GUNDAY: ANGOOTHA CHAAP ENTERTAINMENT

I miss Jai and Veeru, the shameless thieves of Sholay. I miss the way they lip sync Kishore Kumar’s hearty “Yeh dosti… Meri jeet, teri jeet…”; with complete gusto while riding a scooter like there is no tomorrow.

I miss them more than ever because I just saw wannabe Jai and Veeru clones, Bikram (Ranveer Singh) and Bala (Arjun Kapoor), trying to be shameless goons in Gunday. Dressed in white shirt and pant with a huge, red heart printed on the chest and the bottom, they look sillier than clowns and not one tenth as rowdy as they are supposed to be. Their mark of friendship comes in the form ‘angootha chaap’ promises that Bikram keeps making to Bala.

I miss the childhood saga of Vijay (Amitabh) and Ravi (Shashi Kapoor) in Deewar. I miss the pain they carry through their adulthood. I miss the tattoo on Vijay’s arm that said “mera baap chor hai”. Most of all, I missed the scene where Vijay makes Iftekhaar pick up some cash and says with the raw mix of anger and pride that only Amitabh Bachchan can bring to Javed Akhtar’s words, “Main aaj bhi pheke hue paise nahin uthata”.

I miss that line the most because the scene is copied in the worst possible manner when Bikram and Bala, as children, refuse to take their money unless it is given in their hands. The anger displayed is as false as a fake coin. The two are Bangladeshi refugees who want to own Kolkata so that they can get back what was rightfully theirs before the India-Bangladesh partition in 1970. The 20 minute childhood justification sequence which includes an attempted child abuse, fails to match the unfairness doled out to Vijay’s family in Deewar and the resultant angst in his adult life.

I miss Kaala Patthar, the story of a coalmine worker who is unable to forget his troublesome past. The coalmine backdrop, symbolizing the darkest of worlds, both inner and outer; has remain etched forever as a powerful cinematic tool of storytelling.

I miss Kaala Patthar because Gunday shows Bikram and Bala starting their gunda life with illegal coal business and reminding the audience all the time how dark their lives are; with lame lines that keep harping ‘kaala’ and ‘safed’. No line matches the hardships contained in Kaala Paththar’s “Koyle ki khaan ek azgar hai seth sahab, jo roz, anginath logon ko nigalkar, use peeskar, jism se khoon ka ek-ek katra choos kar, ek laash ke roop mein ugal deta hai”.

I miss Parveen Babi. When she did a cabaret dance, neither you nor the hero or the villain could take his eyes off her.

When Priyanka Chopra makes her entry with the much publicized cabaret number “asalame ishqum”, it looks like any item number. Her instant transformation into a Durga devotee dressed in a cotton tangai saree, creates just one memorable moment when she grooves to Mr. India’s “I love you” in front of the big screen showing Sridevi in her blue sareed glory.

Irrfan Khan is probably the only reason to watch the movie. As the cop who plays ‘catch me if you can’ with the two baddies, he just glides in and out of screen smoothly, not even blinking an eyelid in the name of expression. A lesson here for both Arjun and Ranveer who bend backwards and every which way to appear intense and end up looking like brats or “bachche” as Priyanka’s character calls them once.

Written and directed by Ali Abbas Zafar, the film is too large in canvas and over-predictable in plot. As a tribute to the 70s and the 80s, Gunday only succeeds in making you miss the cabarets and the fights and the dramatic one-liners.

The only line that brought a smile was “Jis Bengali ko football pasand nahin hai, us par bharosa mat karna”. Perhaps, the only effort at maintaining the Kolkata backdrop besides the typical Durga statue.

When you watch amateurish actors with lopsided grins, wearing white shirts and pants with red hearts on the chest and bottom, jumping out of trains and coalmines think of what you miss the most. Like, I did. 

http://www.dailypioneer.com/sunday-edition/agenda/cover-story/dialogues-rip.html

(This artcile appeared in The Pioneer, sunday edition,2.2.2014.)

Udti hoon aake banke vimaan/ Ready rakhna love ka samaan/ Milke rahoongi/ Chahe Baa le le jaan,” says the feisty and defiant Leela to her lover Ram in Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Goliyon Ki Raasleela Ram-Leela, an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. “Jitni tu garam hai/ Utna tera bistar naram hai,” says the amorous lover, Ram. Ram-Leela went on to hit the box office collections of Rs 100 crore, signifying the audience’s acceptance of these lusty, crudely poetic lovers.

