two-forbidden-lovers- run-to-their-freedom-while-evil-folks-try-to-catch-them scene among plenitudes of others that other films have shamelessly ripped off. Having Simon and Garfunkel do the music was a particularly intelligent thing to do. Listening to them croon 'Hello darkness my friend,' not only holds true for Ben, but also makes the film a soothing experience.
Fargo (1996)
In the words of Ebert: 'Films like Fargo are why I love the movies.'
It's a pity, really. Movies having a cast of relative unknowns of the industry, which make up for their lack of publicity with a superb storyline more often than not remain buried it the DVD archives titled 'no one cares' while films starring the big-wigs, with their six-packs or saving the world antics sell like reindeer training manuals in Antartica. Unfortunately, Fargo falls dead-centre in the former neglected category, which made the satisfaction of successfully excavating for it equivalent to finding a brick of pure gold.
Fargo keeps all pretensions aside. It is a simplistic, home-spun, small- town dark comedy-crime film and it doesn't try to be anything else. The story is almost insultingly simple. A slightly eccentric, paranoid car salesman, Jerry Lundegaard (William Macy) is facing an acute financial crisis. He meets two criminals, Carl (Steve Buscemi) and Gaear (Peter Stormare), and makes a deal with them - they will kidnap his wife for him in return for which Jerry offers them a car and half of the $80,000 ransom he plans to mooch off his rich, antagonistic father in law, who also happens to be his boss. They kidnap her successfully but the coup soon goes awry resulting in messy deaths, a pregnant policewoman (Frances McDormand) coming on the prowl and big mouthed hookers giving away vital information.
While the film could have gone the stereotypical comedy-chaos way with all the involved characters involved, it doesn't disappoint you. Writers-Directors Ethan Coen and Joel Coen stick to their guns. They slide the humour aside, though not neglecting it, while focusing entirely on development of the characters and the story. Fargo can be termed as a sitcom because most of the comedy is derived from the situations the characters, and especially Jerry, find themselves in. Jerry is absolutely inept at crime and is in no way prepared to deal with things as they begin snowballing out of hand. His absolute incompetence at controlling things is satirically proved by the fact that he can't ask the kidnappers to call off the job when things get awry since he doesn't have their phone numbers.
The film doesn't have a single protagonist, but the four important characters who share much of the screen time are all memorable, if not endearing. All the people involved are well-rounded, making them seem extremely close to real-life. Macy the Underrated is just splendid as the depressed and economically challenged Jerry. He isn't a bad guy, but is more simply a case of good guys resorting to unethical tactics due to desperation. A single scene where Jerry tries removing frozen ice from his car's windshield after a disappointing meeting illustrates the above mentioned fact; he isn't evil, just frustrated. Being a common man compelled to do wicked stuff, you pity him despite secretly laughing at his misery.
The two criminals are a study in contrast. Carl pretends to be the gregarious cool-guy who thinks he has everything in control, even if he knows things are going way out of hand. He does things that Gaear doesn't appreciate, like talk a lot, which makes him a classic case of the proverbial barking dogs seldom bite. Gaear is usually silent, but he proves to be the deadly when it comes to it. Despite being the brooding one, he makes many of the dangerous decisions that have to be made, like cold-bloodedly killing a cop followed by chasing down two kids who saw him kill the cop and shooting them too. A moment where their television doesn't work and their differing reactions perfectly highlights the stark difference between Carl and Gaear. The latter seems to be inspired from Sal in Dog Day Afternoon and it's only towards the end that you realize just how disturbed he is.
While the policewoman, Marge Gunderson, and her yet unborn baby barely look like a match for these demented men, she does have the benefit of intelligence on her side. Unlike the others, she doesn't believe in complicating things and with a clever combination of reason and deduction is able to take them on quite easily. Yet, the bulging belly doesn't give her the supercop feel, which makes her more life-like. Despite being the only woman in the midst of this chaos, McDormand carries her role of a faithful police-officer with ease, making you believe that you can trust her. She quite rightfully deserved the Academy Award for her neat performance.
It is the nonchalance and the simplicity of the movie that makes it such a real-life experience; a thing the movie even boasts of being. Even the details, like the conversational dialogues and the speaking accents are paid close attention to. The actors don't exceed the precincts of their roles, the drama is not overdone, the darkness isn't depressing and the comedy comes with the flow; giving a heart-warmingly authentic feel to Fargo. The film maintains a taut pace throughout, ending in a brilliant and bloody crescendo.
Magnolia (1999)
This is how you make artsy, minimalist films
Magnolia is the kind of movie that appeals to me almost instinctively, for multiple reasons. Movies of this sort are not made very often. They are very abstract and have melancholiness pervading them. Also, these movie are very niche; a majority of the audience will not appreciate their aesthetic value. Despite these seeming demerits, Magnolia is one of the most beautiful and compelling movies I have seen.
Primarily a film about people, emotions and coincidences, Magnolia is a story that revolves around multiple characters. It jumps from person to person, trying its best to showcase how one small act of one person affects others at large. In the initial scenes, the narrator speaks of three peculiar coincidences that have now become urban legends, establishing the tone of the movie. Jimmy Gator (Philip Baker Hall) is the host of the television show 'What Do Kids Know?' and he is about to die. His daughter, Claudia (Melora Walters), is a drug-addict and hates her father. Donnie Smith (William Macy), a grown-up gay wimp who wants to get braces for the sole purpose of impressing a male bartender, is a former child-prodigy and participant of the aforementioned quiz show. Stanley (Jeremy Blackman), an immensely intelligent kid, is a current participant on the show who has an obsessive, cold and demanding man for a father. Phil (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is a male nurse attending to a bed-ridden old man dying of cancer named Earl Partridge (Jason Robards). Linda (Julianne Moore) is Earl's young, frustrated wife; his second, for the record. Earl also has a son, Frank T.J. Mackey (Tom Cruise), who has deserted him. Earl's dying wish is to meet his son. But Frank despises him. He is a cocky, megalomaniac almost misogynistic man who gives sex- seminars called Seduce and Destroy. Jim (John Reilly) is an earnest, hard-working police officer, living a single, lonely life. He is genuinely kind and wants to do good for the world. Jim ends up on Claudia's doorstep and falls in love with her, closing all characters into a, abstract yet magnificent loop.
