Meghe Dhaka Tara

When one decides to make a film on the First Citizen of Indian Cinema, it is bound to polarise the audience. If you expected that a certain doctor-cum-film enthusiast-turned-director will demystify and defictionalise the man and his legend, dismantling all the cliches and myths surrounding him, you were living in a fool's paradise. Initially, to garner media-hype, he proudly proclaimed 'Meghe Dhaka Tara' to be a biopic, only to disassociate himself from his previous claims, stating that it's a fictional work 'inspired' by Ghatak's life. Why the sudden and desperate face-saver? The positives first. Spectacular set designs, excellent use of light and shadow, Soumik Halder's stunning camera work, Debojyoti Mishra's brilliant score. Although the first half is barely watchable, the second half gets better with breathtaking visual imagery of Partition-affected immigrants, converging confluence of various characters from Ghatak's films, and of course, the superlative performances of Ananya and Subhasish. Kamaleswar chooses a very convenient and escapist medium to depict the master auteur's life: that of dreams and hallucinations. It works as a perfect alibi to (mis)represent Ghatak's thoughtscape as envisioned by him. Ghatak, audaciously self-indulgent and non-conformist to the core, quite paradoxically finds himself trapped in the flawed vision of a director who conforms to all the possible parameters of a sensationalist crowd-pleaser, almost like a footnoted historical and personal narrative. I do feel sorry for Shaswata. He is such a gifted actor and does justice to his role in parts, but one can't blame him for the director's myopic perception of Ghatak, and his life and times. All the ingredients are present, albeit in haphazard and erratic proportions in an already half-baked recipe, like - Jung's 'mother archetype', his swaying beliefs between revisionist and radical politics, the deep pangs of Partition, etc. But look at the banality of certain misplaced grandiose excesses (all in the name of passionately adhering to Ghatak's penchant for melodrama) - Shaswata, who almost lives on and swears by hooch or 'cholai', indiscriminately delivers hyperbolic punchlines with expletives, reminiscent of the 'angry young man' prototype during the Emergency rather than the Red Book-quoting generation of the 70s; he carries Bongobala in his arms with shrieking, angst-filled outcries of 'Suorer Bachha!' evoking Dilip Kumar's 'Ae bhai, koi hain?' act from 'Mashaal'; or even the salivating Shaswata during the enactment of his play at the mental asylum and the just-about-clinching-and-then-relaxing-of-fists-moment during the shock therapy session akin to a car's clutch-and-gear functioning, etc. Amplified exaggeration with playing-to-the-gallery-moments' galore, just enough to earn accolades and thundering applause from a generation, living in a joyless dungeon of failed ambitions and shattered dreams, finally being able to relate to the tragic story of a 'mad genius' who was a 'failure' in his lifetime. But Ghatak is much beyond the platitudes of the stereotypical portrait of an underdog. No, his life cannot be trivialised into a tragedy inhibited by dejection, pain, self-destruction and failure. On the contrary, it is a celebration of hope, of unwavering human spirit, of survival, of joy and optimism - boundless and unrestrained.

Stoker

Stoker is the most twisted, subverted, outrageous adaptation of Hamlet (with juxtaposed elements of Macbeth as well) you'll ever see. The eeriness and perversity of the deeply menacing sinisterness, cocooned in a sensuous and provocative atmosphere of disquieting tension, brings out a more evolved phase of Park Chan Wook's filmmaking. The violence is more internal, stripped of the spectacular grandiosity, deliberately restrained to fit into the lyricism of the breathtakingly stylized imagery and visually stunning frames. Compelling fetishization of the psycho-sexual broodings makes the film a poetry of violence rather than a ritual of the obviousness of this genre.

Shobdo

Mixed emotions after watching Shobdo. The film had so much potential and promise - a sort of experimentation in an unexplored domain of Indian Cinema. Sadly enough, it ends up being an educational telefilm. Kaushik Ganguly plays it too safe; he does not go beyond the uniqueness of the story and push the boundaries of conventionality like other celebrated maverick filmmakers would have done. Technically, the film is near-flawless. The sound designer duo of Anirban Sengupta and Dipankar Chaki create an ambiance of surreal magic. Mainak Bhoumik's editing deserves a special mention too. The camera work of Sirsha Ray is spectacular in some scenes, especially the haunting dreamscape where Ritwik is confronted by Victor, which is so European in its treatment. The acting is a huge let-down. Victor Banerjee is completely wasted. Ritwik is quite impressive as long as he keeps his mouth shut, in fact his blank stares and maniacal intensity with the sound-props are his only redemptive qualities in the film. Raima Sen seems to be watching Ekta Kapoor serials too intently these days. Churni Ganguly can boast of being the only actor to outdo Nana Patekar when it comes to mannerisms. The dialogues are extremely amateurish and do not have that killer punch. The screenplay is static with the story progressing in a repetitive loop. And, the climax is so abrupt and out-of-sync, almost like a fake orgasm.

