The Music Room, Satyajit Ray's portrait of a man whose time has long past him, is a haunting and beautiful film. It is like the best of Ray simultaneously universal and distinctly Indian.
Lord Roy (Chhabi Biswas) is now a shadow of his former self, still a major landowner but living in opulent poverty, his once-stately palace in wrack and ruin. Lord Roy, however, still holds a semblance of dignity despite his poverty both material and familial. Hearing music from his nouveau riche neighbor sends his memory back...
...back to when he was wealthier, with a wife and young son. Lord Roy, not a bad man, continues to hold to a stubborn view of the world where his status should grant him much. In a bizarre effort to "keep up with the Gangulis" (the moneylenders living nearby), he opts to hock his wife's jewels to throw a lavish celebration for entertainment in his equally lavish music room. Continuing his rivalry with the gauche Mahim Ganguli (Gangapada Bose), his entertaining unwittingly causes a major tragedy in his life.
Now a haunted man with very little to hold him, Lord Roy wanders about his dilapidated palace, no goals, no future. It isn't until he's visited by Ganguli, who invites him to another celebration where he will have the most expensive dancer/singer, that Lord Roy rises for one last hurrah. The 300 rupees that he has left, which should be dedicated to the gods, is going to find another use. While his servant Ananta (Kali Sarkar) is delighted that the music room will be reopened, Lord Roy's steward (Tulsi Lahari) is appalled.
With the celebration completed and Lord Roy showing up the boorish Ganguli one last time, Lord Roy sees that while dawn is breaking, it is really the sunset of his reign. The Music Room is a portrait of a dying world where the new replaces the old, but the old will not go gentle into that good night. Ray manages to portray the clashes between the old, refined world of Lord Roy and the modern, coarser world of Ganguli in exceptionally subtle ways. For example, as this broken old nobleman looks upon both his elephant and what remains of his land in his elegant but ragged coat, we see a Ganguli and Co. truck pass by him. The symbolism of it all strikes you: the wealth Ganguli has built for himself cutting through the former world of this Zamindar (landowner).
Ray also does this by forever displaying the refined manners of Lord Roy with those of the unsophisticated Ganguli. In one concert, the latter clearly does not know what to do, and the boorishness of his manners to the elegant Roy demonstrate the contrasts of their worlds, one rising, one falling.
"I'm a self-made man. No pedigree", Ganguli tells Ananta as he waits to be granted an audience with Lord Roy. Ganguli has no shame in this, but in his way he sees that for all his wealth Ganguli is on a different level to the impoverished by elegant Roys.
The film also succeeds because of Biswas' performance. In many ways, Biswas echoes Orson Welles' performance in Citizen Kane. Like Charles Foster Kane, Lord Roy is lost in his own Xanadu, unaware of the world, haunted by tragedy.
When we first see him, he is alone, a forlorn figure who has to ask "What month is this?" He is a man lost in time now, but in the extended flashback we see him more active, still not as wealthy as he once was but with a spark of life.
Biswas and Ray do not make Lord Roy evil or heartless. He is essentially a decent man, but one with the fatal flaw of pride. When for example he agrees to let Ganguli ply his trade as a moneylender on his land, he sets out limits on what Ganguli can and cannot do such as ask for a high return rate. Lord Roy also loves his son deeply and in some ways is a child himself.
It was not with evil intents that he insists on summoning his wife and heir back for a lavish celebration despite an incoming storm. However, with Ray's masterful adaptation of a Bengali short story, we see the foreshadowing used to great effect, and once he sees the end results of his actions, your heart does break for Lord Roy.
The Music Room actually seems very sympathetic to Lord Roy, giving him something of a triumph at the end but also dooming him to be brought down by progress. The world of Lord Roy is fading, falling to a new class of elites, but his tragedy is in inability or refusal to adapt or change.
As for the music, while some of Vilayat Khan's work is not to my liking, the final dance number is quite effective.
The Music Room is again a beautiful film, brilliantly acted and directed. One understands that push-and-pull between attempting to keep up appearances and knowing one has to bend to reality. A portrait of a world and a man in decline, The Music Room will not fail to move the viewer who explores it.
After the success of The Apu Trilogy Indian director Satyajit Ray turned to a woman's point of view. Charulata, based on Indian writer & poet Rabindranath Tagore's story The Broken Nest, may be a bit slow for some. However, with some brilliant performances and insights into these characters' lives, Charulata is still an excellent film.
In Raj Era India, wealthy liberal newspaper publisher Bhupati (Shailen Mukherjee) loves his wife Charulata (Madhabi Mukherjee, no relation) but he is too involved with his work to give her much attention. She is forever looking out into the world with her opera glasses, and even the company of her sister-in-law Manda (Gitali Roy) offers no real company.
While Bhupati and Charulata's brother Umapada (Shyamal Ghoshal) continue working on The Sentinel (Bhupati publishing/editing, Umapada handling the cash), an unexpected visitor comes. It is Amal (Soumitra Chatterjee), Bhupati's cousin recently from university. He's a generally happy-go-lucky fellow but also a skilled writer and poet. Bhupati urges Amal to keep his 'Charu' company and perhaps encourage her to take up writing.
Amal awakens Charulata's fierce intellect and writing skills, but he also inadvertently awakens desires. She is fiercely conflicted on both the sensual and intellectual desires and rivalry she has for and against Amal, who is oblivious to her yearnings.
Soon however a series of events force everyone's hands. Umapada has absconded with The Sentinel's cash, and Amal realizes that he is both jealous of Charulata's superior skills and her emotional desires. He does not want to betray anyone, especially given Bhupati's ruin, and leaves. Charulata is devastated but keeps it together, even encouraging Bhupati to go on with The Sentinel. They come to a deal: the paper will cover politics in English, everything else (including her writings) in Bengali.
However, once they return from holiday they find a letter from Amal. Thinking she is out of sight, Charulata cries out to Amal, begging to know why he left. Bhupati spies this and is devastated. When he returns, they do take their hands, but in a series of freeze-frames it is a hesitant moment.
In many ways, Charulata reminds me of Kate Chopin's The Awakening. Both are about women who discover their intellectual and sexual awakenings, though there is no actual sex in the former. This is Indian cinema of course. Charulata is in many ways A Woman's Story, that of 'the fair sex' that finds itself starved for an intellectual and sensual stimulant that is stifled due to her gender.
Bhupati is not a cruel or even thoughtless man. Even with his liberalism, to a certain point he is oblivious to his wife's abilities and desires. Amal, tragically, openly inspired her intellectual awakening but accidentally inspired Charulata's physical yearnings that she had little thought of. The fact that it was all unintentional makes it all the more tragic.
Satyajit Ray's adaptation and direction is excellent. Madhabi Mukherjee's performance is one for the ages. With just a glance she can communicate Charulata's yearnings: her desire to create, her desire for children (and the method of acquiring them). As she swings while singing, the camera holds to her going back and forth, and we get a glimpse into her essence where she knows she can write as well if not better than Amal but who also hesitates.
Her character is best showcased whenever she looks through her opera glasses, symbolic of how far away she is from the world and artificially brings it closer to her. Mukherjee gives a simply brilliant performance that actresses would do well to study.
Chatterjee was also excellent as Amal, a decent man with writing skills who was the accidental obscure object of desire. Whether he is joyfully singing or realizes Charulata's true feelings he simply does wonders with his role. Shailen Mukherjee is equal as Bhupati, his scene of finding his wife crying over his cousin both heartbreaking and deeply moving.
Ray also wrote the music, which is quite beautiful as is his directing and screenplay. Here is where however I should pause to comment on something that might prove hard for viewers: pacing.
