Prague

Prague is an unlikely gem of 2013. Eerily trippy, it's a whirlwinding ride through the fragmented mind of a delusional schizophrenic. The generic umbrella term 'psychological thriller' sounds more apt. Chandan Roy Sanyal rediscovers himself [his acting mojo?] after the sensational act in Kaminey four years back. The sheer range of kaleidoscopic emotions he embodies is remarkable. Fragile and volatile, erratic and unpredictable, brooding and explosive - the polarising dynamics of his character have been succinctly portrayed with precision. He is constantly visited by the apparition of his friend, Arfi [Arifi Lamba], whose suicide was involuntarily triggered by him. Gulshan [Kumar Mayank], another friend, comes as a destructive force into his life and he sleeps with the girl Chandan had been wooing, Subhangi. Despite the betrayal, Chandan idolises him and feels threatened by his menacing presence at the same time. In Prague, he falls for a young gypsy girl, Elena [Elena Kazan]. The chequered tapestry of their relationship is challenged by Chandan's deteriorating mental state, as he sinks into obscure depths of obsessive insecurity and hallucination. There are nuanced homoerotic moments in the film which raises the question: is Chandan a repressed bisexual? Quoting his initial impression of Gulshan: "When he pees with his head hanging back, it is as if he is orgasming." Later, he beats up a queer admirer at a bar, hysterically screeching, "I am not gay!" Right at the end, it is revealed that Gulshan too is, in fact, a figment of his frenzied imagination. He had pushed Gulshan to his death before arriving at Prague. The power politics of human relationships is another theme that has been explored in the film. Since Chandan's male machismo is imperiled by Gulshan, he looks for weaker people to reestablish his superior position of power. That's why he holds on to the vision of Arfi, who is already dead. As long as Elena plays along, submitting to his charm and later as a muse to the artist in him, Chandan manages to suppress the memories of Gulshan. Just when Elena declares that she is not his girlfriend, Gulshan reappears. Although they reconcile, the illusion of his presence drives Chandan to the path of self-destruction, culminating in Elena's death. It's a stellar debut by director, Asish R. Shukla, who has co-scripted the film along with Sumit Saxena. The cinematography by Uday Mohite is spectacular, so is the editing by Meghna Sen and the background score.

The Spectacular Now

Sundance Special Jury Prize winner, The Spectacular Now is yet another spectacular coming-of-age movie of 2013. The writer duo of Michael H. Weber and Scott Neustadter [500 Days of Summer] gives us an unsentimental and layered drama that successfully avoids the posturing of generic teenage romance. It offers a penetrative look into the susceptible confusion and tender fragility of youth. The director, James Ponsoldt brings out the characters' struggles with intense minimalism and nuanced restraint, embracing and juxtaposing the worlds of adolescents and grown-ups. The film boasts of an incredible supporting cast: Jennifer Jason Leigh, Kyle Chandler, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Andre Royo [The Wire] and Bob Odenkirk [Breaking Bad]. The lead pair of Miles Teller and Shailene Woodley play out their roles with effortless conviction, especially Shailene, who plays an unadorned, unassuming, innocuous loner with a muted elegance and lively spark, a departure from the commanding portrayal of George Clooney's daughter in The Descendants.

Chander Pahar

When you see Akash Chopra as a television expert on T20 cricket, you often wonder, WHY? When Kamaleswar Mukherjee decided to cast Dev as Shankar, I too wondered, WHY? The film, Chander Pahar, centres around a raging young Bengali, shrieking, squealing, screeching and howling through the jungles of Africa. Dev clearly suffers from a split personality. Either he is adorably harmless like Toothless from How to Train your Dragon, with perfectly combed hair and restrained exchanges stripped of enthusiastic bravado, or as the nostril-flaring human ghoul in a daredevilish wrathful avatar, replete with swashbuckling comedy. The cinematography, however, is breathtaking. All hail, Soumik Haldar. The CGI is exceptionally shoddy for a 15 crore film, and makes certain parts look like an underpriced photo album of an overpriced trip to the Alipore Zoo and Science City, with a 'Made in Africa' label tagged on it. Kamaleswar could not celebrate the life of Ghatak in his previous film, deliberately striving to emotionally manipulate the audience with a flawed depiction of half-truths. In this film too, he could not bring out the very essence, spirit and emotional crux of Bibhutibhushan's novel. Like Sandip Ray's glorified travel diary of Singapore in Tintoretter Jishu with catalogued documentation of Chinese restaurants, Kamaleswar's adventure drama comes across as a discounted African tour package. With FB flooded by recurring updates on "Bangla Cinema'r Punor-jonmo", Balaji Telefilms might reconsider sharing their K-serial rebirth-patent with these aficionados.

Out of the Furnace

Scott Cooper's slow burning, prosaic working class crime drama, Out Of The Furnace, his second feature after Crazy Heart, is a masterpiece, one of the finest of this year. Christian Bale yet again proves why he's the most versatile Hollywood actor among his peers, Casey Affleck is uncharacteristically intense and the supporting cast of Willem Dafoe and Forest Whitaker are dependable as usual. Woody Harrelson, as a volatile fanatic reveling in violence, delivers the most stunning performance of his life after Natural Born Killers. Emotionally overpowering, spurred by striking images captured by DOP Masanobu Takayanagi and the soulful score of Dickon Hinchliffe.

