Ok. So I haven’t seen a film in what seems like eternity. Which explains why depression is fast setting in – coupled with the fact that we’ve a working Saturday in office (blasphemous! I say). The family decided to catch Heyy Babyy (let’s wreck the English language beyond recognition and add to our kids’ confusion!) last night – while I was slaving it out at work. Daughter loved it and made her mother proud by dancing on the seats when Shah Rukh made his ‘surprise’ entry and hogged the whole show in the process. Husband ate popcorn, nachos, veg roll, among other multiplex delicacies, dozed off when his mouth was not full, and finally gave his profound verdict: “It’s ok, but full of Bollywood clichés.” He’s an everyman critic with stock, monosyllabic expressions: “timepass” (any film with Govinda and one item number), “bakwas” (a film without songs, and of the painful, socially hyper-conscious variety), “hot” (fast-paced, perfect combo of sex and violence), “solid” (Don, Mr. Natwarlal, Muqaddar Ka Sikander or indeed any Amitabh Bachchan flick that nostalgically reminds him of his own ‘angry young man’ days).
Oh yes, we did watch Chak De! India, but that seems like a long time ago. Which reminds me, I’ve recently re-discovered an old quirk – crying copiously in the movies. Chak De!, with its rousing speeches (70 minute, sirf 70 minute hai tumhare paas) and underdog pitch proved to be tailor-made for catharsis. Before that, there was Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix which had me crying in despair – it flew right past my small, very limited brain and for two excruciating hours, took the charm out of cinema. Back in my childhood I’d wept profusely when I watched Amitabh Bachchan die in Dharmendra’s arms in Sholay. It’s my earliest memory of cinema and one that’s still vivid. I have a strong suspicion that Ramgopal Varma Ki Aag is going to revive that moment and induce a fresh crop of tears at the merciless marauding of my favourite Hindi film and the tragic descent into dementia of a filmmaker I’d thought held much promise. A decade ago, that is; nothing RGV has made post-Company has been of any interest. Yes, including the allegedly slick Sarkar, which I could have peacefully slept through but for the loud bullet-spraying bangs at regular intervals in the second half, which had my heart breaking into palpitations.