Charulata is about an hour and a half but it feels much, much longer. This is not a film to watch for a nice quiet afternoon. It can at times feel a bit of a slog to get through, so I can understand if people find it a bit boring given how it feels almost dragging at times.
However, I think that if one has patience with it, the viewer will be rewarded. Again, I can understand how the film might feel long, but if you do watch it, watch it when you are not attempting to relax.
Charulata has that one major impediment in that it feels much longer than it actually is. It can try one's patience, but if one enjoys tender stories of thwarted love and intellectual awakenings, coupled with brilliant performances, Charulata will be worth the effort.
Having encountered Apu as a child and as a young man in Pather Panchali and Aparajito, we conclude The Apu Trilogy with Apur Sansar (The World of Apu). This final chapter shows that a film can be simultaneously intimate and epic, universal and distinctly Indian. In short, it is a sad and beautiful ending to perhaps the greatest film trilogy ever made.
Apologies to Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and The Godfather fans.
Our young protagonist Apu (Soumitra Chatterjee) is living a curious life in Calcutta: striving to be a writer, always struggling financially but on the whole content, almost youthfully arrogant in his freedom. His best friend Pulu (Swapan Mukherjee) invites Apu to his cousin's wedding in the country. With no pressing engagements, Apu accepts.
On the day of the wedding the bridegroom is obviously mentally ill and the bride's mother insists that the wedding be called off. However, there is a problem with this: according to the family's beliefs, if the bride does not marry at the appointed time she will be condemned to never marry. To avoid this fate, a new groom has to be found immediately, and there is only one suitable man readily available.
Apu naturally balks at this notion, but he is moved by the family's plight and most reluctantly agrees to marry Aparna (Sharmila Tagore). If he can barely support himself, how can he support a wife, especially one used to wealth and comfort? To his surprise, Aparna is more than resourceful. She is also loyal and loving, and soon it becomes a genuine love-match.
Tragedy strikes however when Aparna dies in childbirth. Apu is despondent and begins to wander the country, abandoning their child and committing his novel to the four winds. Five years later Pulu finds Apu working in the mines and begs him to take up his responsibilities to Kajal (Alok Chakravarty), who has grown wild. Apu does go and finds connecting with him as his father impossible. Instead, Apu tells Kajal that he is his friend and the two go off together.
The World of Apu does what the previous Apu films did: move the viewer emotionally, hitting us with a tale of life both tragic and beautiful. Its influence is still felt today: those who saw My Family/Mi Familia would recognize the final third of the film as directly taken from The World of Apu (albeit with certain elements more in line with My Family's narrative). It speaks to writer/director Satyajit Ray's work that the situations and circumstances can easily transcend language and cultures.
The World of Apu succeeds in large part because the elements of the common human condition are there: life, love and loss, the pain of separation and joy of reunion. Ray crafts a very moving film that hits the viewer hard.
It is a credit also to the performances, particularly Soumitra Chatterjee and Sharmila Tagore as Apu and Aparna respectively. Chatterjee makes Apu into a likable figure: young, generally carefree but painfully shy around women but who finds happiness in an unexpected romance. He is also able to break your heart: the scene where, in his unfathomable grief he takes his novel and releases them to the wind will leave one in tears.
His final reunion with Kajal too will move the viewer, from Kajal's sad question of "Do fathers wear pigtails?" when an old man reprimands him for not having his father there to how Apu joyfully takes his 'friend' away with him.
Tagore too in her gentleness and acceptance makes Aparna a lovely woman.
We can see that with The World of Apu Ray is now a fully confident and elegant craftsman. The film continues to benefit from excellent directing and the music of Ravi Shankar, who contributed to all three films.
We close The World of Apu and The Apu Trilogy with a note of hope despite the sadness and tragedies that our protagonist has lived through. It is a beautiful film and one that stays with you and as with the previous films, makes one appreciate the blessings and beauty of this world.
We return to the world of Apu with Aparajito, the second of what would become The Apu Trilogy. Aparajito, like Pater Panchali, delves into the universality of human experience while staying true to its Indian roots. It's a film that moves one deeply.
It is 1920 Benares (now Varanasi). Apu (Pinaki Sengupta) is living with his father Harihar (Kanu Bannerjee) and mother Sarbojaya Ray (Karuna Bannerjee). They are poor but relatively happy. Tragedy strikes however when Harihar dies unexpectedly, and despite the offer of living with nice employers Sarbojaya opts to go back with Apu to the rural world and stay with an uncle.
Apu begins his training to be a priest as has been the way in his family for generations, but he thirsts to go to school. Eventually his mother gives way and Apu thrives in his world of knowledge, so much so he is selected for a scholarship to study in Calcutta (now Kolkata). Sarbojaya is not thrilled with this but again she helps Apu as much as she can, despite his disinterest and thoughtlessness towards her.
As he grows intellectually, Apu (Smaran Ghosal) grows distant from Sarbojaya, rarely visiting or writing. She pines for him and grows ill, but a mixture of her love and his adaptation to city life keep the truth from both. Apu finally returns to learn that his mother has died, and while heartbroken and remorseful, he rejects the idea of staying in the countryside and returns to Calcutta.
I am, to be frank, slightly puzzled by the title of The Unvanquished because both Apu and Sarbojaya are in many ways vanquished. Sarbojaya dies, Apu oftentimes takes her for granted. However, I think The Unvanquished comes from the fact that Apu did not give in to despair and opt to return to what was expected of him.
He is 'unvanquished' because he did not become a priest or return to rural Bengal. Instead, he forged his own path, especially now that he is essentially an orphan. Granted he is a young man when his mother dies, but he is now alone, having lost his sister, father and mother within his eighteen years.
Director Satyajit Ray, who again writes and directs this adaptation of the novels Pather Panchali and Aparajito, not only returns to this simple story of an examined life but also creates a film that like Pater Panchali gets into the truth about life no matter where, when or who it is about.
It is the way of life that children leave their parents to start their own lives. It is the way of life that parents struggle with this truth. It is the way of life that children can be thoughtless about the separations, or that children oftentimes learn more than what their parents know.
Ray demonstrates these truths in simple ways. We see the teen Apu forever clinging in fascination to the globe his headmaster gave him, forever spinning it and marveling at the world he sets out to metaphorically explore. To Sarbojaya, what the globe is or what it represents are unimportant: her world is her son and where she lives. All other things are not worth her time or interest, but like a good mother she makes the effort to share in her child's joy.
However, as he essentially forgets her, she fades, alone, bereft, lost.
Ray gives us beautiful moments of tenderness and truth. While I did not cry as much in Aparajito as I did in Pather Panchali, I did get misty-eyed seeing Sarbojaya put on a brave face as Apu focuses solely on leaving for the metaphorical new world of Calcutta. There is that beautiful blending of his joy and her mixture of joy and sorrow that not only breaks your heart but that remind the viewer of how these events happen in all lives.
That universality is one of the reasons why Aparajito works so well: we can relate to the Ray family as they live out their ordinary lives. These are not monumental events in world history, no turning points starting in the Bengali Year 1327. Instead, these are lives that are not that much different from any others save for the time and place.
Aparajito is a universal story in that ordinary way, where children leave and parents die, where there is joy and regret in the decisions made and not made.
Aparajito is to my mind visually stronger than what came before. Ray is not afraid of subtle symbolism, such as having birds suddenly take flight at the moment of Harihar's death or Apu's fixation on his globe to where he travels with it almost everywhere.
We also still have Ravi Shankar's beautiful score and Subrata Mitra's cinematography, which captured the various worlds of Apu so beautifully. Most importantly, we have Ray's excellent direction both with the story and performers.