But there is more to this than first impressions convey. Besides the ones mentioned, there are even more characters in the story that have been given a considerable amount of screen time who play their part in the film. While it may appear like the proverbial 'too many cooks spoil the broth,' the case is not so. Director Paul Thomas Anderson gives sufficient screen-time to all the actors. They all have a job to do in the movie. The lead actors too aren't not just characterless, undefined gooey blobs, but working, functioning human beings. They have emotions, histories and are no more contrived than in real life. Every one of them doesn't meet the other, yet unknowingly, they affect each others' lives.
All the performances are marvelous, which is a must in a movie that focuses on humans. Feelings are handled like infants; delicately and with care. The film works on emotions brilliantly. The characters are each a farrago of emotions - angst, sympathy, depression and even the occasional bout of happiness. You feel for each one of them as they tackle their personal demons. Each has a past or present that haunts him. Jimmy Gator is haunted by the things that occurred between him and his daughter. Donnie Smith by his extinct brilliance and his closet homosexuality. Stanley is depressed by the way his father treats him. Linda is resentful of cheating on Earl and loves him now that he is dying.
However, the most touching of them all is the past of Frank. It isn't long before you realize that his current behaviour is a merely facade created by something that happened long back and there is something deep within that is bothering him. Tom Cruise carries this role perfectly, and tops it off with a goose-bumps raising performance in the final moments of the film, which does leave you feeling that he deserved more than just a measly Academy Awards nomination.
In most artistic films I have seen, very close attention is paid to the subtleties and Magnolia follows this trend. The music, though soft in the background, blends effortlessly with the situation. It escalates tension, portrays desolateness and flows like a river over pebbles. Many of the scenes are shot in pale lights and tinged with shades of dark blue and black which is significant of the prevalent morbidity present in the characters and in their existence. It creeps into you, indulging you even more into the movie.
Magnolia can be termed more of a piece of art than an entertainer. The end is highly unusual, but that just reasserts how unusual things can happen in the world. Quite nonchalantly, the film shows how we're just dots in a massive grid and how everything we do causes changes beyond measure.
2012 (2009)
Oh no the world is ending! Oh no they made a crappy movie out of it!
Half the people I know are obsessed with the world ending. It is almost as if they don't realize that they will be ending with it. The other half doesn't believe it's going to happen. I also like calling them the saner half. What 2012 does is, takes both the halves, fast forwards to 21/12/2012 and presents a highly stylized and dramatized version of what is likely to happen if the former half is proved right.
Jackson Curtis (John Cusack) is the protagonist of this dismal tale. He leads a melancholy divorced life as a writer. Doomsday is approaching. Despite being warned, humans naively believe it to be a farce. About then, the Mayan's get mighty angry and the end of the world begins. There are meteorite strikes, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, floods, pregnant Yetis going on a rampage - absolute mayhem. Through this detritus rises Mr. Curtis. He not only decides to save his neck but also takes his ex-wife (Amanda Peet), her new husband (Gordon Silberman) and his children along. And just as in Alive in Wonderland, they leave on a slightly more dangerous adventure dodging skyscrapers, flying airplanes and narrowly missing death 40 million times.
With all the destruction, demolition and chaos, most of the movie plays like a final destination ploy. Then it proceeds to become an apocalyptic survival-adventure flick with feeble attempts at comedy. And therein lays the problem.
Though all the effects, near-death escapes and the idea of Doomsday actually arriving does entertain you, the movie has no substance to back it up. With no solid plot to carry it through, it seems hollow as a bone without the marrow. There has a plethora of movies with such spectacular execution that a plot seemed unnecessary (Kill Bill Vol. 1, Shaun of the Dead) 2012 doesn't execute it very well either. There is a lot of adrenaline pumping stuff, but as the ending credits roll in you can't help but ask an unsatisfied 'What? That's it?'
Nothing extraordinary should be expected from the cast; they aren't the focus of the film. The characters are puppets to be tossed from one misfortune to another. Cusack adopts his trademarked deer-in-the- headlights-of-a-car act that works so well with members of the female contingent. He is the stereotypical heroic front-man, full of kindness, ever the brave-heart and probably smelling of strawberries. You don't want him die for those reasons. The rest of the actors are just there. They bring more to the role than the role brings to them. All of them are just trivial playthings in the larger scheme of events.
Big budget films are usually a visual delight. 2012 follows the trend. The special effects are adroitly done. They seem realistic and instill fear in you. That is probably the highest praise you can attribute to them. The tumultuous adventurous sequences are exciting, but overdone. The main characters people are nearly-killed too many times to seem plausible. It is almost as if Lady Luck and Cusack have a relationship of some sort.
Director Roland Emmerich doesn't seem to be very fond of the Earth as it is. After making Independence Day, Godzilla and The Day After Tomorrow, among a plethora of others, he strikes back with another 'the world is dying and we are dead meat' movie. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to have learned from his previous mistakes.
Though the latter half of the movie drifts away from the main picture, the apocalypse that is, the movie serves its purpose well – spread fear among paranoid people. Viewers were already making wills by the time they left the theater. On pragmatic thinking, it does beg a question. If the world is going to the end in 2012, it seems highly unlikely that the film-makers would have spent all the time, effort and money in making a movie about it.
The Sixth Sense (1999)
Sight, smell, touch, sound, taste, ...
The rampant notion that horror means something that makes you pee your pants is grossly misinterpreted. Horror does not necessarily mean ghosts, possessions or exorcisms. Horror is a feeling that eats you from inside and conveys that something is extremely wrong. It doesn't need to make you jump in your seat. It is meant to last long after you are done with the movie; an unpleasant memento you carry with you. Horror exploits your worst fears. It frightens you of dark corners, unknown noises and invisible things behind your back. This is also what The Sixth Sense does.
The movie begins on a rather happy note. Dr. Malcolm Crowe (Bruce Willis) is a content man. He is married to the woman he loves, is a reputed child psychologist and has won the Mayor's citation for professional excellence. The happiness doesn't last. An old patient shows up; a man the doctor had failed. He is scared, angry and troubled. Before the doctor can reason with him, the man shoots him and blows his own brains out. Next fall. The doctor is sitting on a bench, overlooking a child - his next patient. It is the second time he is handling such a case. Having failed the first time, he believes he will be forgiven for his past mistakes if he gets this one right. This is his chance at redemption.
