KAPOOR & SONS: TWO F WORDS RULE—FUN AND FAKE WITH RISHI KAPOOR LEADING AS THE GRANDFATHER OF FAKE HOUSE OF HOT, IMPRESSIVE CARDS LIKE FAWAD KHAN.

Ever played ‘Spot the Difference’? There are two identical drawings and you have to really look hard to …well…spot it. The Karan Johar produced “Kapoor & Sons” is that kind of film where you have to spot the difference between the real and the fake. The fake is so good that it looks real. And you know what, you don’t really care because there is the director, Shakun Batra who is maneuvering the DOP’s camera and the editor’s cuts so damn well that, every single sequence in the film is a masterful choreography of family fights which entertain and engage but do not disturb you.

So you have a mother-Sunita (Ratna Pathak Shah) who is yelling some instructions at a plumber in the bathroom and her husband—Harsh (Rajat Kapoor) who is yelling the opposite, a leaking pipe bursts some more and then both are yelling at each other, while their two handsome sons—a cool headed, achcha beta—Rahul (Fawad Khan) and a hot headed good for nothing beta—Arjun (Sidharth Malhotra) try to calm the parents down. And voila, before you know it, the two brothers are at throwing things at each other. The sequence, of course ends with the plumber saying something funny and scrambling away.

Showing a “real” scenario like this itself is such a big deal in a Hindi commercial film and that too a Karan Johar one where the rule of the thumb has been, “it’s all about loving your family”. So it comes as a most welcome change that Johar finally gives us a dysfunctional family where people don’t sing and dance but instead fight. Okay, correction. People do sing and dance but on not Swiss Alps. They sing and dance only in small gardens outside their bungalows. And when they fight, they appear like a beautiful seamless choreography. Charming!

It’s like how we Indians love family photos. After all, having a family and a large one at that, is one thing every Indian can boast of. More so, in these Instagram times. The thing is that Instagram gives us filter options to make our pictures look more flattering.

 Kapoor & Sons does the opposite.

It takes a great looking family, which looks rich but acts poor; which looks both happy and unhappy at the same time. Just like Rishi Kapoor’s prosthetic makeup. As grandfather of the Kapoor family, he is the grandfather of fake. Just like his ghastly makeup doesn’t allow us to see his pain, the well-choreographed fights in the family don’t let you see much reality yet involves you. The way Kapoor’s face makes you look at his makeup and go ‘wow’ at first for the hard work involved and then you finally start hating it for its very artificiality.

Back to the family photo. It is quite a sweet idea that an entire film can revolve around one Mr Prosthetic Kapoor who dreams of a happy family picture called Kapoor & Sons, since 1921.

So we have a dysfunctional family. Albeit, in Johar’s  trademark style of bringing together an unreal world with two good looking men who are supposed to be novelists. One—Rahul (Fawad Khan) works out of London and the other—Arjun (Sidharth Malhotra) in U.S for some strange reason. They could very well be ramp models, considering how little we see of their professional world. But thankfully, we see them mostly in the charmingly refreshing setting of Coonoor where Mr Prosthetic K resides with his son, Harsh and daughter-in-law, Sunita .

Director Shakun Batra, along with co-writer, Ayesha Devitre Dhilon, brings in as much realism as possible, the way he did in his fine debut- Ek Main Aur Ek Tu and extracts surprisingly good performances from both Malhotra and Khan who share great chemistry and sense of timing. But mind you, Malhotra cries very delicately with a single tear in just one eye. The way Rani Mukherjee did in Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna. That’s the pretty, glossy, Johar stamp which one doesn’t mind really.

In Coonoor, we see that the family is as dangerously together as a shaky house of cards valiantly trying to stay balanced. Prosthetic K is expecting to die any minute and keeps faking his death too. Ah, that F word again. But never mind.