Dhoom 3

It will be a futile exercise to attempt a cerebral introspection of Dhoom 3. For starters, it's relatively better than the other two big budget no-brainers of this year, namely Chennai Express and Krrish 3. The perfect admixture of all possible ingredients required in a typical masala flick. For the average Bolly movie-goers, some of the stunts are indeed incredible. It's Amir Khan aka Chup-Chap-Charlie all the way, carrying the film on his bulging shoulders and also compensating for the screen time hogged by the dispensable duo of Abhishek and Uday. These clowns drive an auto on and over tile-chawls in a dingy neighbourhood, and you thought Jesus walking on water was a miracle? Did I miss out Katrina Kaif, the circus performer mostly seen in sports bras, who "sings and dances like liquid electricity"? The unanticipated twist right at the interval is a masterstroke; those who think otherwise, "teri aisi ki taisi"! Nobody saw it coming except a certain Christopher Nolan. The director, Vijay Krishna Acharya's first film, Tashan was one of the finest mock-parodies Bollywood has ever produced, and I am expecting to be lynched by fellow cinephile friends for saying that. Interestingly, the baddie in the film, a greedy bank mercenary, has been named Warren Anderson. Unlike the former Chairman of Union Carbide responsible for the Bhopal Gas Tragedy, the reel Mr. Anderson is brought down to his knees. Bollywood's yet another dodgy stratagem? But the larger question remains: do inspired scripts really enhance the 'prestige' of a film or the industry in general? I'm sincerely hoping that Mr. Nolan doesn't have the misfortune of watching this film.

Blue is the Warmest Colour

The three hour long drama, based on a graphic novel by Julie Maroh, depicts a compassionate and emotionally exhilarating relationship between two young women, Adele and Emma, played by Adele Exarchopoulos and Lea Seydoux respectively, that is saturated with electrifying eroticism and fragile vulnerability, moving from intense want to helpless abandon of the heart. It is the coming-of-age story of Adele, a conformist adolescent initially, who undergoes a journey of sexual awakening through the trials of ecstasy and suffering, discovery and heartbreak. The two chapters represent Adele's transition from her state of innocence to experience. The extended, no-holds-barred, unapologetically graphic and explicit sex scenes had stirred up much controversy. Does this maddening intoxication of their primal passionate urges subsume and overwhelm the tender, blossoming love? Before pointing at sensual cataclysm, it will be prudent to say that there was always an inconspicuous disconnect between the two. They were not equals, either intellectually or on the social scale. The cultural clash is evident through the recurring motif of class. The contrasting family dinners or the instance when Emma talks about Jean-Paul Sartre being a great liberator and Adele responds by saying that Bob Marley was a prophet too. Emma's friends and her family share a condescending contempt for Adele aspiring to be a nursery teacher. With time, the dynamics of their relationship start changing. Earlier, Emma was consciously defiant, and in her rebelliousness Adele found a sympathising mentor. Later, as we move towards domesticity from the heightened passionate frenzy, Emma outgrows Adele in her careeristic ambitions of artistic pursuits while Adele outgrows Emma in emotional complexity. There lies their tragedy. The scene in which Emma confronts Adele after her brief affair with a man, is as fierce as their volcanic sexual energy. Even before the release of the film, it ran into controversy with the lead pair dubbing the director, Abdellatif Kechiche, as "intrusive, oppressive, tyrannical". Julie Morah has complained of the film being a "prurient male fantasy rather than the truth of lesbian sex." At times, the prying eyes of the camera lens and its claustrophobic proximity with the female body raise important questions. Does the heterosexual director's vision, instead of documenting erotic sensation, regress into voyeurism? The feminists have slammed the relentlessly obsessive close-ups as typifying the 'male gaze' or is the director trying to unwrap the soul through the prism of the bare body in an attempted observant study of the queer? Kechiche has used references of the male gaze through the character of the art gallery owner, who rambles about mystical female orgasm and goes on to say, "Ever since women have been shown in paintings, men try desperately to depict women as they saw them, imagined them, or wished to be their fantasy." The first half is deeply layered which gives way to exhausting indulgences of melodrama in the second. The most remarkable feature of the film is the minimalism of background music, and the emotions displayed are largely raw and unedited, bordering on hyperrealism. The performances of both the female leads is absolutely unreal, inexplicably superlative. The film, for me, belongs to Adele Exarchopoulos. She delivers the most stunning performance of the year, with so much assuredness and control over the contrasting emotions of curious uninhibitedness and calm restraint. The film, however, does not match my expectations, only because it is somewhat undeserving to be a Palme d'Or winner.