However, the kid, Cole Sear (Haley Joel Osment) steals the show. The movie is centered around him and his problem in life. Everyone has a predictable reaction, one of disbelief. His mother, the doctor, and other children - everyone is skeptical. At a tender age, with his frightening inconvenience (the trailers reveal what it is. I won't. It would be an injustice), Cole is cast alone into the horrifying world, especially so for him. Harry Osment plays this role sublimely. You can notice fear in his prepubescent feminine voice, in his movements and on his face. Osment gives one of the best child-performances I have seen. His acting is nonchalant, yet brilliant. He even outdoes Bruce Willis with his performance, something that is truly commendable.
Bruce Willis looks pale in comparison to Osment. This isn't anything wrong with his acting, but it just appears feeble. He makes a good child psychologist and Cole's only companion, along with dealing his own troubled married life. But he does seem out of place at times in a non- action movie. Maybe we have grown just too accustomed to seeing him save the world as John McClane.
The movie has been shot in dim light, which speaks of the gloom and melancholiness prevalent in the film. The foreboding atmosphere is one of the factors adding to the horrors of this film. The tension too has been built up really well. It grips you, engulfs you, before shocking you.
Relationships have been portrayed in a beautiful manner. The mother-son relation between Cole and his mother is touching. She does her best to make Cole lead a normal life. Yet at times, she loses control, skeptical and tired of Cole's problem. Cole doesn't bother her with it. Without a father, he understands the situation they are in and the difficulties their two-member family is facing. He does not want to add to it.
The relationship between Dr. Crowe and wife too plays an important role. Initially things are good, but as Dr. Crowe gets overwhelmed with his new case, they begin drifting apart, or so it seems. He tries bringing it back together but fails repeatedly. She does not talk to him, celebrates their anniversary alone and also seems to be seeing a new guy, with Dr. Crowe watching all this helplessly. Watch over this closely, for the end to be even more rewarding.
However, easily the most effective relationship is that between Dr. Crowe and Cole; the former a middle-aged man, the latter just an innocent child. The contrast between them is clearly visible through a single dialogue exchange:
Dr. Crowe: You are not a freak. Okay? Don't you believe anybody that tries to convince you of that. That's bullshit. You don't have to go through your life believing that. Okay? Cole: You said the 'S' word.
Yet, he is Cole's only hope, the only person who even tries to understand him. Despite his troubled married life, he gives attention to Cole. And that is what is so wonderful about it. It can be best summed up in the words of Cole himself, when he says with tears in his blue eyes 'Don't fail me. Don't give up. You're the only one who can help me. I know it.'
The build-up of the movie is thoroughly gripping. Though it appears to be proceeding rather slowly, it adds to the depth of the film, letting you ponder as it moves. The film seems rather hurriedly wrapped up towards the latter part. But the absolute end is sheer genius. The Sixth Sense has given birth to one of the most iconic endings ever in Hollywood. That is the cherry on the cake.
Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010)
Video games, Fire Balls, Action; Mama Mia!
Scott Pilgrim is a 20-something small-time Canadian bass-guitarist living with a gay friend. He is dating a seventeen year old Asian girl, Knives C, much to the chagrin of those around him. Scott is smitten by Ramona Flowers, a mysterious girl with occasional tendencies of appearing in his dreams. But in order to get her, he has to battle and defeat the seven people she last dated or as they prefer calling them - her seven evil exes.
The story is not very intricate or clever. A boy loves a girl and must do something extraordinarily difficult (you know, fight someone dangerous people, climb Everest on his hands, listen to non-stop Justin Bieber for forty seven days) to win her over. But the way it has been portrayed is rather brilliant. It has been told in a nonchalant manner you can almost hear it saying 'who cares?' In a world where every movie is trying to outdo the other in terms of complicated plot lines and overwhelming stories, SPVTW comes like a burst of breath air. It doesn't make you think very much. The director Edgar Wright keeps things simple. However, unlike most other no-brainers, it gets the concoction right. Nothing has been overdone and the film falls strictly under the walls of sanity. The detached light-heartedness, the comic-timing, the ease with which the story flows all makes it delightful. It is the kind of film that you can watch multiple times yet not get tired of.
All the characters in the film are well-rounded and the actors play their parts with ease. The upcoming Michael Cera does an endearing job of being a cross between a bass guitarist with a penchant for pink- haired girls and a video-game uber-nerd. He makes a good lost-in-the- dark kid as creepy men repeatedly try and mash him to pulp. Scott isn't your stereotypical 'oh-he-is-so-nice' hero. Chicks won't swoon over him. They simply won't see how fighting seven incredibly powerful lunatics (most with superpowers) is being a better boyfriend than stalking, ditching and vampirizing your girlfriend. Alas, he can't glow in the sunlight; maybe that's the reason.
Though the film has plenty of side characters to toy around with, it manages to get them all right. The exes, Ramona, Knives, Scott's gay roommate Wallace, among a plethora of others, are all distinctly characterized. You don't get confused between any of them, remembering each of them by their individual personalities and idiosyncrasies. They carve their own identities within whatever little screen-time they are given. Many great movies have fallen in this trap, but Scott Pilgrim doesn't, making it all the more commendable.
The movie has a noticeable retro-gaming touch to it. It shows that the little things matter most and define the quality of the film. There are pee-bars, bass solos, anti-gravity stunts, bold subtitles, a Vegan, one- ups, KOs and plenty of other things that remind you of antiquated games. Defeated villains explode to coins. The action is very Matrix-like. Each villain enters like fighters in Street Fighter, or Mortal Kombat if you prefer. The action sequences are fast-paced with lots of fancy animation, effects and impact-verbs like 'whack!' or 'slam!' There is tons of eye-candy which also makes it a visual treat. Since it has been adopted from a comic, they are like a tribute to the original, glossy paper-back version.