Aparajito centers on that eternal push-pull between parent and child, between the love one has for the other while at times not thinking what is best for them. This is another film that makes one want to contact his/her parents and/or children to let them know how much one means to the other. It is very rare when a sequel equals the original let alone surpasses it.
While I would say Pather Panchali is 'better than' Aparajito, both are so equally brilliant in terms of cinema and in terms of that common human experience that it is absurd to use the phrase 'better than'. Best to say both work as a continuation of The Story of Apu and as films independent of each other.
Pather Panchali (Song of the Little Road) is the debut film of both director Satyajit Ray and the main character, Apu. This first part of what would become The Apu Trilogy is one of the most beautiful films I have seen, perhaps not visually stunning but emotionally impactful that it stays with you long after you see it.
Pather Panchali covers the early years of little Apu (Subir Bandopadhyay, now Subir Banerjee). He is the second child of Harihar (Kanu Bannerjee) and Sarbojaya Ray (Karuna Bannerjee) and he lives with his older sister Durga (Uma Das Gupta) and his elderly 'Auntie' Indir (Chunibala Devi), whom both are devoted to, especially Durga.
As a side note, despite their shared surnames none of the actors were related.
The family is quite poor, leading to much stress on Sarbojaya's part. She is frustrated by Auntie's habit of taking food without asking, which Sarbojaya in turn blames for Durga taking fruit that has fallen from a wealthier family's orchard (said orchard she maintains her more dreamer husband should have held onto). Harihar is a poor priest and keeps plugging away at being a writer and poet, but money is hard to come by.
As we see Apu and Durga grow up, they experience the joys of simple things like sweets and the train passing by, but also see the hardness of life. The neighbor insists Durga stole a necklace from her daughter, causing Sarbojaya to briefly throw her out of the house. She also throws Auntie out a couple of times, though the wily old lady manages to come back with little protest from Sarbojaya.
Harihar goes to find work and money away from their ancestral land, and in his absence Sarbojaya becomes more desperate and concerned. Apu and Durga experience the tragedy of loss and death, and then death comes for the innocent. Harihar finally returns but what joy he has is lost when he learns of Durga. With nothing to hold them to the only home they have known for at least three generations, the Rays go to the big city of Benares to seek out a new start.
Pather Panchali has as its major drawback its length at a little over two hours. Such a long film may try viewers' patience, especially as Pather Panchali has a very small, simple plot. It's a very quiet film: there are no major twists apart from the discovery of the necklace and its focus is on simple people living out their lives in rural India. There is no talk of politics or the outside world, in fact no mention of anything remotely connected to the outside save for the train that so fascinates Apu and Durga.
Yet my question would be what exactly should be removed? Director and screenwriter Satyajit Ray in his directorial debut takes this slow and methodical method to allow us to know these characters, and as such those with patience are richly rewarded. We are slowly woven into their lives, their struggles, hopes, joys, simplicity and heartbreak to where we can see either ourselves or our own families.
One of the great beauties of Pather Panchali is that despite the difference in time and culture the viewer can identify with the characters and their various situations: the inquisitive and playful Apu, the protective yet flawed Durga, the wily and slightly mischievous but wise Auntie, the harried and haunted Sarbojaya and the optimistic and hopeful dreamer Harihar. Pather Panchali is a story that is familiar to the human condition, centering on a family and situations both distinctly Indian and deeply universal.
It's a major credit to Ray as a director that his cast featured non-professional actors. Out of his main cast, Bandopadhyay had no acting experience and only Kanu Bannerjee had film experience. Karuna Bannerjee, Das Gupta and Devi had theatrical acting experience but no film work. They all give such wonderful performances, making the characters so relateable. We see Apu's discovery of the world, his innocence and joy in simple things. We can smile as Auntie delights in the secret deliveries of fruit Durga 'finds' for her. We can share Sarbojaya's anxieties about how to feed her family while her husband is away.
"I had dreams too...", she tells her husband softly, and here I think we see the genius of both Ray and Pather Panchali. Sarbojaya was once Durga, a generally happy child with her life ahead of her. She is also perhaps fated to become Auntie, an old hunched-over woman living off the kindness of extended family. In fact near the end a child sent by family to provide food for Sarbojaya in her grief calls her 'Auntie', suggesting that the wheel of time spins in a certain direction too.
We can also mourn the two deaths in Pather Panchali, one not surprising, one unexpected but both sad and tragic. It is no surprise that the elderly Auntie dies, though her death seems very harsh given the circumstances that led to it. It is the other death that hits you much harder, much deeper. Ray does not make it a big moment, drenching it with music or having hysterics. It is the softness, the stillness of both the death and Sarbojaya's pained, frozen reaction that hits us harder.
I confess that when she finally broke down after Harihar gives her Durga's new sari, I had to pause the film for a few moments to collect myself. You would simply have to have a heart of stone not to find yourself shedding tears at this moment. I admit I cried at this moment, and I have no shame in that revelation.
Pather Panchali perhaps has a subtle way of informing the viewer about its theme of life moving forward both with happiness and sadness. We see this with Sarbojaya, but there's another part that caught my attention. Near the end of the film Apu is sent to find someone. He dresses before leaving, and then pauses to take one more item: an umbrella. Here, he echoes his father's similar pause to collect his umbrella earlier in the film when he set out on his journey. Perhaps I am reading too much into this, but I think Ray was suggesting that Apu was now becoming a man, leaving the boy behind.
This is a film that makes one go find his or her family and express their love for them. After seeing it, I went and hugged my mother tightly and lovingly. Granted, she was suspicious as to why I was suddenly so affectionate and thought I was up to something, but such is life.
Lest I forget, the film is blessed with a beautiful score from legendary sitar master Ravi Shankar, whose music brings delight and pain that matches the story.
The pain and loss the family endures is heartbreaking, yet Pather Panchali is not a tragedy. We have moments of lightness and joy, in short, about life and the human condition every person lives out. A beautiful portrait of humanity, albeit perhaps a bit slow for some, Pather Panchali is a portrait of how we all travel down on our own Little Road.
As someone who has come across Bollywood/Tollywood films, I can say that I'm not unfamiliar with the genre. However, Padmaavat is a different type of Bollywood film altogether for me. Unlike other Bollywood films, Padmaavat is the first one I have seen that is not set in contemporary times. Second, Padmaavat is one that cannot be called 'jolly' in any sense of the word. Finally, Padmaavat is the first Bollywood film, at least that I can recall, that has been met with controversy and scandal even before it was released, with some of that continuing afterwards. This film, based on an epic poem which may or may not be based on actual historic events, now is finally released.
Was it worth all the death threats and rioting?
Muslim warrior Alauddin (Ranveer Singh) has designs on Mehrunisa (Aditi Rao Hydari), the beautiful daughter of the Sultan. Alauddin is not a good man: he is screwing a maiden on his wedding night and kills a loyal servant who tells him to go to the wedding dance.
Meanwhile, in the kingdom of Singhal, the Princess Padmavati (Deepika Padukone) is a warrior princess, one who enjoys the hunt. She, however, accidentally hits Ratan Singh (Shahid Kapoor), a young king who is visiting on a state visit. Padmavati nurses him to health and as things go, they fall madly and deeply in love. They marry and she goes to Chittor, her new realm.
Alauddin, for his part, continues plotting to conquer the world, aided by his loyal manservant/assassin/potential lover Malik Kafur (Jim Sarbh). Malik is totally devoted to his Master, and fortunately for him, he is the only one whom Alauddin seems to trust completely, unaware that at least once Malik spied on him in a lovemaking session (that scene was interrupted though, as from what I know of Indian films there is very little actually shown in terms of flesh and sex).