The ever squabbling son and wife are used to his antics and don’t take him seriously until one fine day he does get a heart attack. Rahul and Arjun rush back home which is anything but perfect. Arjun fights with Rahul because of a past misdeed, Sunita fights with Harsh over one Mrs Anu and his lack of income, Rahul fights with everyone since Arjun is the pyara beta and sometimes you lose track of who is fighting with whom. There are times when the brothers don’t fight and have fun bonding moments. The writing meets the challenge of this now hot, now cold bros relationship, really well.

Family time over. Enters, an even more charming cutesy girl, Tia (Alia Bhatt) in a lacy white top and white shorts who loves poking fun at everyone. The dialogues and her interactions with both the brothers are the best part of the film as they are as natural as your daily chats. Nothing fake here. More fun.

As the film progresses, the fights in the shaky household turn ugly on a particularly eventful day. One would actually wonder what’s the fuss really about if it wasn’t for a masterly and rapid intercutting of parallel scenes and performances—one inside a house and the other in a garden. Interestingly, the situation’s gravity never really hits you, right till the end despite every attempt at melodrama and a revelation of secrets, especially one involving the brothers’ conflict. The ending appears to have a forced impact to get you in the tearjerker mode. And well, it succeeds, mostly.

Rajat Kapoor and Fawad Khan shine the most in this overall performance packed drama, and brilliantly choreographed  family photo sequences by Batra.

Kapoor & Sons does a fine job of balancing the feel good with the dark elements of a very entertaining house of impressive cards played well by three hotties. So what, if all involved fake it? It was fun while it lasted. Well done, Bro.

Surprise package: Sikander Kher is the best thing about 'Tere Bin Laden: Dead or Alive'

The sequel to the hilarious 2010 satire, Tere Bin Laden, could very well have been a great YouTube gag, starring Sikander Kher, the most comical villain.

The superb casting has a hands down winner in Kher, who plays a whacky double role of an American agent, DavidDoSomething and Punjabi Haallywood producer, Chadda.

In the story, we have President Obama (perfect look alike actor) rapping about his victory over Osama to an America who wants proof about Osama’s death. However, Khalil (Piyush Mishra), an arms dealer from Pakistan wants to show Osama alive to his own people. Sharma (Manish Paul), a film director ends up getting kidnapped, along with Paddi (Pradhuman Singh, also the co-writer), on the pretext of making a Hollywood film, by Obama’s man, David turned into “Kitthe Otthe” Chaddha ( Kher), in the most unbelievable sequence.

The film gets too whacky for its own good at times. David, a white guy, turns brown; his makeover involves choosing between various wigs which include a “Bengali wig” and a “Punjabi wig”. Sure enough, he opts for the latter and lo and behold, turns into Chadda . The man actually has a screw (huge mole) on his neck, which he uses to change accents. In a strange way, this gag works for a screwball comedy, made totally howlarious by Kher’s performance.

Unrecognisable in the ‘Punjabi wig’, with amazing make-up and a huge paunch, Kher is a revelation. It is to writer/director, Abhishek Sharma’s credit that he conceives a completely original character who transits from a Yankee special agent to a Punju pot-bellied Hollywood producer, by simply switching accents. As the best line in the film goes, “somewhere in somewhere”, you don’t care where is what, when Kher interacts with his co-stars, his comic timing perfect.

Tere Bin Laden: Dead or Alive is a series of some delightful and laugh out loud moments, forcibly strung together into a feature film. It reminds you of a lovely evening spent goofing around with friends and snatches of funny conversations are replayed, which of course, end up in repeat laughter. The kind, where everyone is an insider on a silly joke and an outsider might understand bits of it and be just mildly amused by the ongoing bonhomie.

Those familiar with the film, and the chances are there are many — despite the small scale and reach —will enjoy the brief recall scenes from the previous film, introduced in the beginning.