Kai Po Che

Kai Po Che is a winner all the way. Meticulously crafted, it's neither a spellbinding celluloid marvel nor a half-baked Bollywood potboiler. The story of friendship, heartbreak and redemption through a stormy ride of betrayal by fate and history transforms Chetan Bhagat's mediocre work into an honest and heartwarming crowd-pleaser. The three towering aspects of the film are - the casting, cinematography and music. Anay Goswami does a terrific job with the camera. Amit Trivedi, yet again, vindicates his position as the most consistent and bankable music director in the industry. If A.R.Rahman is the Sachin Tendulkar of Bollywood, Amit Trivedi surely is Michael Clarke. Sushant Singh Rajput delivers a stellar performance as Ishan who is mercurial and temperamental, infectiously warm and gullible, trapped in a bubble of naivety. Amit Sadh as Omi is a knockout too, bringing out the complex nuances of his character with a steady transformation from unwavering loyalty towards his friends to a gradual, stuttering descent into murkiness. But, Raj Kumar Yadav as Govind, eclipses his other two equally brilliant co-stars. Ambitious and miserly, hesitant and calculative, yet a quiet intensity amidst the incoherent traits of minimalism adds many shades to his character, and he plays out his role with mathematical precision, complementing and acting as a perfect foil to Ishan's volatility and Omi's vulnerability. With GoW, Nawazuddin Siddiqui has taken the elevator-route to capture the imagination of cinephiles and critics. LSD, Shaitan, Shahid and Kai Po Che - Raj Kumar Yadav prefers a ladder instead, taking slow and assured steps to the rightful place where he belongs.

Chittagong

Chittagong is disappointing. It's an honest film but fails to transcend into a good film. The biggest disadvantage that plagues a period film based on real events is the predictability of the plot. So, to make the film more engaging, the director needs to indulge in a sort of retelling of history inculcating a healthy dosage of drama into it. This is precisely where Bedabrata Pain falls short. There's no building up of drama. Watching the film is like glancing through the pages of a history book. The narrative of the film is so simple that it is reduced to a textbook of chronological historical events. Hence, although it adheres to factual fidelity, it doesn't deliver what is expected from a celluloid drama. It will be cruel to say that the film is uninspiring because it does have a lot of heart and characters do evoke a genuine sense of empathy. It's more like a ticking bomb that doesn't explode. I'm not talking about the typical Bollywood exaggerated sentimentality, but Pain's maiden effort doesn't have that soul-stirring zing in it, it's not intense or emotionally compelling enough. I love simplistic minimalism and restrained performances, but the characters somehow are nipped in the bud and deliberately not allowed to grow and evolve, especially when the director had the luxury of a casting coup comprising the likes of Manoj Bajpai, Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Jaideep Ahlawat and Dibyendu Bhattacharya. He fails to exploit the brilliance of such wonderful actors at his disposal. Even the background score is so disappointing and underwhelming, completely incompatible with the elegiac undertone of the film. The editing has rough edges with loose disconnected parts. The only rewarding aspect of the film is Eric Zimmerman's breathtaking cinematography.

Barfi

It does not revolutionize Bollywood in any way nor is it an example of superlative cinematic brilliance. There are flaws, and lots of them. But, at the same time, it's a lesson in the long-lost art of simple filmmaking without being pretentious. The effort is so genuinely heartwarming that it comes out through the characters in the film. I've been extremely critical of Ranbir Kapoor in the past. Maybe he is dumb, but he sure can act! In Junior Kapoor, we do see glimpses of his grandfather. His goofiness is so bloody infectious. He does not play the sympathy-card, he just lets the film carry him along instead of trying what Bollywood heroes desperately try to do - to carry the film on their shoulders. The character is central, not the hero. One of the very few Hindi films I've seen where the audience connects with the character, and not the hero. Ileana is effortlessly sweet and quite unexpectedly brilliant. Saurabh Shukla delivers a standout and stellar performance. The strength of the film lies in the characterisation - so under-toned, and pitch-perfect to counter-balance the trappings of melodrama. The cinematography is breathtaking and so is the music. The visual imagery adds to the emotional quotient of the film. The earnestness of Anurag Basu does suffer a blow because of the predictability of the plot since the temptation of repetitiveness unwittingly underwhelms the magic created in the first half, and, of course, the disappointing performance of Priyanka Chopra. Instead of under-emoting, she overdoes it. Somehow she goes retard trying to portray an autistic girl. Don't judge this film through the prism of cerebral dissection and critical analysis. For once, listen to your heart, not the critics.

The Dark Knight Returns

The Dark Knight has risen! The storm came, roared thunderously and blew everything away! Watching the film evokes the same kind of ecstasy as that of making love. It starts with an extended foreplay, builds up slowly, escalates wildly and culminates into an explosive, intense and unrelenting orgasm. In fact, it's a thousand times better than an orgasm. It's as close as having that romanticized elevated sense of being numb close on the heels of death. When you go numb and your senses fail you, and you are transported into a world that is beautiful, heart-wrenching, dark, compelling, unreal and majestic - you know that the storm has hit you, the fire that rose has engulfed you. The best part of Nolan's Batman trilogy is that all the 3 films are distinctly different from each other. It would be unfair to compare The Dark Knight Rises with the previous two installments. Batman Begins was a Renaissance-moment, a triumphant interpretation of the caped crusader. His damaged psyche torn apart by guilt and fear - Nolan nails it with precision. And, the original treatment was so refreshing when Rachel points out that Bruce Wayne was the mask that Batman wore, not the other way round. The Dark Knight was edgier, darker, representing a world where chaos and order co-exist and complete each other; the sadistic sinisternerness of the Joker, blurring the boundaries between being amoral and being diabolical, is evidently portrayed - "What am I without you? To them, you are just a freak, like me. You complete me." It dealt more with the psychological, a duel between the Agent of Chaos and the Fallen Knight, whereas The Dark Knight Rises is much more physical. Nolan wanted it to be a spectacle, an extravagant and dazzling finale on epic proportions, and he did achieve it. It's no-holds-barred, outrageous and heart-pounding, gut-wrenching, raw action on one hand and on the other, it captures Batman's emotional vulnerabilities like never before. For the self-appointed critics - please stop comparing. Applaud and acknowledge the genius of Christoper Nolan.