One person who did spy on his Rani and Rajah was Ratan Singh's guru, who was exiled. Now, the guru arrives at Alauddin's court, and he has a prophesy for him. He describes Padmavati's great beauty, and adds that if he were to conquer her, Alauddin could become the most powerful man in the world, a new Alexander the Great or Sikander-e-Sani.
With motivation like that, Alauddin declares war, as he puts it, not to extend his territory but to extend his arms. Needless to say, Ratan Singh isn't going to let his second wife go off with another man, especially since he's madly in love with her. He manages to withstand Alauddin's long siege, and Alauddin at first appears almost sane. It isn't until he subtly suggests he'd like to see the Rani that Chittor is enraged. Padmavati, for her part, agrees to a quick glimpse via mirrors and smoke, but that was a bad move. The quick glimpse is not enough for Alauddin, but enough to make him more determined.
Alauddin tricks Ratan into becoming his prisoner, and now Padmavati faces a terrible choice: surrender or let her beloved die. She agrees to meet with Alauddin, if certain conditions are met. Alauddin agrees to them all: allowing her to bring 900 maidens, seeing the King first and seeing him released, and the head of the guru. It's all a major ruse: the maidens are disguised warriors, and the lovers escape with help from Mehrunisa. Enraged, Alauddin marches again on Chittor, with a larger army. Ratan faces him in a one-on-one match, but is killed by Malik, contravening the rules of war. Chittor is now totally left in ruins, but Alauddin will be defeated.
Padmavati, in a calm act, declares that she and all the women will commit Jauhar, ritual self-immolation, what is also termed 'sati', where women set themselves on fire. Alauddin would not get his war booty.
Padmavaat was initially so controversial that even the original title caused outrage. Originally titled after the main character, Padmavati, the title had to be changed to the epic poem about her (Padmavaat) because as the film points out in a post-script, she is held as a Goddess. As such, you just cannot make a film about a Goddess without running the risk of offending some sensibilities.
Those sensibilities were later inflamed by unfounded rumors of a dream sequence between Padmavati and Alauddin where they became lovers (no pun intended). While there was no 'love/dream sequence' and there was never one in writer/director Sanjay Leela Bhansali's script, the mere suggestion of such a sequence was enough to infuriate certain sections of the Indian population. Death threats against Bhansali and actress Padukone were issued, and the set was damaged in an act of vandalism.
As it stands, I'm a bit surprised these same people were upset, because the end result is that Padmavaat is actually pretty accommodating to an almost anti-Muslim worldview. I claim no knowledge of how Alauddin was in real life and confess to having never heard of any of this prior to Padmavaat, but one can't watch how Alauddin is without coming away with strongly negative views on him. As portrayed by Ranveer Singh, Alauddin is in turns crazed, almost demonic, and perhaps homosexual or bisexual (which might be seen as being even worse in some more conservative Indian circles).
We get quite a few suggestions about how close the relationship between Alauddin and Malik may be almost from the latter's first appearance. Presented as a gift to Alauddin by his father-in-law, Malik appears to be almost in a bridal gown. Later on, Ratan's generals say that Malik is so close to Alauddin that some call Malik 'his consort'.
Perhaps the oddest and most overt claim of an 'unnatural' relationship between Malik and Alauddin comes from Malik's love song, Binte Dil. As Malik starts singing this number to Alauddin, we had already been treated to the sight of them in a large bathtub together, though to be fair Malik was fully dressed. As Malik starts singing, Alauddin does some writhing and thrusting in the tub, then finds himself in the throes of passion. Granted, he was in the throes of passion with a woman, forcefully drawing the curtain on Malik as he continues singing, but the whole number is probably as homoerotic a musical number as we are likely to see from a Bollywood film.
At least one that does not actually feature a same-sex love story, which given how conservative the Bollywood film industry appears to be, is not something likely to happen.
Another musical number, Khalibali, performed by Alauddin as he comes close to his victory, is also, well, a bit bizarre. Yes, I think it's worth mentioning I'm coming at this from a thoroughly Western point of view, even if I have seen several Bollywood/Tollywood films, so I don't declare myself an expert on these musical numbers. However, seeing an almost completely unhinged Alauddin with a group of warriors as backup dancers and he almost in a rage sings and dances is unnerving, and having the scene end with Alauddin getting hit by arrows is the coda on the general offbeat nature of Khalibali.
It's a sign of how unique the number is that one isn't even sure the arrows are real or a dream.
Credit should be given to Ranveer Singh, who makes Alauddin into a frightening, crazed being even when dancing in Khalibali, his manner intensely threatening. I cannot say much for Kapoor other than he has an extremely firm body which is showcased often. I put it more to the character, who at times seems so gentle, especially when looking at the second Rani of Chittor. The one thing I remember about Padukone is that no matter what, she looked as if she was always on the verge of tears, her eyes perpetually red.
It's a pity, as she started as a strong warrior princess, but once she was married she became if not docile at least less warlike, but again credit for making her a shrewd figure who out-thinks her enemies.
Out of the dance numbers, only Ghoomar has what most would consider a typical, or stereotypical, Bollywood number: the elaborate dance and lavish sets and costumes all befitting a spectacle.
As for the Jauhar, the film had the good sense to not show the actual mass suicide, giving us just enough to shock without delving into the full horror of it. In this aspect, it is reminiscent of Masada, when the Jewish rebels committed mass suicide rather than surrender to the Romans.
Padmaavat, for all the controversy and scandal it unleashed, was surprisingly very respectful to the legend of Padmavati and her act of jauhar; it might be interpreted closer to being about the present than the past. The idea of the Muslim flag flying over the Hindu kingdom or Alauddin burning any historic text that didn't mention him evokes memories of ISIS and its brutality. I cannot say whether this was in mind for Padmaavat, but in terms of cinema it was good but at times a little curious, with one good though crazed performance and songs I doubt will linger apart from Ghoomar.
In the time since I started enjoying whatever Tollywood features find their way to my hometown of El Paso, I've grown fond of Mahesh Babu, probably because he's the only Tollywood superstar I've been exposed to on a repeated basis. Ever since I plunged in with Dookudu and onward, I have found myself enjoying his films despite not speaking a single word of Telugu.
The last Babu film I saw was the intensely disappointing SVCV, a film so disliked that even the Telugu-speaking Indian students from UTEP howled at it (as they could follow along without subtitles and knew the stars, I deferred to them, though I had my own American non-Telugu-speaking issues with it). Perhaps that is why, in terms of Indian cinema, the local theater has opted for Bollywood films with Hrithik Roshan.
Well, it's time for a comeback, and Superstar has returned to my screens with Spyder. In terms of cinema, Spyder is quite good, though it probably will come as a shock to those not used to Tollywood films to have something as serious, even frightening, as a gritty story of a totally unhinged serial killer mixed with elaborate song-and-dance numbers. There are moments of unintended hilarity within the film, but one could genuinely see it remade for Western audiences as a straight thriller.
Shiva (Babu) works at an intelligence agency that listens in on telephone conversations without warrants, what they call 'call tapping' and what I think is called in the U.S. 'wire tapping'. The legality of these efforts is hazy, but let's say that it is technically illegal but tolerated. Shiva is listening in to see if anyone is in danger, and he is pretty good about stopping crime before it takes place, a real-life Minority Report with a dash of The Lives of Others.
Then come a pair of calls that alter his life forever. The first one comes from sweet but not too bright Charlie (Rakul Preet Singh), a University student who finds herself distracted after watching some porn and who is pretty open about wanting to recreate it...which makes Shiva do a variation on a spit-take. For once, he takes advantage and does a bit of stalking (again, legalities being a bit hazy). Charlie finds herself smitten by this stranger who pops in often, and soon fall in love (despite their mutual protests otherwise).