Contrast this with the timeless classic, Mughal-e- Azam in 1960: “Kaneez to kab ki mar chooki/ Ab janaaze ko rukhsat ki ijaazat dijiye.” A memorable, rebellious exchange between Anarkali and the lover’s father, Akbar, who allows Anarkali to spend one last night with Salim on the understanding that she will be led to her death at sunrise. Mughal-e-Azam went on to stay the highest grossing film for 15 years. The film’s screenplay by

K Asif and Aman (Zeenat Aman’s father) was further dramatised by a team of brilliant writers: Wajahat Mirza, Kamaal Amrohi and Ehsaan Rizvi. The writers’ mastery over Urdu’s poetic expression is present in every line.

Today, leave alone historic lore or poetic Urdu, romance and love are expressed over cheesy smses, as evident in Ram-Leela, and love borders on lust. The debut writer duo, Garima-Siddharth, attribute this kind of language to the small town setting of Gujarat and the kind of characters the film has. “The sms poetry sounds the way it does because Ram is Romeo, a poet at heart but he is also a tapori who runs a video parlour; from him you don’t expect great poetry. Dialogue comes from the set-up and the character, and these two lives in a rustic gun market place in Gujarat in the sms era.”

However, opinion on this kind of writing is divided among both older and contemporary writers. Javed Siddiqui, a renowned writer of over 90 films ranging from Satyajit Ray’s classic Shatranj Ke Khiladi to commercial hits like Baazigar and Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge, has his own reservations. So does Juhi Chaturvedi, the award-winning writer of Vicky Donor. Commenting on Ram-Leela’s lines like “Angoor hai green, kele ka rang peela hai, keh do saari duniya se, Ram ki Leela hai”, she says, “I think this is lame writing. It evokes short-term reactions and quick bursts of laughter in two hours, but will it be remembered in the next five years? A director who has maturity will never go in for such short-term gratification.”

Siddiqui elaborates, “It reflects the director’s sensibilities. Any sensitive writer and director should know that romance is a sensitive genre and their work is changing the sanctity of love. We should keep in mind what today’s generation is learning from such cinema. In what we called classical romance, the focus was on respecting feelings. Today, a news report says that a girl rejected her boyfriend and so he raped her as well as got his friends to gang-rape her. Can that sort of scenario be justified as love? We have to be responsible about what we are leaving behind for the youngsters.”

Niranjan Iyengar, who has a more diverse style of writing as seen in films like Wake Up Sid, Kal Ho Na Ho, Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna, D-Day and Fashion, believes that the success of Ram-Leela lies in its dialogues which worked with the young. He says, “It does connect with the audience. The idea of language has changed with the advent of cell phones, Internet and the multicultural pot that is India. Just like in music, earlier Dhrupad was considered the purest form, then Khayal became pure and today Thumri is considered semi-classical. Likewise language keeps evolving differently. Today, Hinglish is the accepted dialect. It may be blasphemy to you and me but it exists. To survive, one has to adapt. Technicians have to evolve or they fall by the wayside.”

It has become a matter of debate whether the audience dictates the language of cinema or vice versa. Garima-Siddharth strongly defend Ram-Leela’s treatment. “Today young lovers want to be with each other, and then take it forward. Like Bhansali once mentioned, young lovers today don’t look at the moon and the stars, they are randy people. And since we were adapting Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, the text itself is full of double meanings. It is as lusty and vulgar as it can get and that’s what is beautiful about it. The film’s success proves its acceptance from audiences,” they say.

While it is too early to decide if Ram-Leela stands the test of time, the biggest blockbuster on romance since the 1990s remains Aditya Chopra’s Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge. Chopra went on to win a Filmfare award for Best Dialogue, along with Javed Siddiqui, amongst numerous other awards. DDLJ was also the longest running film in Indian cinema after Sholay. The film’s success was attributed to its central theme of the purity of a woman being reflective of Indian values. In a scene when Simran (Kajol) wakes up in Raj’s (Shah Rukh Khan) bed and is concerned if anything happened between them the night before, he says: “Main ek Hindustani hoon, aur main jaanta hoon ki ek Hindustani ladki ki izzat kya hoti hai.”