Unfortunately, not much of the audience enjoyed it at first go. It proved to be a sleeper, blazing onto #1 on Blu-ray after its unceremonious exit from the theatres. The reasons were plenty and obvious. The sense of humour is impeccable. The jokes are funny, dark, caustic, satirical; yet always funny. The romance isn't mawkish and is one of the best I have seen in a while. It is refreshing. It doesn't make pretensions or allusions to something it could have been. Everything is right in front of you. Video-games, comics and cartoons truly make a spectacular movie.
It also teaches a very valuable lesson. Before you decide to date a girl, know if she has any ex-boyfriends with superpowers you might want to be careful off.
The Incredibles (2004)
A Superhero movie with real Superheroes.
I am on a superhero high. I've had so much of them that I have finally learnt to shoot laser from my eyes; really. Most of it has been bad. I felt that the superhero days were over. A certain desolateness was creeping into my hapless existence. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I stole my hot, blonde neighbour's Porsche, drove at jet speed to my nearest retail store, ran down two priests, a banshee and a flatulent Eskimo on my way and bought a DVD of The Incredibles. That digital versatile disk didn't work, so I sued the shopkeeper and did the stealing, running over and buying thing again. I plugged it in and blissfully slipped into an animated world of action, comedy and some real superheroes.
The reel rolls with an expected action sequence. Mr. Incredible (voice by Craig T. Nelson) catches thieves, prevents a man from committing suicide, saves a cat and is about to defeat Bon Voyage when an intrusion by his 'biggest fan' results in large scale loss of public property and the escaping of the criminal. Suddenly, the public is angry at these virtuous vigilantes and they are forced underground.
Fifteen years later Robert Parr is facing a midlife crisis. He has married Helena Parr, formerly Elastigirl (voice by Holly Hunter), has helped increase the world population by three and works in an insurance firm under an obnoxious boss, who soon fires him. On the same day he gets a message from a mysterious woman who provides him with another shot at long lost glory. It is a clandestine operation and hidden from the scrutinizing eye of his family, Mr. Incredible returns to business.
In all fairness, animated movies have a definite advantage over non- animated ones. The former don't have to worry about testy actors, bad weather and other such misfortunes that plague the unfortunate latter. If The Incredibles was not an animated movie, it wouldn't have been as good a movie as it otherwise was. However, it IS an animated movie and that puts things in a whole new perspective.
As many detractors would say, the concept isn't highly original per se and it is difficult to contradict them. However, undeniably, The Incredibles was a fresh watch. It was a surprise in 2004, releasing before Nolan's Batman, Ironman and other recent hits.
The four protagonists are extremely well characterized and do not end up becoming tropes. They are affable, endearing and with a baby named Jack- Jack, make a good little superhero family. The side –cast too (Frozone, Edna, Mirage) too manage to carve their own identity, each of them being memorable. The antagonist, Syndrome, leaves more to be desired. He should have been more evil, more clever, more mysterious and more everything else Supervillians need to be.
The film loses out slightly because of being predictable. At every point in the movie you can foretell how the events are going to unfold next. As a result of which nothing surprises you. Everything happens exactly how you had expected it to. What could have been an amazing entertainer becomes a clichéd entertainer. It lacks the ingenuity that other PIXAR films bring with them. It is a pity because an otherwise brilliant movie slips into mediocrity due to this error.
The Incredibles scores well on other fronts. It does well to wring emotions out of you. Your kids, who are also the target audience, are going to love it. The kid in me did. They will be enthralled by the effects, action and superpowers, and in all likelihood won't begrudge the movie for the above mentioned reasons.
And to top it all, like all PIXAR releases, this one too is subtly heart-warming. How does one complain against that?
Lost in Translation (2003)
Some people are never meant to be. Or are they?
Lost in Translation is a film whose meaning varies with perception. It could be like a piece of art for some; beautiful is its every fabric. It might be an ocean for others, deep and thought provoking. And for a few, it can even be a symphony, well-composed, soothing and touching. Bob Harris (Bill Murray) is an actor traversing the descending slope of his career. He looks haggard, past his fifties, is not entirely happy with his married life and is now stuck in Japan, shooting for an advertisement for Suntory whiskey. Charlotte is a newly married girl, just done with her graduation. Her husband is a busy man. She is lonely. Bob and Charlotte meet; an unlikely couple. In an alien land where even the language is unknown to them, they find solace in one another - he a father with half his days gone, she a young woman who doesn't know her purpose in life. But some things are never meant to be. Or are they?
The movie doesn't have a plot it has a story in the form of observations made through the eyes of its protagonists. The story evokes the tenderest of your emotions as you see two distraught people trying to come to terms with their lives. The atmosphere is melancholy, but it doesn't permeate into your heart. Instead, you can't help but marvel at the subtle perfection of the build-up. There are times when the camera focuses on things in the foreground, but the blurred, Christmas-like red, blue, yellow and other resplendent lights in the background catch your eye, which when keenly observed, not only help in developing the environment, but are also a visual delight. The movie has been shot in a dim-light which suits its air. It is also symbolic of the desolateness encroaching Bob's and Charlotte's existence. The soundtrack is like drops of rain echoing through still surroundings. It is soft, but it resonates with the situation. Every scene of the film has been adroitly made by the director, Sofia Coppola. The things that have been shown on screen are more meaningful than they appear, and as you contemplate over them, things are revealed, the realization of which is sheer bliss.
The film handles emotions like newly born babies. It carries them steadily throughout, before reaching a gradual crescendo. Despite its dismal settings, there isn't a moment that causes ennui. It has been tinged with Bill Murray's sardonic sense of humour and causes an odd sense of joy, one that isn't reflected outside but fills you with fuzzy warmth - like happy memories of antiquity.
How does one complain against Bill Murray? With his performance in this movie, he just reasserts what a sublime actor he is. He is witty and cynical, but unhappy and despondent. He works with a nonchalant air. Though he is old enough to be Charlotte's dad, he carries the role with grace. Murray doesn't pretend to be Bob Harris; he is the man.
Despite the pressure of having a man like Murray opposite her, Scarlett Johansson does an impressive job as Charlotte. She is sensitive, innocent and unprepared for the hardships of the world; that is why you feel sorry for her. She remains silent through all her ordeals, and that shows her inner strength. The two blend well together, each giving a simple, but unforgettable performance in their own way.