The other call is one he overhears of a young girl who calls a friend, commenting how her house is the only one in the neighborhood where the power went out and that she hears 'ghosts' in there while she's alone. Concerned but not overly alarmed, Shiva calls a friend who is also a police woman and asks her to look in on this house.
The next day, we learn that both the young girl and the female officer were brutally murdered, and not just murdered, but dismembered in a savage way. To make things more horrifying, the killer mixed their limbs in a sadistic jigsaw puzzle. Devastated by his inability to stop this crime, Shiva resigns, until his father convinces him that not only was he not responsible for their deaths, but that this is not the first time this person has killed, and if Shiva does not go back, it won't be the last time.
With that, Shiva returns and begins his investigation, which involves looking through CCTV video (again, did I mention all this is done sans warrants or other legal details?) and through his wit and work, finds a suspect. It is a man known as Bairaduvu (S.J. Surya), and his tale is one that is shocking, and I imagine quite shocking for Indian audiences.
He was born in a cemetery, where his father worked as an undertaker. As his first sounds were those of people wailing, he grew up deriving pleasure from the pain of others. When people didn't die, he was actually sad. It wasn't long before this child decided to take matters into his own hands, by literally killing people. Only his younger brother, in no position to stop him, knew, but no matter: the townspeople burn his parents house down, with them inside. Bairaduvu and his brother see this, and soon wander off, where they begin perfecting their macabre hobby.
As adults, they continue the madness, and after a battle on a roller coaster (yes, a roller coaster), Shiva realizes he's captured the brother, who is as much a sadist as Bairaduvu. Bairaduvu reveals himself in a gruesome video where he confesses to having killed a person for every column of a major railway line and burying them inside each one. At the literal end of the line, Shiva, concealed by lights, taunts Bairaduvu to come out, and shoots the brother in the head.
Now it's a battle of wills between the noble Batman-like Shiva and the evil Joker-like Bairaduvu. At one point, Bairaduvu comes close to killing Shiva's mother and brother, and even manages to stop Shiva by causing an accident that literally impales Shiva.
If you thought Shiva wasn't going to survive crashing into a metal rod, you obviously didn't realize it was Mahesh Babu. Of course he was going to survive! Not only was he going to survive, but Shiva manages to shoot Bairaduvu enough to injure him.
Now, with the aid of housewives watching an Indian soap opera specifically targeted to where Bairaduvu is hiding out, he is finally captured, but our mad murderer has one or two more tricks up his sleeve, culminating in a final battle in the ruins of a hospital.
In between all this murder and mayhem, you get colorful, almost Katy Perry-like musical numbers where the more aggressive Charlie pursues a more reluctant Shiva.
It is a bit reminiscent of how Audrey Hepburn is doing the pursuing of the much older and more hesitant Cary Grant in Charade, and not just because Charlie is chasing Shiva and not vice-versa. It's in that Mahesh Babu is 42 and Rakul Preet Singh is 26. A bit of dialogue confirms that she is still in University while he is already an adult with a legally dubious job (but like all good unmarried Indian boys, still lives at home, or at least that's what I think all good unmarried Indian boys do, I've no way of confirming that). Making things more scandalous, while Singh herself is 26, her character Charlie is supposed to be 21, and while we don't know Shiva's age, it does make Shiva almost old enough to be Charlie's father!
As youthful and athletic and even as age-defying as Superstar is, he still looks older than his paramour, and part of me wondered if we were slipping a bit into Lolita territory here. Even the age difference between the male and female lead was not as big an issue for me as the fact that how he got to know her was, if not flat-out illegal, at least morally questionable. Near the end, I think Charlie discovers this fact but it's never brought up again.
If we think about it, Spyder (having the root word 'spy' in it, down to being spelled out as part of the lyrics to the opening song), is touching on issues of domestic espionage versus public safety. Shiva and his men are not recording private conversations or deliberately listening in on calls or social media. However, we do get into dicey territory with the overall plot.
We also get into surprisingly gruesome details within the action and dances. You watch in horror as Shiva is impaled, and while his mother and brother are spared death thanks to a really clever twist (and the villain's penchant for monologuing first detailed in The Incredibles), the suggestion itself is surprising, as is the cold-blooded shooting of Bairaduvu's brother.
In terms of performance, the clear standout is Surya as our unhinged, psychopathic killer, a mix of Heath Ledger's The Joker and the real-life Night Stalker. I hope Surya gets a chance to do a comedy, if only to show that he isn't going to be relegated into really frightening portrayals. He was intense, cold, intensely frightening without ever going full-on camp. Every time he's on the screen, he really commands it in Bairaduvu's indifference to humanity.
Mahesh Babu continues to show a greater range than perhaps I have not given him credit for. When the script calls for drama and shock, Superstar does deliver. He excels in these action roles when he plays a good guy, nominally an officer of the law. I think the only time he ever played against this type was in The Business Man, yet I digress. In the action scenes and in the dramatic moments, he did a commendable job.
In terms of his dancing, I noticed something with how he moves. His dancing consists of extremely sharp, quick moves. He is not like a Fred Astaire, who moved gracefully and smoothly. Babu, instead, moves in bursts, and sometimes has no problem standing still. Whether this quick, sharp movement is typical of Tollywood films or just something Babu does I cannot say. At least he didn't pull his pant leg as part of the dance numbers.
It's a pity that Singh was not in the film long enough to make an impression, but she handled her comedy bits well.
I can remember only three dance numbers, two between Shiva and Charlie and one that introduces our Shiva. Out of them, I think the best one is the first one, Boom Boom, where we learn about how great Shiva is. The melody stays with you after the movie ends (in part because they use it when Spyder ends), but also because the lyrics do some interesting shout-outs. As part of the lyrics, we get nods to Marvel Comics and Hogwarts, saying that Marvel Comics would have had to create someone like Shiva.
The first of the duets between Shiva and Charlie, Ciciliya Ciciliya, also threw in some contemporary nods, referencing itself as being a bit like a La La Land song. It was colorful, almost candy-like in its execution, and a nice respite from the murder and madness of the dark story. The third one, Haali Haali, might have been the item number, where we see our lovers expressing their love again.
I will mark that Babu was saddled in some awful costumes in some of the musical numbers.
Oddly, there were no musical numbers involving Bairaduvu...
Writer/director AR Murugadoss had some unintentionally hilarious moments: the roller coaster fight that is downright insane, the curious ode to stalking Achcham Telugandham with some really silly English lyrics (rhyming 'mysterious' with 'Confucius'), and a finale with a boulder that is more comical than anything else.
On the whole, with an intense performance by Surya as our criminally murderous mastermind, a couple of good musical numbers, and the compelling Mahesh Babu, Spyder is an interesting and entertaining, albeit quite dark, story.
Only in a Tollywood film could one get away with lavish musical numbers in a film about a serial killer.
Well, since we are in March and in Spring Break, I've decided to tackle some unfinished business too long delayed.
Almost six months ago I was asked to look over what I was told were better examples of Bollywood and Tollywood musical numbers. School pushed these things aside, but a nagging sense of good old Protestant guilt got me to take a little break during this my last school break to do so.
Now, out of the three suggestions for a Bollywood number by composer Sneha Khanwalkar, only one allowed me to actually listen to it without doing a YouTube search for Khanwalkar. The message was they were not available in my country. That was Superchor (Jugni Hasdi Ve Hasdi). I thought it was an interesting song, and certainly contemporary as I heard a little rap mixed in. Unfortunately, there were no visuals to accompany it, so a lot was lost in translation.