Siddiqui, who wrote the dialogues for DDLJ along with Aditya Chopra, is one of the few writers from an Urdu literature background. As he himself says, “There are only three such writers in the industry today — Javed Akhtar, Gulzar and me. None of us is writing much nowadays. Once Gulzar told me that he doesn’t write anymore because today’s cinema does not interest him.”

Now that writers like Rahi Masoom Raza (Mahabharat), Rajinder Singh Bedi (Madhumati, Abhimaan), Abrar Alvi (Pyaasa, Sahib, Biwi aur Ghulam, Kaagaz ke Phool), Wajahat Mirza (Mughal-e-Azam) are no more, gone are the days of the ’60s when every line was poetry. Or the ’70s and ’80s when films were full of dramatic exchanges, thanks to the celebrated writer duo, Salim-Javed. Sample the legendary Gabbar Singh’s lines in Sholay — “Kitne aadmi the” — or even a heated exchange between brothers that culminated in the famous “Mere paas maa hai” line in Deewar. These are deeply etched in the Indian cinegoer’s mind even today. Seeing the popularity of Sholay’s dialogues, for the first time in the history of cinema, a separate record album with dialogues was released.

However over the years, after Salim-Javed’s last film together, Mr India, the era of dramatic dialogues suddenly came to a standstill. With Ram Gopal Varma’s underworld-based films like Satya and Company, writers like Anurag Kashyap and Jaideep Sahni came to the forefront. However, Kamlesh Pandey, who has written numerous hits including Laawaris, Dil, Tezaab, Khalnayak, Rang De Basanti, feels that Anurag’s work has been disappointing post-Satya. He is hopeful of Jaideep Sahni and Rajat Arora’s work.

Salman Khan’s Wanted and his popular line in it, “Ek baar maine commitment kar di...” brought back memories of a Mithun-starrer film. His “itne ched karenge...” in Dabangg was voted the best line by viewers in 2011. Pandey comes down heavily on films like Dabangg and remakes of the ’80s’ cinema and calls their one-liners “do kaudi ki line”. He says, “If people continue to work for money and fame, we will be subjected to the same story like Dabangg or Rowdy Rathore or the film like Dhoom. The day films stop being a dhanda, that day we will see better films. Today’s films use do kaudi ki line like ‘thappar se dar nahin lagta sahib’ or ‘entertainment, entertainment, entertainment’.”

Rajat Arora, who is known to have brought back the trend of “dialogue-baazi” with his work in Once Upon a Time in Mumbaai (OUATIM) and The Dirty Picture, believes that such lines are deliberately used to cater to the public as every action flick is the same and it is punch lines like these which set them apart. Talking about OUATIM, he says, “We wanted to make sure that the film is reflective of the 1970s and every line has a punch in it. In The Dirty Picture, we tried to be naughty, not vulgar.” It was probably the first time a female character was seen as well as accepted saying lines like “Mujhe jo chahiye, uska mazaa sirf raat ko aata hai”.

Siddiqui believes that films like Dabangg are a passing phase. “At one time Kader Khan would write double-meaning dialogues which were a huge success initially but got rejected later.” Talking about contemporary writing, he says: “I can only hope that the new writers will apply what renowned writer Waris Alvi once said, ‘Dus kilo padhiye aur dus gram likhiye’ (read 10 kilos and write 10 grams).”

Charudutt Acharya, who has written the dialogues of Dum Maro Dum, Taxi Nau Do Gyarah, Bluffmaster and debuts as a director this year with his film, Sonali Cable, says: “Many young writers and directors are folks whose primary lingo of speech and thought is English. Several dialogues have become clichéd, those thoughts have become clichéd too. So it’s considered almost comic to use them. Call it the metrosexual lingo or the urban Indian lingo.” Garima-Siddharth believe that one doesn’t have to have a great literary Hindi or Urdu background to write as the writing depends on the character and his world. “Even Gulzar has written lyrics like Bidi jalaile because it connects with the audience,” they say.

Delhi Belly, the adult comedy in 2011 brought in a hardcore usage of four letter words with its unapologetic style of humour and a smattering of English. “Shake that biscuit, baby, shake it for me” was the mildest line used. The infamous “Bhaag DK Bose” song, along with Akshat Verma’s writing, gave rise to a trend with more films aping the same. Comedies in the same genre came and went without too much success.