We see Ali Zafar this time in a bit role, as the successful hero of the first film, now turned too big for his starry boots. The story in the first film revolved around Zafar playing a young Pakistani reporter who sells a video about a fake Osama, in a bid to get a U.S visa. Abhishek Sharma, takes the story forward to a time when Osama is actually killed.

In the sequel, Manish Paul replaces Zafar who in his brief appearance, does an entertaining parody number, “ six pack abs”, sporting the trademark Bollywood torso, complete with a tattoo.

The film begins well showing terrorism as some sort of a sport by introducing Khalil practicing ineffectively with his weapons and using terms like landmine jumps. Likewise, the Americans are shown attacking the terrorists, as if participating in a video game. Obama, meanwhile is shown having nightmares and visions of Osama and landing in a psychiatric couch.

The newness of the concept quickly wears off. Dialogues and good performances come to the rescue. Osama is shown as “gulabi gaalon waala” and someone quips, “director kya hota hai” while a female actor (Sugandha Garg) claims, “I want to do..” in the best climax sequence of the film.

Irrespective of the film’s occasional flaws, two people are definite contenders for film awards this year: Sikander Kher and his make-up artist.

Restrained performances by Shabana Azmi, Sonam Kapoor are the real winners of 'Neerja'

Neerja Bhanot died two days before she turned 23, on September 5, 1986. Her parents received her body in a coffin on her birthday.

Director Ram Madhvani, tells us a moving, poignant story of Neerja, the daughter and Neerja, the tragic hero, in his film starring Sonam Kapoor.

The silver lining on the grey Karachi cloud of the doomed September day, is that Sonam Kapoor, the sincere actress has been born. Especially when she eats a chocolate cookie. More on that, later.

Thanks to Madhvani’s vision kept simple, and a tightly written script by Saiwyn Quadras and Sanyukta Chawla Shaikh, the biopic has given the best possible rebirth to Neerja Bhanot. Both in our memories and in our hearts.

The facts are horrifying enough. Four armed terrorists hijacked Pan American Flight 73 at Karachi airport. Chief purser, Neerja, daughter of a Mumbai journalist, Harish Bhanot, saved 360 people while she bravely took bullets herself.

Before that, for a harrowing 16 hours, she served coffee and sandwiches to the frightened passengers, comforted them, shielded three little children with her body on her way to the exit. When the captain and his two-crew people escaped the plane, after she quickly alerted them of the hijack, Neerja in her first job as a head purser, is believed to have announced, “ The captain has left. I am the captain.”

When the ordeal was finally over, and the relieved passengers clutched on to their loved ones at Mumbai airport, Neerja came back to her heartbroken but proud parents and two brothers, in a wooden coffin.As evident, there is more than sufficient material for any inspiring and heroic biopic. But the true achievement of this film is in introducing us to both Neerja, the brave professional who died serving not just coffee but serving the nation and the world; as well as the doting daughter, her parents adored darling who they called affectionately: Laado.

Madhvani ties the film poignantly with Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Aanand in its central philosophy spelt out by the memorable line, “ Babumoshai, zindagi badi honi chahiye…….lambi nahin (Life should be big, not long)” Showcasing Neerja as a die-hard Rajesh Khanna fan, he turns what could have been jarring moments, into the most deeply heart wrenching ones.

To understand this, watch how Sonam sings “mere sapno ki raani, kab aayegi tum…” to save lives. Or when Shabana Azmi, in her best performance so far (yes, that may be unimaginable, considering all her past glories), as the mother, Rama, repeats a certain Rajesh Khanna line, now mentioned in jokes. Both are moments when tears roll down, hearts break and heads and spirits are held high.

The latter, though, takes away from the film’s core subject of it being all about Neerja and instead becomes a film school on great acting by Shabana Azmi, complete with subtle Punjabi accent and tone. Madhvani, here, resorts to the classic syndrome of Bollywood Maa. The need and the greed for an emotional speech, is one big flaw that mars the film with unnecesarry melodrama in the epilogue.