A subtle yet distinct feature of the film is that the voice of a person speaks about his/her personality. Both Bob and Charlotte are soft spoken and their character is likewise - soft, brooding and thoughtful. They remain like that through the movie - never loud, never brash - and so does their persona. There are others, some overwrought, some morbid and some that talk really fast, which are all reflections of who the people are - gregarious, depressed and overworked, in that order.
Japan has been shown in the best light possible, without there being pretension of any sort. Even the mere sight of the monks and temples makes you feel at peace with yourself. They have shown the sunrise against the skyscrapers - the former a breathtaking beauty, the latter proof of Japan's phenomenal growth. The Japanese are a study in contrast to their American counterparts - they are excited, perpetually joyous and very outspoken. They love their guests and are infatuated with their language, even though they are horrendously lousy at it and never get the 'r' and 'l' correct.
Lost in Translation is a very niche film. It isn't for those who try and find a purpose in everything that happens. It can only be appreciated by people who notice its serenity and realize that the journey is often worth more than the goal. As for the end, it is truly spellbinding. It will mean different things to different people, like the movie has been specially designed to suit your imagination.
Final Destination 5 (2011)
FD5 is to death what Kama Sutra is to sex.
Death has always fascinated humans. The more gruesome, the better it is. In came the 21st century and in came Final Destination, which followed by four more was anything but the final destination. They redefined the meaning of dying; it was no longer just the end, it became a piece of art. The concept then was original and clever - a group of people are saved from a fatal accident after one of them has a premonition. Death gets angry and starts topping them off one by one. Very basic and totally hardcore; something like a sadist's wet dream.
Eleven years and four movies later, the concept remains the same. Originality was killed in the first film along with the unfortunate characters. 'Death has never been closer,' the posters proudly and ominously proclaim, just like it hadn't been in Final Destination, Final Destination 2, Final Destination 3 and The Final Destination.
The biggest challenge for the film-makers in this time period has been inventing increasingly disturbing methods to massacre people, which isn't a very difficult task per se. All you need to do is take a bridge, take a person, demolish the bridge and ensure that the person coincidentally falls and gets impaled onto the mast of a sailing boat. Bonus points if the person is a semi-hot female who screams really loud and dies with blood spattering in your face. The deaths are funny, gruesome, disgusting, sudden, painful, ironic, and accidental - things you can't imagine, but can certainly foresee. You could appreciate the creativity, though - they do it better than Hitler himself and he's a man who had over six million chances.
The opening reminded me of my imaginary son's third grade annual day. Every character comes, speaks two lines as an introduction and walks away. You can almost hear them saying 'Hello, I'm so and so, and I am going to get crushed to pulp by a pregnant angry Yeti,' before fading away into the background. The actors are nobodies so don't expect too much from them. They almost seem apologetic while acting. They are here to die so let them just die is peace. They are all hoping that someone gets hooked seeing them get slaughtered and gives them their long awaited shot at glory. I'd certainly cast them as props if I could - you know, rocks, trees and maybe even a statue.
The film seems like a big, goddamn parody at times, but then you see the serious expression on everyone's faces, the impression soon passes. Except for the kill-skills, everything is a cliché. The protagonist (the guy who you suspect may not die), Sam Lawton (Nicholas D'Agosto) is the stereotypical front-man - brooding, non-skeptical, heroic with occasional abilities of getting sneak-previews into the future. The dialogues happen in your head before they happen on the screen, leaving a 'this has happened before' taste in your mouth. There is the musical crescendo every time someone is going to get annihilated, the glorious revelation by a mysterious guy, the blame-game, the 'imma-wanna-cheat- death' - déjà vu.
The movie has a morbid sense of humour which manages to evoke more laughter than the recently churned out 'comedies,' though I am not very sure if it that was intended. The abruptness of some deaths tickles the funny bone. No sane person would deny that there is something oddly hilarious about a man getting impaled onto the hook of a crane. But that could just be me.
Creating suspense just seems pointless and futile. After making four parts with the same freaking story, you kind of expect the audience to know what's coming next; they only want to know how. That's where the movie earns some brownie points. The tension has been built well. The film plays well on your fear of small things, like nails, candles, needles and other objects that make you cringe. The moments just before someone dies are the only highlight in this detritus of blood, gore and flying body organs.
To top it all, there is also the unwanted yet obligatory romance which is totally devoid of emotions and sensuousness. After reaching a point where you eventually get tired of seeing people get eviscerated, chopped, mutilated, lacerated and burned, the end only comes as much awaited.
But, four sequels down the line, they still don't answer the question – why or how are the visions, or premonitions happening? Maybe they'll make a sixth part explaining it all. If they do, I can bet my house that a man will die due to accidental ingestion of a zombie rabbit who is actually Death is disguise. On a random note, I do suffer from fits of exaggeration at times. But then, so do the movie-makers.
Singham (2011)
Superman without his underwear.
I have a very good reason for reviewing this movie slightly later than I should have - I didn't want to watch the movie. I had reached a point where I wasn't willing to go even if someone else paid for my tickets. Seeing the trailer twice had put me off. I knew what to expect - an angry, testosterone charged, righteous man with biceps the size of watermelons beating the living daylights out of a stereotypical goon. But a bunch of Afghani terrorists eventually knocked me out with excessive chloroform, covered my head with a sack that smelled of soiled underwear and before I knew what was happening, I found myself seeing the opening credits to the movie Singham. Was my sceptical self surprised with the film? No. Was my sceptical self proved wrong? Of course not.
Bajirao Singham (no he isn't a Tamil-Muslim-Hindu triple cross) is an honest police officer living in the town of Shivgarh. He is a hardworking vigilante, deserving of all the respect bestowed upon him by his townsfolk. He can be termed as Superman without the underwear; yes, he is that strong. He crosses paths with evil-politician-gang leader- corrupt-man-extortionist-kidnapper Jaykant Shikre. They fight. Physics is raped. End of story.
Ajay Devgn has run a full loop. After experimenting with action, romance, dramas, comedy and even a musical, he is back to where he started from. This time, he has come well prepared to stun the audience with his thoroughly ripped body, leaving not a single muscle that can't kill men if hit with. As Bajirao Singham, he is the cop that you always wanted to see in your neighbourhood. Ajay Devgn suits this image well. There are several allusions to him being a lion, and a lion he is. Anything that gets in between him and what he wants can be considered as good as annihilated; and that includes men, cars and everything else remotely movable. The only grudge I bear against him is his total disregard towards destruction of public property, but that's quickly forgiven as he relentlessly kicks ass in novel, entertaining ways.
