Nikhil Advani's 'Salaam-E-Ishq' is inordinately long and often tedious to watch. One had the same feeling about his debut film 'Kal Ho Na Ho' too, where Shah Rukh Khan's Aman refused to die in time and hammed endlessly. Only this one is an hour lengthier and it's not even as though the filmmaker has something substantial to say. But then, if the source material itself is as shallow as 'Love Actually', there can't be much to look forward to in any case.
Advani picks up the skeletal framework of Richard Curtis' star-studded romantic comedy and fills it with a formidable cast and ensemble stories. Much of the thematic content is lacklustre – a wannabe film actress desperate for publicity, a bored 40-year-old's mid-life crisis, a commitment-phobic bachelor on the threshold of marriage, a taxi driver besotted with his firang passenger, a newly married couple's unsuccessful attempts at trying to consummate their marriage and a much-married couple's distress following a personal tragedy.
Often, it is the performances that prop the individual vignettes. Particularly in the case of the two stories that stand out of the mess – the John Abraham-Vidya Balan episode about a couple coping with the wife's amnesia and the Anil Kapoor-Juhi Chawla story about a middle-aged man's infatuation for a much younger girl and the wedge it drives in his marriage. The first for John and Vidya's fabulous on-screen chemistry, the latter, for the seasoned pair's delicately balanced performances. The only other noteworthy act comes from Akshaye Khanna in a half-baked story about a rich brat who doesn't want to get tied down by marriage.
To Advani's credit, he tries his best to juggle the voluminous material and occasionally surprises you with his sensitivity, particularly in the two episodes mentioned above. Some of the transitions from one story to the next are seamless, but there are far too many jarring notes to keep the audience interested in the maze he's tried to weave. What rankles the most is Salman Khan's shoddily casual act and his co-star Priyanka's inherent inadequacies as an actress. Govinda's anxious attempt to turn back the clock is pathetic, as is the entire episode (mercifully clipped) featuring Sohail Khan and Isha Koppikar.
'Salaam-E-Ishq' is a self-indulgent piece of cinema. While Advani may have tried taking pot shots at (or paid an irreverent tribute to, depending on your perspective) his former boss Karan Johar, his film obviously follows in the tradition of the self-styled king of wallowing corny capers.
GURU:
A magazine article rightly describes 'Guru' as a "benaami biopic". It is just that – a biopic that comes with a disclaimer. Like Sai Paranjpye, who declared her 'Saaz' had nothing to do with the life of the Mangeshkar sisters, Mani Ratnam claims that his film's resemblance to Dhirubhai Ambani's life is 'purely coincidental'. And thus begins the manipulation of the audience by one of India's most accomplished and respected filmmakers.
Not only does Mani sir camouflage the Dhirubhai story under the garb of fiction, he further manoeuvres the screenplay very cleverly to eulogise the business baron, while simply glossing over his dubious methods. We hear a lot about the bribing of politicians and bureaucrats, arm-twisting and subverting the law to import machinery, buying out the media etc. The beauty is we never see Gurkant Desai (Abhishek Bachchan) actually committing any of these misdeeds. And this technique alienates the audience from his questionable activities.
Simultaneously, the filmmaker magnifies his dramatic rise from working for an oil company in Istanbul to Mumbai where he elbows his way into the textile market and then goes on to become India's 'polyester king'. Guru can't take 'no' for an answer and is shown smooth-talking his way through difficult situations, working his indefatigable persuasive skills on various people. He's the ultimate family man (never mind the fact that he marries for dowry money) with a devoted wife (Aishwarya Rai); he's a loyal friend and a larger-than-life messiah for his shareholders.
His father, who doesn't endorse his son's dreams, and the cautious brother-in-law (Arya Babbar) who goes with him to Mumbai, but walks out mid-way through the film when he finds Guru surging ahead without consulting him on important business decisions are conveniently side-tracked when they no longer serve a purpose in the protagonist's individual journey.
Of course there is much to be admired in the man and in the film. Ratnam does a marvellous job of the film's emotional moments – particularly Guru's relationship with the wheelchair bound granddaughter (Vidya Balan) of his one-time mentor Manik Dasgupta (Mithun Chakraborty, spectacular). In fact, it is the sub-plot about the romance between the granddaughter and Dasgupta's fiery protégée (Madhavan) -- the only journalist who doggedly uncovers the murk behind Guru's dramatic success – that really strikes a chord.