Yet, there are moments and performances that stay with you. One of them is Yogendra Tiku as Harish Bhanot on the phone, at his office desk, when he informs his wife of the plane hijack, stuttering and helpless.

There can be countless scenes of panic, hysteria and violence that can build drama, given the nature of the real life hijack story.

But the one moment that beats all, is a long and lonely one when Sonam eats a cream biscuit. It’s the moment with least drama and no glycerine or tears. It’s a very fine moment in cinema, depicting both romance and deep strength.

Captured in the most heart tugging series of close ups , one lives through contrasting emotions of fear, desire, unfulfilled dreams, young romance, resignation, contentment and brave resolve in the most meditative full take of Sonam eating up both the biscuit and the most memorable, meaty role.

That silent moment of Neerja’s last supper is Sonam Kapoor’s finest salute to Neerja, the captain and the darlinglaado.

Fitoor is a tragedy depicting the death of Charles Dickens' Great Expectations

Charles Dickens’s Miss Havisham became the most fascinating character etched in Literature stone since his novel, “Great Expectations” made it’s place among unforgettable though melodramatic stories.

The wealthy spinster who lived in her bridal dress, was a character made of a volatile combination of glass like fragile vulnerability and bitter revenge. When jilted by her lover on her wedding day, she is understandably heartbroken. But, she is determined to create an entire legacy of heartbreaks by raising her adopted daughter, Estella as a seductive lethal weapon of her ultimate revenge on men. The unknowing victim is a poor little orphan, Pip who falls for the beautiful but cold Estella.

So when you have these timeless characters and the story revolving around the romantic idealist, Pip who has already made a place in your hearts, there is more than sufficient Raj Kapoor kind of material to recreate the magical world of love and pathos on Indian and Bollywood canvas.

Sadly and heartbreakingly, director, Abhishek Kapoor, who moves from anything but literary in Chetan Bhagat’s Kai Po Che! (The Three Mistakes of My Life) to heavyweight Dickens in Fitoor, fails to meet the towering expectations. The story begins really well in establishing the themes of social hierarchy in a snow-clad Kashmir, but falters and appears as dead and wooden as the initial hollow relationship between Pip’s Noor (muscular and awkward Aditya Roy Kapur) and Estella’s Firdaus (red haired Katrina Kaif).

There are moments in the second half, when the narrative takes you into the icy, captivating beauty of Kashmir, cinematically captured like a painting by cinematographer, Anay Goswami. The emptiness of the upper strata of society is symbolised beautifully by haunting, silent mansions and giant doors closing and locking in tragic lives. The rest of the visual appeal rest on magnificent paintings in a London exhibit, exquisite costumes and Katrina’s flaming red hair.

The ultimate nail in the Dickens coffin comes from the complete lack of intensity in Pip’s Noor played by Aditya Roy Kapur and the criminal atrocity of a changed ending, which takes away from the very pain of heartbreak that defines the original work.

When Tabu takes on the daunting and delicious role of Miss Havisham as Hazrat Begum , there is tremendous anticipation. And she meets it occasionally to the best of her capacity, in the way she carries the weight ofSo when you have these timeless characters and the story revolving around the romantic idealist, Pip who has already made a place in your hearts, there is more than sufficient Raj Kapoor kind of material to recreate the magical world of love and pathos on Indian and Bollywood canvas.

Sadly and heartbreakingly, director, Abhishek Kapoor, who moves from anything but literary in Chetan Bhagat’s Kai Po Che! (The Three Mistakes of My Life) to heavyweight Dickens in Fitoor, fails to meet the towering expectations. The story begins really well in establishing the themes of social hierarchy in a snow-clad Kashmir, but falters and appears as dead and wooden as the initial hollow relationship between Pip’s Noor (muscular and awkward Aditya Roy Kapur) and Estella’s Firdaus (red haired Katrina Kaif).