Prakash Raj as Jaykant Shikre is the perfect match for this macho-man- with-his-butt-on-fire. He is a vile, wicked and ruthless thug with an ego as big as Singham's bulges. The two form a made-in-Heaven couple, each very well justifying the existence of the other. He also has a caustic sense of humour which is much-appreciated in the tense atmosphere. However, the worst part of him is not that he kidnaps children, tortures men or drives officers to the point of suicide; it is that he is corrupt. Yes, the 'C' word. That is reason alone for all of the audience to join hands against him and cheer Singham as he repeatedly goes Rambo on Shikre's defences.
Somewhere in the middle of the movie, or earlier if you are smart, you may realize that the movie could have as well be shot on the moon. The film probably made Isaac Newton toss in his grave. There is nothing that even remotely obeys the laws of physics in the movie; by that I mean no gravity, no inertia and neither any sense of force. Singham can basically do whatever the hell he wants to, and that includes jump onto people flying in mid-air, uproot light poles cemented onto a surface or kick a chair to Mars. This could have been forgiven if he had been a Superhero with superpowers dressed in a super-costume, but since that's not the case, it just alienates the movie from reality. Though the crowd loved this, with some hardly managing to hold onto their seats due to the excitement, adrenaline or booze, I was just left bewildered.
There are aspects that are unremarkable about the film. The music is crass and boring. Except the lead song there isn't anything of the music that you carry with you outside the theatre, and that thing you do, the lead song that is, gets stuck in your head like a non-terminating loop. There are shots in slo-mo, as you'd expect in any action flick. It also has a retro touch to it, which is currently the new hot, chick of Hindi cinema. Viewers are going to love it. Powerful lead performances, death- defying stunts, old-school action sequences; it's going to sell like hotcakes in famine inflicted Somalia. That is if the Somalians are into bakery products and all that.
But from a critical point of view, the romance is mawkish, with the obligatory girl-by-the-hero's-side, Kajal Agrawal getting onto your nerves. She is loud, boisterous and clearly excited to be in Bollywood. In all honesty, she sucks. Most of the side-cast is just a waste of screen-space. They are like unwanted flab on someone's behind. On a random note, I think I must learn to give better similes.
The film has a historical baggage of its own - it is a remake of a Tamil movie titled Singam (notice the missing 'h'; that's the creativity). It is about time Indian directors learnt that remaking Tamil films isn't entirely a smart thing to do. Add to it dialogues in Marathi. The crowd gets turned on. Hoots, cheers, wolf-howls. Ringing cash counters. Disgusted critic.
It only proves once again that Bollywood still hasn't grown up.
Dog Day Afternoon (1975)
Instructions on how not to rob a bank.
Dog Day Afternoon is an on-reel embodiment of Murphy's Law - anything that can wrong will. Three men decide to rob a bank. Nothing seems to have been premeditated; it is almost as if they were going for lunch but make an impulsive detour. They go in and brandish their guns. One chickens out, leaves, while the two hold fort. Murphy springs his evil trap. The bank is found to have been emptied the same day, leaving only $1,100. And the cops have surrounded the building. The cops cannot storm the place since the two men Sonny Wortzik (Al Pacino) and Sal (John Cazale) are holding hostages - the bank manager, an asthmatic guard and a bunch of female recruits. The situation is precariously balanced on a knife's edge. One wrong move and the whole thing blows. It's a deadlock; a stalemate. Despite bleak hopes of making out, Sonny refuses to surrender. He and his partner don't want to go to jail. The cops too are willing to play ball, for it is a hostage situation. Placing everything neatly on a landmine, the story unfurls. That is Dog Day Afternoon for you.
Easily the most distinctive feature of the film is Pacino as the flamboyant Sonny. He is not a professional thief and does try to be one. He is a street-smart war veteran with almost no experience of working on the other side of the law and it succinctly shows. He is amateurish in every way possible – his clothes (brown tuxedo, pale yellow shirt with a stripped red and orange neck-tie), his demands and his behavior under pressure are all marred by the lack of professionalism. He is awfully kind to his captives and tries to keep them under the utmost care, perhaps a symptom of Stockholm syndrome. He isn't a cold-hearted, callous thief, and that is why you feel sorry for him. Pacino plays his role so delightfully that even watching him is sheer ecstasy. He does not impersonate Sonny. He slips into his skin and adopts his identity with perfection.
John Cazale as Sal too does not get overshadowed under the imposing stature (at 5'7'', not literally of course) of Al Pacino. It is unfortunate that Cazale got to do merely five feature films (The Godfather, The Godfather: Part 2, The Deer Hunter, The Conversation and Dog Day Afternoon) before his untimely demise. Though in demeanour, he is quite the opposite of his partner – dark, silent and brooding with a foreboding air about him, the two get on pretty well, except for trivial disagreements when the look in Sal's cold, black eyes makes you fear that he will convert the entire bank into a slaughterhouse. He is the one who holds the hostages when Sonny, ever the people's man, negotiates with the cops under the sign of truce. He maintains his character with dignity, never letting the viewer slip from the impression that this is a dangerous man.
Another highlight of the film is a trademark Sidney Lumet move – the way in which he has treated political issues, a thing that further adds to the drama and the taught, uncertain atmosphere. The director is popular for such twists in the tale. While in 12 Angry Men, he took on racism and darker sides of human idiosyncrasy and in Network he tackled the media, this time he has brought to light Attica prison riot, homosexuality and media, the latter in a different manner.
Sonny cites the example of Attica when asked to surrender, which was a similar hostage situation in a prison where the prisoners demanded for better living conditions. Around forty people were killed by the State police, the innocent with the guilty. The memory of this incident helps him incite the masses who suddenly begin sympathizing with him and makes him something of a messiah. Around the middle of the movie, Sonny is revealed to be homosexual. Though not much has been said about the rampant prejudice against homosexuality, this fact helps him gain support from the homosexual community of the town. They appreciate that Sonny hasn't kept his secret closeted. It isn't long before almost all the throngs of people waiting outside the bank back Sonny. But it certainly makes us hope that Lumet wasn't trying to insinuate that all homosexuals should start grabbing guns and robbing their neighbourhood banks to gain recognition and popularity. That would be slightly inconvenient.