Spring Breakers

Spring Breakers is the trippiest film I have watched since Enter The Void. Another audacious offering from the outré auteur, Harmony Korine. The hallucinatory trip goes beyond the provocative montage of tits, coke and guns. Thematically, it is a borderline pulp-parody of Biblical Paradise and the pop culture bubble, a derision of the American Dream projected through the eyes of a nihilistic generation. James fucking Franco, who are you! Such a stupendously gifted actor, playing a self-exalting rapper gangsta, who swears by Scarface and plays Britney Spears ballads to entertain his shotgun-toting psychosexual bunnies. The alluring cinematography of Benoit Debie with fluorescent splashes and neon shots make everything visually hypnotic. Finally the propulsive, adrenaline-driven soundscape. Have you heard God orgasming? That's what Cliff Martinez does with his electronic score, along with dubstepper, Skrillex.

The Class of '92

The Class of '92 is beautiful. By the time you finish watching it, you're so overwhelmed that you don't know what to do. Inspiring and deeply engrossing, it subsumes you to the extent of getting teary eyed and all or maybe get a hair dryer as an antidote/desensitiser for the goosebumpy skin. The documentary goes beyond the beautiful game, talking about the socio-economic conditions with the new Labour government coming in and also highlights the cultural space with the rise of new-age Brit bands like Oasis and The Stone Roses. It's an incredible and perfect mix of romanticising the United legends and mortalising them too. The DreamCatchers who owned the Theatre of Dreams.

Insidious: Chapter 2

What happens if the Ramsay Brothers decide to remake Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece, The Shining, and their only reference material is an inspiring lecture on metaphysics by Chetan Bhagat? You get a comic spook-fest called Insidious: Chapter 2. A thoroughly rollicking joyride. Horror, anyone? Clueless yet overzealous ghostbusters entering and exiting the netherworld portal, ridiculously face-painted clownish apparitions in scarecrow rags, eardrum-bursting cheap thrills and all other formulaic cliches make the film inexquisitely insipid.

Aschorjyo Prodeep

The poster reads: 'Ebare Bhoot Noye, Doittyo'. Anik Dutta, an ace satirist who dealt with supernatural phantoms in his last film, Bhooter Bhobisyot, turns to humans this time, an adult fantasy tale of apologetic middle class existence with unrelinquished aspirations and inexhaustible greed of the consumerist society. But the end result? Populist adventurism marred by bland sarcasm, half-potent wit and crass humour. The opening scene depicting the tongue-in-cheek banter between Paran Bandopadhyay and Manoj Mitra is delightful, and the rest an underwhelming departure from the initial promise. The magic lamp makes an unsuspecting detour in its fantastical journey from faraway Middle East to a bustling Calcutta by-lane. Introducing Shaswata, the average wife-fearing middle class Bong, unassuming goofy doofus and grumbling gossip-monger with boorish jokes. An impulsive boozer and compulsive numerologist, he's constantly bullied at home and badgered at office. Booby-trapped in elusive fantasies of Malamaal played by Mumtaz, a sultry actress invading his daydreams and wet dreams, he's desperate to revitalize his browbeaten machismo with the lamp's aid. Just a hapless condom salesman stuck in erotic inertia looking for an upgrade. His wife, Sreelekha is a pompous English-obsessed snooty housewife, always whining and complaining. It is later revealed that she is on a high pay-roll for late night booty-calls. All in the name of raising her son as an anglicised dandy, a concerned mother's unrighteous path of inglorious sacrifice. Enter Rajatava, the urbane and debonair tech-savvy genie, programmed to gratify material and sexual needs of mortals. There's a disclaimer of course: unqualified ineptitude in matters related to the heart. Major bummer! Trust investment is always subject to market risks. The film rolls on with the no-surprise expose at the end. A whoring wife to burst his short-lived bubble of a happy life. The chemistry between Shaswata and Rajatava is sparkling and the only saving grace in this two hour long misadventure. Rajatava clearly delivers the best performance in the film, with unbelievable fidelity to his character. The dated jokes and static character graph of the actors makes Aschorjyo Prodeep a forgettable cinematic experience, a far cry from the subtle yet penetrating sarcasm of the director's debut feature which was a dark and lively social satire.

The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

When it comes to the word 'revolution', the Americans tend to foster a make-believe indulgent perception of squashy, muffled resistance in speculative distant future or distant planets. It almost makes you feel that Uncle Sam's persecuted nephews and nieces and other alien-speak dissenters will lead the uprising armed with Coca-Cola cans and popcorn tubs. I am not a fan of the Hunger Games franchise. And for people who have watched Battle Royale will echo my sentiments. Catching Fire, continuing with the flaccid survival tale storyline, has a better narrative structure than the first installment. It is visually stunning with jaw-dropping, spectacular set designs. But the games itself? Like the average Indian telly reality show with a few more dramatic punches, and added variants like toxic smoke and menacingly grizzly animals. Ruthless bloodlust? Yawn. Political symbolism? Balls. The surprising little twist right at the end comes off more like happy-anniversary-charity-sex, and not surprisingly, the climax with the hurried abruptness of a fake orgasm. However, Jennifer Lawrence is breathtaking in the film with a sense of forlorn determination and compelling intensity, giving her character that much-needed emotional drive.