There are moments in the second half, when the narrative takes you into the icy, captivating beauty of Kashmir, cinematically captured like a painting by cinematographer, Anay Goswami. The emptiness of the upper strata of society is symbolised beautifully by haunting, silent mansions and giant doors closing and locking in tragic lives. The rest of the visual appeal rest on magnificent paintings in a London exhibit, exquisite costumes and Katrina’s flaming red hair.

The ultimate nail in the Dickens coffin comes from the complete lack of intensity in Pip’s Noor played by Aditya Roy Kapur and the criminal atrocity of a changed ending, which takes away from the very pain of heartbreak that defines the original work.

When Tabu takes on the daunting and delicious role of Miss Havisham as Hazrat Begum , there is tremendous anticipation. And she meets it occasionally to the best of her capacity, in the way she carries the weight ofpain in her eyes and body. She revels in the glory of dramatic tragedy and makes it her own, just the way she did in Vishal Bhardwaj’s Haider. Meena Kumari would have found a very satisfying descendant in Tabu.When Katrina Kaif plays the beautiful and enigmatic and cold Estelle, there is zero expectation. However, she surprises and delights with a terrific translation of her Estella to the composed Firdaus who stands as tall as Tabu’s manipulative Ammi.

While director, Abhishek Kapoor makes a laudable effort of bringing in art and politics in the land of turbulent Kashmir, the film staggers under the weight of vague resemblance to Hollywood remake starring Gwyneth Paltrow.

When a big Bollywood star appears in the most heart wrenching, crucial and turnaround moment as Magwitch, the flat expression and his sudden last appearance end up as the most miserable joke of a scene.

As for Aditya Roy Kapur’s Pip, he is nothing more than a Kashmiri looking ghost wandering aimlessly and cluelessly staring at Kaif who keeps repeating, “mujhe ghoorna band karo (stop staring at me)”

Well, there is little else to admire in Dickens’s tomb called Fitoor.

Film buff, con master, filmmaker: Meet Ram Gopal Varma through his book 'Guns and Thighs'

A magnificent Jackie Shroff in brown clothes and boots, stands on a vast desert land, looking like a hunter king. Gold dust from the sprawling sands, blend with warm sunlight , forming a fantastical picture with A R Rahman’s gentle music creating an intriguing mood.

Cut to Urmila Matondkar looking like a seductive apsara in deep red ghaghra choli, swaying her luscious figure, sending the temperature soaring higher than the desert degrees. Rahman’s soft music suddenly changes to a faster beating rhythm. Jackie, seen in a long shot, is now galloping on a horse, as if chasing a vision. He stops. The camera stays for a brief second on his face, capturing his look of excited anticipation.

Cut to a closeup of Urmila swaying her neck, her beautiful kohl eyed eyes wild and more seductive than the hint of cleavage seen in the frame. Rahman’s changing tempo is matched by shadowy lit frames of Urmila dancing. Cut to Urmila and Jackie’s faces close to each others and the magical lyrics by Mehboob take on a fiery quality with Rehman’s haunting tune along with Hariharan’s and Swarnlatha’s voices, “hai rama yeh kua hua, kyon aise yeh humein satane lagey…”

On re watching the song, one can see how Ram Gopal Varma’s directorial skills further enhance the theme through the locale, cinematography, choreography, costumes and the capturing of super hot Urmila’s neat curves and mesmerizing dance moves. The rest of the unbeatably, glorious song of lust and passion is history along with Varma’s only romantic comedy, Rangeela in 1995.

Twenty years later, Ram Gopal Varma describes how his vision of raw, animal passion was translated by Rahman into a masterful, sensuous piece, in his book, “Guns and Thighs: The Story of My Life”. (Varma was deeply influenced by Bachchan’s gun in Deewar and Sridevi’s thighs in Himmatwala, hence the title).