Movies which represented the rustic hinterland, like Ishqiya and Gangs of Wasseypur (GOW), Saheb, Biwi Aur Gangster, brought in both shock value and realism.

“Us harami ko mitana hai hamein, goli nahin marenge, keh ke lenge uski” — this and far stronger use of expletives fetched GOW a Filmfare award for the best dialogues.

Jaideep Sahni, acclaimed writer of Chak De India, welcomes this change. “Some stories and environments may have characters who have a rough language, and spraying their dialogue with fake moral perfume may completely destroy both the character and the story. On the other hand, there will always be a few people who will interpret this as an opportunity to use abusive language as an attraction in their film. These are two completely different things, and it will be wrong to sacrifice the authencity of the first for the nuisance value of the second.”

However, Pandey disapproves and says that he has stopped watching films for this very reason. “If I have to hear gaalis, why should I not go to the streets instead? Why watch a film for that? Today a film’s achievement is that it has abusive language, not just in dialogues but also in lyrics,” says Pandey. Siddiqui cautions, “Films using abusive language are okay if the story is about a rowdy character but we must remember that a five-year-old child is watching.”

Arora has a practical approach. He thinks that such language may not draw more audiences and it is important that everyone should watch the film. “A certain kind of language may provide some shock value initially but after a point, what?” he asks.

What makes a dialogue memorable and why don’t we have that any more? “If a dialogue survives the test of time and not only applies to characters but also to larger universal truths, it is a great dialogue. Like Gulzar’s ‘zindagi badi honi chahiye, lambi nahin’,” says Iyengar.

The legacy of films like Mughal-e-Azam, Mother India, Anand, Aandhi, Guide, Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron, Sholay, Deewar, etc, has left behind a huge vacuum for memorable lines or scenes. Can that ever be filled again? Arora laughs, “No one can be Salim-Javed. Don’t compare us mortals with the gods of writing.”

While Garima-Siddharth believe Ram-Leela may have brought back the good old times of powerful dialogues, Sahni looks at it in a balanced, hopeful manner. He says, “Only when there is a place for storytellers of all kinds, of different tastes and sensibilities in our industry and our audiences’ hearts, we will be the growing and vibrant film culture we deserve to be. This will reflect in a diversity of dialogue styles also — from loud to subtle.”

But Pandey is cynical. “Every year we make at least 800 films, so we have made roughly 8,000 films in the last 10 years. I asked the students at a FICCI masterclass to name one film they remember. None had an answer. Despite doing business worth crores, our films have actually become poor. They make big businesses because they release in 4,000 screens and tickets are priced at Rs 300. Jeete hue ghode se kaun behas kare? This is the biggest slap to our audience and film writers,” says he.

So what’s the future of dialogues? Is the immortality of the line over? Pandey isn’t all hopeful. “When I saw Dil Chahta Hai, I thought here was a new voice, ek naya sikka in Farhan (Akhtar). But after Don, I am still waiting to know what happened to that voice. The older lot like Gulzar, Kundan Shah, Salim-Javed should start writing again and show us what a good script is.”

The writer tries to make peace with her own filmmaking nightmares, of being an actor, scriptwriter and assisting film icons by moonlighting as a film journalist.

OM DAR BA DAR: GOOGLY GALORE

Disclaimer: The story or scenes described here may be totally different from what is intended by the filmmaker. Blame it on the poster tagline which says: The greatest Indian LSD Trip.

Ever seen a film with a 17 year old boy who holds his breath to live, tadpoles, a “frog land” which is a treasure trove of diamonds, a stolen shoe, a gun, pilgrims, Bollywood and Guinea world record dreams, a romance through a  radio request programme, a discussion on a terrace( “samosa waali chat”) about man landing on the moon, Nehru, worldwar, Brahma all thrown in?

Om Dar Ba Dar is a deliberate jigsaw puzzle of nonsense that compels you to continue watching, simply to know exactly what is the trip all about. The film challenges, at times, engrosses and disturbs, with its crazy narrative that breaks all rules of storytelling.

The film has an interesting history. It was directed by FTII graduate, Kamal Swaroop in 1988;premiered in Berlin film festival and is supposed to have gathered a cult status over the years. It has got a commercial release now, thanks to NFDC and PVR Director’s Rare.

The film breaks rules in every possible manner, in story, screenplay, visuals, sound and edit. It is the kind of film where you reach the end and not question ‘what was the story’ in the way you would with a nonsensical, commercial film. But instead, it makes you unravel just what was the storyteller trying to tell through the story?