The media plays a crucial part through this tumultuous roller-coaster ride. The thing about robbing a bank that appears so tantalizing so everyone, except the police, is the instant stardom, which is beautifully highlighted by a scene in the movie, where a delivery boy delivers a pizza to Sonny and yells excitedly to the cameras, 'I'm a f*****g star!'
The concept is simple; nothing fancy, nothing extraordinary, but the prowess with which it has been portrayed constantly keeps the viewer on tenterhooks. The movie has a nonchalant, almost caustic sense of humour. It does appear overdrawn (125 minutes), but a Scorsese-like ending which gives the viewer the impression that the director suddenly decided to pack up makes up for it. The movie, however, might put you under the belief that the tale is too far-fetched to be feasible ('no one robs a bank just like that!'), but then again, this is a real-life story.
12 Angry Men (1957)
Delight in black and white.
Courtroom dramas don't work well with everyone. Neither do movies in black and white, people find them dull, boring and lack-lustre. 12 Angry Men falls in both these categories. Yet, it manages to astound you with its breathtaking brilliance and subtle perfection.
A boy is convicted of murdering his father. Witnesses, good lawyers, bad past record, motive; an open and shut case. Three minutes into the movie and the twelve jury members are in their chamber. They have all got their priorities and schedules - one has a baseball match, another has his garages going to pot. Everyone wants to leave; it is not their butt that is going to land on the electric chair anyway. Prior to a discussion of any sort, an initial vote is held with the hopes of making a quick, clean job out of it. Eleven are convinced he is guilty. One isn't quite so sure. And hence unfolds one of the greatest dramas Hollywood has ever seen.
The movie doesn't waste time in showing the lawyers fighting like shark. It doesn't show a depressed teenager sobbing his guts out in the box. The camera focuses on him but once, and that single look is enough to convey a farrago of emotions - fear, exhaustion, uncertainty and a certain innocence. Instead, it does what it is meant to - focus on the twelve men that matter; in whose hands resides the fate of the accused. They are regular people from everyday spheres of life - a coach, architect, bank clerk - men who don't overanalyze when presented with facts. They naively, yet innocuously, take things at their face value which compels them to reach the guilty verdict; after all, the evidence is overwhelming. The lone man (Henry Fonda) who contradicts them, however, realizes the onus that has befallen them and refuses to reach a hasty conclusion, for he believes that there is the possibility of there being reasonable doubt and as the American Constitution states, a man is innocent until proved guilty. Initially, the others are merely taken aback at the trivial inconvenience due to this rebellion of sorts. But this soon turns to resentment, finally boiling to anger - something that beautifully justifies the title of the movie.
Henry Fonda does a convincing job as juror number eight. He is brooding, intelligent, pragmatic and at the same time calm with a mild demeanour. His acting isn't artificial as he thoroughly indulges himself in his role. The performance is powerful and both the jury members and viewers find it hard to counter his arguments. He asserts that ratiocination is the best and only way to decide - for a man's life hangs in the balance. As the movie proceeds, you see him demolishing proofs one after the other, till they all collapse like a stack of cards. The others too play their part, however, there isn't a real standout among the remaining eleven; a shortcoming that the movie faces. The rest of the characters have been poorly portrayed and lack depth; there is nothing that stands out or is memorable about them. While the film had several chances to introduce more dimensions to its actors, it simply fails to do so, despite the fact that is it primarily a character-centric movie. Fonda is staunch in the lead role, but the faceless others serve no purpose than contradict him, sticking to him like leeches, without creating an identity of their own.
The tension has been skilfully built up - right from the weather (it is the hottest day of the year) to the claustrophobic environment where the entire episode takes place. The idiosyncrasies of men have been highlighted wonderfully; their feeble mindedness, their anxiety, dogmatism, their indecisiveness and their fury at being constantly opposed by men who change their votes like the flip of a coin. They reason out, fight, talk dirty and negotiate. Their faces glisten with sweat. They smoke. A weapon is brandished and a man resorts to violence. Men are prejudiced, for the accused comes from a poor society with a history of violence. Some even cite personal reasons for convicting the boy. There is racism, bigotry and impatience; but juror number eight refuses to budge, for he believes that the life of a man is worth more than that.
The director Sidney Lumet (Network, Dog Day Afternoon) knows that the movie isn't about the suspense and doesn't try to make it into one. It is about how the characters have been drawn out, each representing a dimension of human personality. Though, like many great movies, 12 Angry Men was a commercial failure, it is considered as a benchmark in American cinema. It is touching, mesmerising and provocative, and it does so much in a mere ninety six minutes, which indisputably makes it one of the greatest cult classics of all times.
The Shawshank Redemption (1994)
A 142 minute sermon on hope.
Hope is a powerful thing. Allow it to poison your mind and it will drive you to insanity; handle it with care and it will guide you to redemption.
The Shawshank Redemption is the story of a man, Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins), who has been convicted of a crime he claims he did not commit – the gruesome double-murder of his wife and her secret lover in bed. He is sentenced for two lifetimes at Shawshank State Penitentiary, one for each murder. The lanky, soft-centered Dufresne is soon befriended by Ellis Boyd 'Red' Redding, another lifer, played magnificently by the prolific Morgan Freeman, who is also the narrator of the story.
What we see of Andy is through the eyes of Red. He is like the ocean – calm on the surface, yet seething from within. He isn't shown crying, begging for mercy or slipping into madness despite the fact that he is forever haunted by his past and desire for redemption. The relationship between the two men extends beyond just friendship – they are survivors who need the company of each other to make it through the hell they find themselves in.
But the movie is not just about their friendship or Andy's desire for redemption. The life in prison too has been displayed with remarkable empathy. You feel for Andy as his life is brutally altered forever. You feel for Red as he is repeatedly denied parole despite his immaculate behavior. You feel for the men vilified and ostracized by society who still have humanity left within them.