Both Urmila and the film are responsible for making me a fan of Ram Gopal Varma once upon a time, to the extent of forgiving the unforgettable Aag. I have distinct memories of sitting torturously through the latter with a friend, out of sheer loyalty to Varma, not Bachchan.

While Varma has made his mark with crime and gangster films like Satya and Company, Rangeela was the film that woke me up to the sensation called RGV who had stormed into the film industry with Nagarjuna and Urmila starrrer, Shiva in 1990.

By his own admission in the book, Shiva was a copy of Bruce Lee’s Return of The Dragon. What makes the narrative of how his first film got made, more fascinating, is his candid and brutal honesty of his own manipulation of the producer and the stars involved in giving their first nod to a new entrant who had zero experience but plenty of passion. Here we meet RGV- the con master, the liar and king manipulator.

The book does what Varma does to the women in his films. He strips off layers of his psyche, sometimes with his own fascination for himself and sometimes, like a cold, detached observer.

At first he covers up with his typical, headline making statements, starting with his dedication to Mad magazine, Ayn Rand, Urmila Matondkar, Bruce Lee, Amitabh Bachchan, porn star Tori Black and ahem… “ a few gangsters”. It is another matter that there is only one page devoted to Matondkar , none to Ms Black but a certain Ms Rifle and plenty of space for Ms Rand and Bachchan.

“My world consists of powerful music, intense music, sexy women, vodka, gangsters, ghosts and philosophies which I can twist and turn to my convenience….social responsibilities and family values are lofty ideals”. While this may be true, Varma doesn’t really did dig deeper here except for the music and gangsters. Instead, he wastes a good number of pages to clear controversies, which frankly his movie audience doesn’t care about.

Throughout, you get acquainted with his numerous sides. There is Varma, the analyst who sees “flops by intent and success by accident”, Varma the brutally honest filmmaker who cuts egos to size, right from Anurag Kashyap to Ismail Durbar. A particular anecdote reveals how a certain visiting card retrived from his dustbin, changed a career path. As he puts it, “the whole point is that I am so fascinated with how the cycle of fortune keeps on throwing people in and out of dustbins.”

Surprisingly, you see flashes of Varma the human being who shows respect to Basu Chatterjee, remorse and guilt over certain actresses’ failures and his own deeper emotions connected to his family. His first story on M M Kreem, gave me goosebumps, despite a deliberate nonchalant tone of writing. Varma can be not just dismissive of everyone around but also his own inherent sharpness and insight for real talent and regard for the same.

Then, there is Varma the fan. The title of the book refers to Sridevi’s thunder thighs which drove the whole nation queuing up to watch the infamous Himmatwala. Varma describes Sridevi’s star status very vividly by narrating an incident of how thousands of people followed Sridevi’s car in the remote area of Nandyal, in her early days. Calling her one of his “Gods” in the index of his chapters, amongst Rahman and Bachchan, Varma puts up Sridevi on a pedestal and insults her husband, Boney Kapoor at the same time in the inimitable way, only he can.

From within brief snippets of his journey, the real gems are about how certain characters like Bhiku Mhatre and Kallu Mama from Satya, were born and fine and funny moments like Munna’s (Aamir Khan) bright yellow outfit scene in Rangeela, evolved. A trip down memory lane to a theatre in Vijaywada and his tryst with a certain manager, is like a starry eyed scene straight from the movies .

A hilarious narrative on a train accident and a death reveals Varma’s sense of humour, something he could well explore by making a dark comedy. He is quite capable of evoking inappropriate laughs in the particular chapter appropriately titled, “A Tragicomedy”.

By the time the racy 200 pages end in an entirely unnecessary long ramble against the media, one is left with some entertaining read on his risk taking and lying abilities, his idea machine mind, his adventurous jail lock up episodes and a random dissection of his films that leave you wanting for more.

Just like Ram Gopal Varma's silence on Urmila Matondkar, who he calls a “simple sweetheart”.

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