For a non-Indian like me, the visuals sometimes help figure out what is going on. Granted, some numbers, like Tu Meri from Bang Bang (which I did see but haven't reviewed) might not really explain anything, but at least I knew what came before so I wasn't completely lost.
In any case, I did a bit of searching for Khanawalkar, and I hope I got it right. The few songs I heard, such as Kaala Rey from Gangs of Wasseypur, seem more avant-garde than I would think would go in a traditional Bollywood film. I was taught that Bollywood films were more traditional, more conservative, and certainly Kaala Rey is neither. It feels contemporary, not pop but close to experimental in the song.
Not that I Can't Hold It Any Longer from what was described as the 'cult Bollywood film' Love Sex Aur Dhoka made things any more family-friendly. While it takes place at a bachelor party, and remarkably tame for what I imagine a bachelor party to be (given my limited experiences with them, as they were all with very Christian men), I can't imagine this song would find its way to a more standard Bollywood production. Another little song from Love Sex Aur Dhoka, (it lasts about a minute, which in itself is flouting convention), Mohabbat Bollywood Style, seems to almost ridicule the conventions, mocking just how grandiose the musical numbers can be.
The last song I heard, Tanki Hai Hum from Hard Kaur, seems to be almost a celebration of hedonism, boozing it up to your heart's fill. It's surprising that this would fall within the confines of my idea of Bollywood as being more wholesome and dare I say, virginal. They're not bad songs by any stretch, but a bit surprising to my little old Western mind. They seem to push the envelope and are more adventurous than something like Tu Meri. I can't imagine Krissh singing about downing Bacardi and tequila.
The other links worked a little better. The Tollywood composer Devi Sri Prasad's first number, Thakadimithom from Aarya, was upbeat and if not lavish at least energetic (which I think is more Tollywood than Bollywood). I can't explain it precisely: as if Tollywood numbers don't have to be so gigantic and splashy than their Mumbai counterparts.
Compare Aamchi Mumbai from The Businessman to God Allah Aur Bhagwan from Krrish 3. The latter is big, colorful, extravagant. The former is not colorful, relying instead on smaller number of dancers, all in sync, complimenting the main performer. As God Allah Aur Bhagwan is bright and positive, Aamchi Mumbai is rather dark and cynical. Bollywood numbers are big, brassy, bold. Tollywood numbers are smaller, with a fondness for having the viewer look through things, where smaller choreography is better than the large-scale number of dancers a Bollywood number would ask for.
The second link, a jukebox collection of numbers from Julayi, appears to confirm some of my ideas. Here, we see that the numbers are not gigantic, and they have a strong sense of place. They don't flit off into fantasy worlds (mostly). Rather, they take place on the street or in working-class settings. They don't go for big.
I also noticed that costuming is not a big deal in Tollywood films. Most of the time, the leads wear regular, almost street clothes, the type one would see kids wearing at malls. They don't have a big lavish colorful style in the wardrobe (most of the time, for I'm sure on occasion they do break out something lavish). For the most part, however, there seems to be an everyday quality to the clothes worn in Tollywood production numbers.
I liked the Devi Sri Prasad numbers, and I think I'm getting a sense of Tollywood songs. He doesn't push convention like Khanwalkar, though he certainly does put a contemporary, harder, rock/techno stamp on it.
With that, I thank Ram for his suggestions. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did, and look forward to seeing more Bollywood/Tollywood films, if and when the come to the EP.
As in life, not everything can turn out right. Despite lots of planning, sometimes things end up far from the original plan. This is certainly true with movies. As stated earlier I have seen only four Bollywood/Tollywood movies: Dookudu, The Businessman, SVCV, and Krrish 3. When a film mixed music and action, sometimes the music fails to live up to its potential. Sometimes it can be flat-out bizarre, and that's with removing the language barrier (as I shall explain).
Being a bit in a rush I figure I'll dispense with any real opening and just get on with it.
These are the five Worst Bollywood/Tollywood musical numbers from the four Indian films I have seen.
NUMBER 5
Pilla Chao (The Businessman)
Ah, The Businessman. It barely got a passing grade from me, and I think it was thanks to Mahesh Babu's performance and Aamchi Mumbai. As for other things, even with subtitles things still seemed a bit bizarre.
Take Pilla Chao. From what I gather, this is a 'I don't need you' type of song. However, it makes our antihero look both like a stalker and an idiot (he clearly wants the girl but somehow, trying to make a girl who is not interested in you jealous might be the wrong tactic). Given what a ruthless criminal he is, one wonders whether he genuinely loves her or is merely sexually obsessed with her.
The costumes don't help. Superstar is backed up by men wearing red coats with while fur lining. I couldn't help think he was being assisted by Santa's Minions.
They don't exactly scream 'dangerous'.
NUMBER 4
Dil Tu Hi Bata (Krrish 3)
I won't lie: I was highly entertained by Krrish 3 (even though I'm sure I missed a few things, I found the plot remarkably easy to follow considering I don't speak a word of Hindi).
However, out of all the songs I think Dil Tu Hi Bataa (which if I understand it correctly translates to Tell Me, My Heart) was the weakest number. It is I suppose quite romantic, and from what I understood the not-Mystique character, who has disguised herself as Krishna's wife (with him not knowing that she and their unborn baby are being held hostage by the not-Professor X/Magneto hybrid) is falling in love with Krishna. Krishna, meanwhile, is telling his 'wife' that he loves her too.
I wouldn't say it's confusing; maybe a bit garbled, but all that sweeping romance in the middle of Petra, Jordan looked, well, a bit dull.
NUMBER 3
We Love Bad Boys (The Businessman)
Yep, it's The Businessman again.
Again, another 'item' number which has little to nothing to do with the plot.
It just looked a bit silly to me, even more considering The Businessman was suppose to be this angry film.
NUMBER 2
Yem Chaddam (SVCV)
Personally, I couldn't stand SVCV, the first Tollywood film that I ended up virtually despising after finishing it. I always found Tollywood films to be quite amusing (even if I really didn't understand much if anything) because there was comedy, action, romance, and a few good musical numbers. However, SVCV was the first one where I didn't understand much of anything, where most musical numbers were played over scenes rather than have the characters do the numbers themselves, and where I was bored out of my mind.
It might be quite good, but judging from the Telugu-speaking audience that was there (I was the only non-Indian in the theater), even they thought it was all getting idiotic. The various hoots and hollers I heard when Superstar Mahesh Babu and Victory Venkatesh were together made me think that the predominantly male audience (I figure engineering students at UTEP) were catcalling them to kiss each other.
Frankly, I don't remember any musical numbers save for Yem Chaddam, and that was because I thought it was so bizarre that these two giants of Telugu cinema never shared the screen in this big musical number. They were always cut in split screen, with one flipping his shirt collar, the other tugging at his shirt. I leave to you to guess who did what.
Now, while this isn't the scene exactly as it was, it gives an approximation of what we saw.
NUMBER 1
Chandamama Navee (The Businessman)
Oh, Businessman, what happened?
As I watched the Chandamama Navee number, I was aghast at what was going on. I actually stopped taking notes and sat agape at how this 'romantic' scene was playing out.
Let me set this up for you. The girl had been abducted when she had gotten on what she thought was a legitimate taxi but really one of the Businessman's minion's cars. She had been rendered unconscious by chloroform and taken to the Businessman's lair. There, while unconscious, he starts 'romancing' her.
To my little ol' eyes, it looked like she was all but being raped! She wasn't because there was no visible penetration, but somehow the thought that this woman was not in her full state of mind when a man is over her, flinging her about and kissing her without her consent was pretty shocking.