The film's production design is impeccable, as is Rajiv Menon's cinematography, but the period setting only works as a prop for Guru's saga – the director doesn't use the backdrop or the narrative to take a deeper look at the socio-political environment in the country like he did with many of his previous films, including a very flawed, but well-meaning 'Yuva'. A R Rahman's music too is lacklustre and Gulzar's lyrics "Ek lo, ek muft" which refer to Guru's twin daughters are utterly distasteful. Besides which, the song itself (and most others in the film) is wholly unnecessary.
While Aishwarya Rai hangs around on the periphery, her presence is largely cosmetic. She's meant to look pretty and sing a couple of songs, which she does. Mithun Chakraborty, Madhavan and Vidya Balan shine even in their unevenly developed roles. Abhishek Bachchan has the entire film to himself and he finally sheds his gawkiness to deliver the most significant performance of his career so far.
But 'Guru' disappoints because of its one-dimensional vision and the director's own moral ambiguity.
Deepa Gumaste
Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu’s ‘Babel’ continues in the vein of his earlier works, ‘Amores Perros’ and ‘21 Grams’, charting the fatalistic collision of several lives. This time though, he extends his canvas to encompass three continents and a multi-lingual ensemble cast ranging from Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett to Japanese star Koji Yakusho, Mexican hunk Gael Garcia Bernal and a host of unknown, but exceptionally talented actors. The narrative style is typically Inarritu, with disjointed fragments of each story strewn across a running time of over 140 minutes in a seemingly random fashion.
Gradually, slices of the jigsaw puzzle start falling into place as the clash of civilizations, cultures and languages fuels a sense of anarchy in the contrast it creates between the despair of a capitalist first world and the impoverished desolation of places and people almost given the pass by modern life and technology.
Inarritu and screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga begin their story against the arid landscape of Morocco, where the innocuous purchase of a hunting rifle by a shepherd triggers the first accident. His sons, trying out some target practice, take a shot at a tourist bus to gauge the rifle’s reach. Unfortunately, the bullet meets its mark in the form of an American woman, Susan (Blanchett) taking a holiday with her husband Richard (Pitt) in an attempt to patch up their fragile marriage following the death of their infant son.
The director manipulates screen time to align this episode with another incident that takes place in Mexico after the shooting to heighten the cinematic tension. Susan and Richard’s children are in San Diego with their Mexican nanny Amelia (Adriana Barraza), who wants the day off to attend her son’s wedding. Since the couple is in distress in Morocco, and she cannot find anyone else to look after the children, she decides to take them along to her village across the border, accompanied by her lively, but hot-headed nephew Santiago (Bernal).
While Richard, who’s several hours away from the nearest hospital takes his wife to a small village in the middle of nowhere where a kindly soul and his mother offer them shelter and tend to her wounds, his children get exposed to a whole new way of life in Mexico, just a few miles south of their home, but dramatically different from the world they live in.
Next, the scene shifts to Tokyo, where a deaf-mute teenager Chieko (brilliantly enacted by Rinko Kikuchi) is grappling with her handicap and her mother’s recent suicide, as her worried father (Yakusho) looks on. She’s also becoming conscious of her own sexuality and desperately (but unsuccessfully) trying to attract every man in sight, which adds to her humiliation.
The Japanese story is farthest removed from the main plot that unfolds in Morocco, but mirrors the communication barriers and sense of isolation and helplessness that permeates the fabric of the entire film. It is also the most fascinating of the four stories in terms of its visual treatment. Chieko’s world is brought alive in a startling contrast between the clang of techno music, dizzying psychedelic lights and the emptiness of her inner self, painted in silence.
The film’s tension is heightened both by its dramatic content and its layered narrative. As Richard struggles to save his wife, Amelia lands herself in serious trouble while trying to smuggle the kids back into the US, the Moroccan boys are hounded by a police force desperate to banish suspicion of terrorist links to the freak accident and Chieko’s behaviour becomes more and more bizarre.
What rankles about Inarritu’s resolution though (and unlike his earlier two films) is that while there is some sense of deliverance for the rich, the have nots must sink further in the depths of turmoil and pay a disproportionately heavy price for their sins. Also, the inevitability of fate hangs so heavy over the proceedings, it almost seems like nothing in this world is within human control.