Here is what has been vaguely understood.

There is an Ajmer based astrologer with a loud pitch voice, Babuji Shankar (LaxmiNarayan Shastri) who predicts that his son (Aditya Lakhia) may not live beyond 17 years. He decides to name him Om because that name does not exist in the list of Yamadev, the God of death. The story follows Om’s growing days in school with a friend who gives up studies to cycle nonstop. Om becomes a part of his sister, Gayatri’s (Gopi Desai) budding romance with Jagdish (Lalit Tiwari), on a radio ‘farmaishi’ programme, one of the high moments in the film in the way it captures radio days in the 80s,particularly a running commentary on the city of Taragarh.

Om’s journey is littered throughout, with random vignettes and humour. Om attends classes on frog dissections where the lecturer calls it Rana Tigrina.He has a hard time concentrating at home as his nose comes in the way of his eyesight. He is also distracted by the fascinating famous actress, Phoolkumari who has come to visit Babuji because he had told Hema Malini that there is an actress in every woman. Phoolkumari, incidentally, has been a porn writer in the past. She stays on with the family until she is blamed for stealing Babuji’s shoe (with diamonds inside, another subplot). Babuji’s frustration with Om drives him to dictate a letter, which says, “please ban googly in cricket and in life in general.”

Om also has a rare gift of being able to hold his breath. This is used in a most absurd and bizaare segment and assorted images of pilgrims and devotees of Lord Brahma in Pushkar, mythology, a stange political movement called “Non Cooperation of Breath” where a 3 minute Pranayam is the mode of protest, documentary footage of Nehru, dream sequences and a thriller involving diamonds.

The film reaches a crescendo with an impending war and a thriller to boot and eventually, on the edge of a cliff with Gayatri and Jagdish chanting “Om Namo Narayan” and abruptly ends with one word: “gobar”.

The film stays with you for different reasons, be it random and strange imagery that simply doesn’t make sense, just like disconnected dreams, which stay but are difficult to fathom. Apparently, Kamal Swaroop is said to have mentioned that he made the film based on his own dreams. The jarring cuts, the rather uneasy on the ears soundtrack and the incomplete and sometimes funny dialogues may seem like a deliberate nonsense at times. To what end is anybody’s guess but it seems to be some sort of a satire on mythology and superstitions, probably as unbelievable and strange as the characters themselves. Or as the poster says, to take you on an acid trip.

The dialogues only add to the bizarreness of it all. Sample these

“Aatankari tadpole mendhak banne se inkar kar diya tha”

 “Rocket kaun udaa raha tha?”… “Roos aur America.”

The songs are the best part of the film, be it “Babloo Babylon se, Babli telephone se” or “Rana Tigrina” or “Meri Jaan A-A-A”, with lyrics by Kuku aka Kamal Awaroop and music by Rajat Dholakia. Amongst the actors, Anita Kanwar as Phoolkumari,is a delight to watch, her voice wickedly gleeful in her voiceovers.

It is best left to you to waddle through Om Dar Ba Dar and decide whether it strikes gold or diamonds in experimental cinema or gobar (cowdung).Or a googly.

MISS LOVELY: THE DIRTIEST PICTURE

The camera follows a cop in a long slow shot of a filthy urinal corridor.

Cut to a tall man and a starkly made up woman undressing, their expressions, matter of fact.

A couple of similar cuts later, the shot is as sleazily erotic as it can get.

 A woman’s legs are seen, thrown up apart, her moans loud. A cameraman bends over her, trying to get as close an angle as possible. Another man, (Nawazuddin Siddiqui), leans in, holding up a flashlight.

The scene cuts again to the cop and a man with a cash filled briefcase in the urinal. The man happens to be Nawaz’s brother.

Miss Lovely, which premiered at 2012 Cannes film festival, is full of such images. The sounds are even more explicit. Especially, the whirl of a film reel being played out in old, dilapidated cinema halls. The dialogues are far and few. The dimly lit, handheld shots, stretch most times. This could have been a documentary on C grade cinema, which is what the director, Ashim Ahluwalia, had set out to make, initially.

C grade films have been part of the history of Indian cinema after the 70s until Internet porn took over. So far, one has only been a witness to seedy posters on building walls in Mumbai. Miss Lovely attempts to expose the murky, unknown world, behind the ‘dirty’ scenes.