I'm sure no one on The Businessman intended to suggest any rape, but sadly that's the impression I got while watching. I was stunned at how all this was playing out and couldn't understand how no one on the production could not see that seeing an unconscious woman on a man's bed while he made romantic overtures wouldn't come across as a bit...forced.
So far we have yet to have another Tollywood/Bollywood film (a movie in Telugu or Hindi) play in El Paso. Should one come across, I am reluctant to watch, not just because of these musical numbers, but because SVCV was such a bore.
Ah, there is something to be said about being American. I can come at the Bollywood/Tollywood films from a thoroughly Western worldview, neither dismissive of these productions or so immersed in them.
I confess to not really knowing the major differences between a Tegulu-language film and a Hindi-language film apart from the actual language (which to my Germanic/Romantic trained ears would be indistinguishable).
I have seen as of today four Indian films: Dookudu, The Business Man, SVCV, and Krrish 3. Out of those, only the last one is an actual Bollywood film (and even that one is more an action/superhero movie than what I would call a bona-fide Bollywood movie).
It's clear therefore, that someone of my limited background would not be in a position to say a particular Tolly/Bollywood number would be particularly brilliant. For this list, therefore, I will mark the ones from the four films above that I genuinely liked. That's really the only criteria for my selections: the music, the dancing, and how close or far it kept to my idea of a Tolly/Bollywood number. I counted a total of twenty-three songs to which to choose from.
I'm at pains to say this is no way to mock Indian cinema. In fact, I've grown rather enamored of it, even if I truly don't understand anything being said. That is something I should point out: I really have no idea what the lyrics are, so don't expect me to figure them out for you. Just enjoy the melody and the dancing.
With that, let's get the countdown going...
HONORABLE MENTION
Krrish Krrish (Theme to Krrish 3)
I can't technically count Krrish Krrish a Bollywood number because the song played over the closing credits. However, I found it wildly infectious and danceable. It has stuck in my memory, as has Krrish 3 itself (an odd mixture of Spider-Man and X-Men Indian-style).
NUMBER 5
Poovai Poovai (Dookudu)
This is what I understand is called an 'item number', a big splashy musical moment that has little to absolutely nothing to do with whatever plot the film has. Still, even though there is nothing in the song Poovai Poovai that furthers the plot (which it has in common with some songs in American musicals), it is if nothing else, LAVISH. The crowd seemed to love it too, letting out whistles and whoops during the number.
As a side note, it is fascinating to watch Mahesh Babu perform. His dancing has a lot of small gestures and moments rather than something explosive like a Fred Astaire. Looking at Poovai Poovai or other Prince Mahesh numbers, he has a fascination with flipping his collar and doing very small physical movements (like flipping his hands) His dance steps are well-done, but I would put him as a minimalist.
NUMBER 4
Raghupati Raghav (Krrish 3)
With Raghupati Raghav, at least I can say that the song was if not integral to the plot at least made sense within the film. This big number comes after Krishna, the secret identity of our hero Krrish (you can see where he got the name) has come in to a surprise birthday party. As a 'gift', he's just been told that he is going to be a father. That's enough to make ANY man break out into song and dance.
Now, I heard bits of English and even Spanish, which I found amusing. It's a big joyful number that again has stuck with me, and one of Krrish 3's highlights.
NUMBER 3
Nee Dookudu (Dookudu)
You never forget your first time, do you. Nee Dookudu was the first Tollywood musical number I saw (even if I thought it was a Bollywood movie. Apologies, but I'm a Westerner who wouldn't know the difference until pointed out to me. Granted, I thought "Dookudu" was the main character's name throughout the whole film, but in my defense I managed to follow the plot without subtitles or dubbing.
At least, I THINK I managed to follow the plot...
NUMBER 2
Aamchi Mumbai (The Businessman)
Whilst Dookudu was an action/musical/comedy, The Businessman was as dark a Tollywood film as I've seen, one that got down into the gritty of the criminal underworld. There was a cynical, hard tone to this film, one that was as far removed from the joy of Dookudu as possible. It made me respect Superstar Mahesh in terms of his acting: to go from the happy policeman in Dookudu to the hard and dark crime lord in The Businessman.
The Businessman I felt was something of an Indian Objectivist film, where 'rational self-interest' was the main character's motivation for everything he did. The argument Mahesh Babu's character proposes is that the police NEED the criminals, otherwise they are useless. Aamchi Mumbai may not jibe with what I took as India's take on Ayn Rand, but to me, it was an angry, defiant song. I could picture it being the theme to Occupy Mumbai (if there were such a thing).
NUMBER 1
God Allah Aur Bhagwan (Krrish 3)
Now THIS to me is a Bollywood number. Big, lavish, colorful to the Nth Degree, one would think this would be the big closing number.
In truth, God Allah Aur Bhagwan comes in the middle of the film. To set up the scene, our superhero Krrish has just saved the city (I think it's Mumbai) from being poisoned en masse by spreading his father's antidote through the city thanks to his superspeed (he leaped from roof to roof and released it through the air). In gratitude, a monument is built in his honor, and a humbled Krishna can only look on while the citizens heap praise on his alter ego. In a spirit of ecumenicalism, the Christian God, the Muslim Allah and the Hindu deity Bhagwan are all thanked in having sent this special being, Krrish, to bless them all. The villains, dare I call them 'mutants', are displeased about this turn of events (hence the destruction of the lab while the city celebrates their deliverance).
I want to point out that the man in the driver's cap is the scientist who came up with the cure and the man with the black vest is his son. In reality, they are both played by the same actor, Hrithik Roshan. It's a credit to Roshan that he made both believable in the film. Curiously, Roshan has a similar dancing 'tick' as his counterpart Babu. While Mahesh loves to flip his collar or some other article of clothing, Roshan has that fist-pumping dance bit which he seems to use a lot.
God Allah Aur Bhagwan is what I think of when I think 'Bollywood'.
I was looking to see if 12 Years A Slave had hit my hometown of El Paso, TX. when I came upon a listing for something called Krrish 3. My curiosity was piqued. Krrish 3? What's that, I asked myself.
I did the Lazy Person's Guide to Knowledge (Google to Wikipedia) and read this description of the film at the Fount of All Wisdom: "Krrish 3 is a 2013 Bollywood superhero science-fiction film..." and said, "I'm THERE!" Who wouldn't want to see a "Bollywood superhero science-fiction film" that's the third part to a series whose first two films (Koi...Mil Gaya or in English I...Found Someone and Krrish) I had neither seen or heard of? If I am to be correct Krrish 3 is technically the first Bollywood film I've seen since the three films I've seen with Mahesh Babu (Dookudu, The Business Man, and SVCV) are Tollywood films made in Telugu as opposed to Bollywood films made in Hindi.
Semantics, says I.
Krrish 3 is derivative of other superhero films. You have a bit of Spider-Man, a heavy helping of the X-Men films, and some Superman/Man of Steel thrown in with some musical numbers (of which no respectable Bollywood film could be without). Those of us raised on comic book-based films may quibble with the fact that Krrish 3 is almost either shameless or gleeful about taking from their American counterparts, but I freely confess to having enjoyed Krrish 3 (though like all Indian films, finding the length rather punishing).
At least for those of us who never saw Koi...Mil Gaya or Krrish we are given something of a recap. Rohit Mehra (Hrithik Roshan) was a sweet boy who was 'limited' in intelligence. Bullied for being slow-witted he prayed to a Hindu deity to make him better. From this, he has an encounter with Jadoo, an alien with whom he both keeps secret and becomes friends with (thus the charge that it comes close to being the Indian E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial). This alien allows Rohit to become a brilliant scientist while still being a bit of an innocent. He later marries and has a son, Krishna (Roshan in a dual role), but Rohit is also abducted and used to try to take over the world. Krishna, who has superpowers thanks to Papa Rohit, rescues his father and later marries the beautiful Priya (Priyanka Chopra), a journalist. During his time, Krishna adopts the nom de superhero of Krrish, who has super-strength and can leap tall buildings in a single bound.