But it does suggest, quite effectively, that in an increasingly globalised and polarised world, conflict and chaos is inevitable.
Deepa Gumaste
Roger Michell’s British film ‘The Mother’ (2003) was an unlikely choice to begin my film-viewing season in the New Year. But I picked it up at the British Council Library for no apparent reason (except perhaps a secret desire to see the irresistible Daniel Craig in his pre-Bond avatar) and promptly proceeded to watch it during an unexpected snatch of privacy in my ever-bustling home last evening.
It was engaging, disturbing and thought provoking – everything one expects of good cinema. Anne Reid plays May, a nondescript old woman who accompanies her husband Toots (Peter Vaughan) to London to visit their children Bobby and Paula. In scenes reminiscent of dozens of Bollywood melodramas (but handled with far greater sophistication and economy of expression), the director quickly establishes how the children and grandchildren have no time to spare for the aged couple and merely look at them as a hindrance to their busy city lives. Suddenly, Toots dies – without much ado – and the artificial façade of civility is shattered. Instead of quietly retreating in her suburban home (as her son hopes she would), May chooses to extend her stay in London, thereby fuelling awkwardness in the family as the two children can scarcely camouflage the inconvenience her presence causes them.
May, it seems, is fully conscious of their umbrage, but doesn’t think too much about it. Instead, she wanders around the city basking in warm sunlight and experiencing her first brush with real freedom. As she shuttles between Paula and Bobby’s house, she finds herself thrown together with Bobby’s friend and Paula’s much-married boyfriend, Darren (Daniel Craig), a temperamental maverick who’s renovating Bobby’s house. May derives solace from the much-younger Darren as he talks to her about art and poetry and encourages her to revive her old passion for making sketches. Gradually, she tells him about her stifling marriage with a man who wouldn’t let her have any friends and a secret affair that almost liberated her from the drudgery.
While the desperately clingy and eternally discontented Paula expects her mother to convince Darren to leave his wife and make her a commitment, May plunges headlong into an impulsive sexual relationship with him. Watching the old woman shedding her clothes and her inhibitions in front of a man half her age makes you feel awkward – one suspects the filmmaker intended it to be that way. But her behaviour also provokes the question, “Why not?” -- particularly when it’s evident that she’s far better tuned to Darren than her daughter can ever be. Besides, there’s no love lost between the members of this dysfunctional family anyway.
And that’s probably what director Michell and writer Hanif Kureishi hoped to convey. Contrary to conventional belief, families are often bound not by unquestioning love, but by deep-rooted resentment. Desires don’t necessarily get diluted with age, nor are they always present among the young. Bobby and Paula lead obviously unhappy lives, yet neither seems willing to break free and take their chances. Instead, it’s their mother – on whom Paula constantly heaps the blame for her lousy existence – who makes her choice to finally throw caution and convention to the wind and grab a few moments of bliss with both hands.
May retains her dignity in the face of violent outbursts from Darren and Paula and Bobby’s cold indifference towards her. By the time she nonchalantly leaves London, we know that she doesn’t need any of them, nor has any sympathy for their pathetic existence. She isn’t retreating to her lonely suburban home to sink into oblivion, but merely to pack her bags for another journey, in search of a new life.
Brilliantly photographed by Alwin Kuchler, ‘The Mother’ boasts of breathtaking performances from Craig and Reid as the unlikely lovers. Reid, in particular, undergoes an astonishing transformation from being an unremarkable, listless woman to one who carries her newfound self-belief and her vibrant clothes with great poise. The film leaves you questioning and marveling at its dysfunctional players – but unlike Michell’s syrupy romantic hit ‘Notting Hill’, there are no rosy endings and pat answers ‘The Mother’ has to offer.
Deepa Gumaste
Nikhil Advani's 'Salaam-E-Ishq' is inordinately long and often tedious to watch. One had the same feeling about his debut film 'Kal Ho Na Ho' too, where Shah Rukh Khan's Aman refused to die in time and hammed endlessly. Only this one is an hour lengthier and it's not even as though the filmmaker has something substantial to say. But then, if the source material itself is as shallow as 'Love Actually', there can't be much to look forward to in any case.