The performances by the two lead characters, Robbins and Freeman, are splendid. Robbins, in the shoes of Andy, touches you deeply with his soft-spoken, timid nature; but Freeman as Red steals the pie. His portrayal leaves a last impression on you and it is something you carry with you even after the end of the movie. His haunting voice brings life to the narrative as it resonates through the stony prison walls. He carries his character with ease, not once letting his acting look forced or contrived. I wouldn't be hesitant in stating that this is certainly one of his best performances till date – and that's saying of a man who has given breathtaking performances in Se7en, The Bucket List and the Batman series. The other characters too fit their places – the sadistic prison guard (Clancy Brown), the warden with rigid yet corrupt principles (Bob Gunton) and all the other inmates each with a personal life and voice of his own – nothing looks out of place. They work together like cogs of a well-oiled machine, or in this case, a desolate prison.
A feature that strikes you distinctly about the movie is the varying colour palettes. The hue of the film changes with the situation the protagonist finds himself in. They are associated with the mood of the scenario. When hope is bleak, the screen is predominantly grey which conveys a sense of helplessness. In the prison, shades of blue create a claustrophobic environment and overwhelm one with morbidity. At the same time, when Andy is happy, the settings are bright which helps develop an atmosphere of ebullience and joy.
The movie released in the same year as other masterpieces like Pulp Fiction, The Lion King and Forrest Gump. Unfortunately, it missed out on the Oscar to the latter, yet IMDb terms this as the best movie of all times. Despite the greatness of the movie, somehow I beg to differ with that. I believe that there cannot be one best movie of all times. This is a subjective area that varies with person and perception.
Where does hope come into the picture? Everywhere. Just as with Pandora's Box, when evil is overpowering, the only thing that remains is hope. Coupled with clever dialogue and heart wrenching moments, this movie reeks of emotions, out of which hope is the primary one. In the words of Andy Bufresne, '
there's something inside... that they can't get to, that they can't touch. That's yours.' It's hope.
Zombieland (2009)
Zombies are not scary anymore.
There was a time when humanity roamed naked on the surface of the Earth. There was a time when every syllable that poured out of a semi-clothed lunatic's mouth became a word of the almighty. And there was a time when zombies were actually scary. But why delve in the past? Now is not that time. Walking nude of the streets has been banned by law, lunatics are stashed in asylums and zombies have become the third funniest things in the world, after glittering vampires and Justin Bieber's puberty talks. Zombieland is based on the latter, not his puberty talks of course, but funny zombies. Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg) is a lone man walking through a zombie apocalypse, accompanied by his ever faithful double-barreled shotgun. He has a set of survival rules ('#3 Beware of bathrooms', '#17 Don't be a hero,' '#21 Avoid strip clubs'; to name a few) that he scrupulously follows. They don't do much except keep him alive. He meets another survivor Tallahassee - a brutal, powerful, hulk of a man - who gets sadistic pleasure in kicking zombie arse. Though he is not particularly fond of Columbus, they strike a friendship of sorts, united by a common goal of not ending up as zombie-food. He decides to drive Columbus to Columbus, where the latter wants to find his family. One their way they meet Wichita (Emma Stone) and Little Rock (Abigail Breslin), the former a beautiful twenty-year old and the latter a mean little bitch; both con-sisters. Columbus falls in love, things become screwy, zombies get mashed up and everyone goes home happy and satisfied.
The movie does not rely too heavily on its plot (when have zombie movies ever?), but scores high on execution. Despite being set in a grim, dystopian atmosphere, comic-timing is one of the highlights of the film. Zombieland doesn't weigh itself down with the bulk of making a zombie- flick; it does quite the contrary. Humans have always maintained a soft spot towards seeing creatures they abhor be ridiculed and maimed. The movie exploits this well, much to its benefit. With witty dialogues and adroitly done action sequences - where zombies are shot in the head, face, gut, groin and otherwise blasted to the moon - it is difficult to suppress laughter every few minutes. Though the humour is inclined towards the slapstick side, it is funny in every sense of the word.
The acting is brilliant with Eisenberg proving his mettle as an upcoming actor (he later delivered a superb performance in The Social Network). He befits the lead role with perfection; as a coulrophobic, cynical and klutzy nerd with an awkward gait. His list of life-savers accounts for much of the laughter and as he stumbles through the mayhem, often saving his neck by mere inches, you can't help but marvel at his performance. Woody (the second-best Woody I know) Harrelson as Tallahassee is a hard man with a soft centre. He despises - nay, that would be an understatement - unabashedly and wholeheartedly hates zombies; an idiosyncrasy that is later attributed to the loss of a loved one at their hands. He is to the zombies what Blade was to the vampires. However, making plant manure out of zombies is not his only purpose in life. The thing he wants in the whole wide world is Twinkies, and whoever comes between him and a Twinkie is dead meat.
The action and special effects are realistic, to say the least. The zombies look and do a convincing job of being blood-thirsty freaks and certain moments, when they materialize out of nowhere manage to make the viewers jump in their seats. The zombie-slaying, gore and erupting bodies all make it visually appealing. And the fact that the undead are not their usual snail-paced selves, but rather surprisingly agile for their reputation makes the chases and fight sequences even more exciting.
The middle, however, suffers from a drag. The director (Ruben Fleischer) tries making the movie into a rom-com-zom; with emphasis on the rom. It seems uncalled for, because the relentless blood-baths suited my taste better. And just when I was about the chop another star from the movie, much like a zombie's head, in came Bill Murray; a man whose mere presence on the screen evokes ebullience. His splendid cameo saved the star and also proved that some actors never become too old to make one laugh.
You have to feel for the unfortunate, undead bastards. From being one of the most feared and disgusting fictitious creatures, they have been made into a juvenile joke. They are still as ugly as ever, with skin peeling off, rotting brains and organs ready to fall, yet they no longer inspire fear. They are also stupid as a donkey's testicles, but you can't blame them. Their brains are cross-wired and it's hardly their fault that they cannot differentiate between a dildo and a shotgun. Tallahassee repeatedly bludgeons through their hordes. They get shot, crushed, squashed, run over, whacked, decapitated and otherwise beaten up so much that you actually feel sympathetic towards them. You can empathize, because in a way they are just hungry creatures and humans are their food.
If you agree with the above lines, I think you should consider getting a check-up done.
Zombies are bad. They deserve to die. Zombieland does just that.