So, back to our story. Krishna finds it hard to keep a job because every time Mumbai is threatened some guy in a black mask and long leather coat has to jump in and save it...and for some reason Krishna keeps disappearing or showing up late for work. Mrs. Mehra, fully aware of his secret, I figure makes enough for all of them, and Papa Rohit has a good job at the government science & medical lab. Krishna's secret identity is safe, given that his friend Kripal (Rajpal Yadav) believes HE is Krrish (don't ask how that is possible, just go with it).
Any resemblance to any (fictional) character, human or mutant, is purely coincidental...
However, there is evil afoot. The villainous Kaal (Vivek Oberoi), a billionaire wheelchair-bound but with the power to move things with his mind and two functioning fingers, is determined to walk again. This Lex Luthor/Magneto/Charles Xavier mix with a hint of Davros from Doctor Who even has his own Mystique, Kaya (Kangna Ranaut), a seductive woman who can take the shape of anyone she wants. She was the first of Kaal's mutants, beings he created in the hopes of unlocking the ability to walk again. Kaya is fiercely loyal to Kaal, who if nothing else keeps trying by making more mutants. He has to have them do SOMETHING, so why not be his Minions?
Well, as Krrish saves children from their foolishness and becoming a hero to all Mumbai Kaal hits on a genius idea: he will release a poison on a population, then come up with an antidote for which nations will pay billions. His test case on Namibia is just for starters. He has his eyes set on a nation of billions. Any guess which nation he picks?
The disease kills thousands, putting all of India at risk. Rohit works to find a cure, then finds something curious...neither he or Krishna are affected. Could that be a clue? Wouldn't you know: their blood provides the antidote. In gratitude, Rohit is praised and Krrish, who delivered it all across Mumbai, has a statue dedicated to him. Krishna is already in a good mood: Priya is pregnant. Kaal is furious that his plans have been thwarted, and he zeroes in on the Mehra family. The men think Priya has lost the baby, but in truth she's been abducted by Kaal and secretly replaced by Kaya. However, spending time with Rohit and Krishna has her loyalty to Kaal waver, to where she sees the evil she has done and decided to switch sides.
A final confrontation to save both Priya and India takes place across two continents, where people die (including Krrish for a while) but in the end, even after we discover the secret connection between Kaal and Rohit and the former goes on a rampage, all ends well with Priya rescued and the baby safe. Six months later, they have a son, whom they name Rohit...and who appears to have powers of his own...
One thing that surprised me about Krrish 3 was the lack of musical numbers. It's not that it didn't have musical numbers or that they (with perhaps one exception) either weren't good or shock of shocks--relevant to the plot. It's just that there weren't that many. As someone who has been led to believe that Bollywood films stop every fifteen minutes to allow someone to lip-sync a big, lavish song-and-dance number Krrish 3 has only three songs (four if you count the title song which appears in the closing credits). For my money, the best number is God Allah Aur Bhagwan, as big and lavish and colorful as one could ask for from a Bollywood film (or a Westerner's idea of said project), coming after the Intermission (yes, Indian films still have intermissions). It's a positive song, once you look at the translation, which says that God (however you define Him, hence "God, Allah, and Bhagwan") has given us a figure (that being Krrish) to do good. The production value also has it be bright and beautifully rendered. The melody itself is also quite pleasant, and the whole thing is delightful. It's also a credit to the production that Roshan in the dual roles of Rohit and Krishna blend well to where we accept they are two different people.
The first song, Rahgupati Raghav, is similarly at least something that doesn't interfere with the storyflow. It is sung at Krishna's birthday party where he has just learned he is going to be a father. That ought to make anyone break out in song. It's a fun, zippy number which is in the jolly spirit of most of Krrish 3.
It's the third and final number, Dil Tu Hi Bataa, that I felt it could have been cut out. Granted, I understand the reason for the number (Kaya's wavering feelings over both Krishna and the whole 'being Kaal's henchman' business), but one wonders whether the romanticism of the song undercuts what she is trying to say. It is the only number that feels a bit forced, but it does give us yet another chance to enjoy the heaving manhood that IS Hrithik Roshan. Technically, there was only one scene where Roshan was shirtless, but in this last number we got to see him with his shirt open (I guess that's close enough). It is clear that Roshan worked out furiously to build up a great physique (not unlike, say, Hugh Jackman as Wolverine), so I figure he wanted to show us what he could do.
That, however, might be a bit dismissive towards Roshan as an actor. He did what all good actors do: transform to the needs of the character. His whole physicality as the endearing yet bumbling and naïve Rohit were in such contrast to the confident Krrish and the generally upbeat Krishna that one soon forgot that the three were played by one man. Even the voice changed, and in three roles Roshan did not fail any of them. Roshan was wonderful in each role (and I confess to having a soft spot for the sweet-natured Rohit). The final scene of Roshan as Rohit was so moving that it does become emotional.
I think Oberoi was having a hoot as the wildly over-the-top villain: a battle between Oberoi's blue eyes and Roshan's green eyes. He was so calm and cool as the nefarious Kaal that when he goes all psycho as he lays waste to Mumbai it doesn't quite become comical but let's say it becomes more comic-book. I also loved Ranaut's Mystique...I mean, Kaya, and her story arc from venomous villain to sympathetic character was believable. Chopra was beautiful but also effective as the journalist/wife, though getting the 'abducted & held prisoner' story did make her a 'damsel in distress' and less of a real participant for most of the second half. However, she did have her moment in the end where she stands up to a clearly-deranged Kaal.
Really, Oberoi LOVED being evil!
Another plus in Krrish 3's column is the special effects. While on occasion you could see that they were a bit below par on the whole they held up against American productions (certainly more believable than anything in After Earth). I do note that Krrish 3 had great lines. "The business of fear is the best business," Kaal tells his mutants and his mad-scientists. A response from Krrish to a young fan also gives basically his life-view: "Age does not matter; courage does."
A minus is the story itself. Again, it is almost impossible to watch Krrish 3 WITHOUT thinking that it at the very least an 'homage' to comic book films, particularly the X-Men films (right down to the mutants). This is why I referred to her as the Indian Mystique...the character is simply too similar to believe it was an original creation. Even the use of the term 'mutants' ought to stir debate. The comedy bits didn't quite work (why would Kripal honestly think HE was Krrish when there was no evidence to think as such).
On the whole, Krrish 3 I imagine will not be liked by people who think it is a rip-off of the Marvel/DC film library. However, with some good musical numbers and a good story (though the final battle did seem endless), Krrish 3 is a film I found enjoyable and worth watching, subtitled or not.
And also, it was much better than After Earth or The Big Wedding...
Now a haunted man with very little to hold him, Lord Roy wanders about his dilapidated palace, no goals, no future. It isn't until he's visited by Ganguli, who invites him to another celebration where he will have the most expensive dancer/singer, that Lord Roy rises for one last hurrah. The 300 rupees that he has left, which should be dedicated to the gods, is going to find another use. While his servant Ananta (Kali Sarkar) is delighted that the music room will be reopened, Lord Roy's steward (Tulsi Lahari) is appalled.,-Directed-by-Satyajit-Ray.jpg)
The film also succeeds because of Biswas' performance. In many ways, Biswas echoes Orson Welles' performance in Citizen Kane. Like Charles Foster Kane, Lord Roy is lost in his own Xanadu, unaware of the world, haunted by tragedy.
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