Miss Lovely begins with a title soundtrack of the 80s and freezes for a second on a close up of a woman’s red contact lensed eyes. A horror film is playing in a small theatre.The screen goes blank for a few seconds. Audience protest sounds are heard. Soon a woman in red lingerie is seen. The protests are replaced with complete silence.

Sonu Duggal’s (Nawazuddin) voiceover tells us how he regrets having sold that first print of a blue film for his brother, Vicky (Anil George). He wants to direct a romantic film called Miss Lovely, starring a young, innocent Pinky, he is head over heels in love with. “Tum ek din star banogi ,” he tells her. The oldest promise of tinsel town. The hitch is, his brother also has his dirty eyes on her, for a different reason.  Vicky’s business has just taken off, with his first “bhayankar adult film” titled ‘Beauty Parlour’. In his words the film’s impact will be “do ghante mein do hazaar jhatke”. Dressed in shiny, printed, satin shirts, surrounded by aspiring ‘adult’ film heroines at premiers overflowing with liquor, Vicky is drunk on his newfound power.

The story, here onwards, tries to be a dark and disturbing tale of double cross and disillusionment. However, it fails to hold and is not half as intense as the premise. The focus remains on the making of blue films, half naked bodies, the murky atmosphere, reminiscent of Madhur Bhandarkar’s Chandni Bar. The screenplay stretches and the abrupt editing, takes away any possibility of the viewer’s involvement with the characters.

Nawazuddin tries to be as authentic as possible but somehow, does not make the required impact. Anil George, who plays his brother, is excellent in the way he slips into his character.

The actor to watch out for brilliant versatility is Niharika Singh who plays Miss Lovely. Her best expressions are glimpsed in the only song in the film, which is incidentally a Nazia Hassan song, a delight from the 80s treatment of the film.

The set and costume designs as well as the textured cinematography by Mohanan, are noteworthy in their detailing and authenticity. Another achievement is in Ahluwallia having managed to get the film passed through the censor board.

Miss Lovely, has its flaws but makes up by being a raw, uncomfortable watch and above all, an ugly truth.

DEDH ISHQIYA:WAH WAH

When the tapori, hot blooded, Arshad Warsi questions the older, romantic Naseeruddin Shah, in Ishqiya,“ Tumhara ishq, ishq aur hamara ishq, sex” bringing up the age old, quintessential boundaries between love and lust, it seems the dialogues and characterization couldn’t be better. But Dedh Ishqiya is one sequel where a similar sequence defines the seven stages of love with even better lines. “Ishq ke saat mukaam hote hain - dilkash, uns, mohabbat, akeedat, ibaadat aur junoon..”The seventh stage is best unrevealed here.

 The story of two foul mouthed thieves, one old, one young, in the rustic Uttar Pradesh hinterland; willing to die for the same woman whose filthy tongue could make them sound like school boys; brought both the debut director, Abhishek Choubey and the sexy Vidya Balan to notice in Ishqiya.

Dedh Ishqiya continues in the same vein, this time with two women, the gorgeous,Madhuri Dixit Nene and the voluptuous Huma Qureshi who made quite a splash with Gangs of Wasseypur.

Dedh Ishqiya stays true to its prequel in every way but has its downside too. There is (Babban)Arshad as usual in trouble, standing in his own half dug grave, narrating a joke desperately to save his life. His missing partner and rascal of an uncle,Khalu (Naseer) meanwhile, who has turned poet and set his heart on wooing and winning over the beautiful Begum Para(Madhuri) with his poetry and shayari. He has a tough rival: Vijay Raaz,the “nakli nawab” who makes the kidnapped real nawab (Manoj Pahwa),  write poetry at gun point so that he can impress the beautiful begum. Begum’s closest confidante, Huma, has devious plans up her Lucknowi sleeves, for which she seduces the ever-willing Arshad. Watch out for wonderful use of torchlight in a dark and dusty library.

Though Madhuri is well cast here as the aging and widowed Begum in search of a Nawaab, as compared to her previous debacle, Aaja Nachle, her character and performance don’t move beyond her lustrous beauty. The crackling chemistry that both Naseer and Arshad had with Vidya, is lacking here, both with Madhuri and Huma.

However, the rest of the film revolving around the love hate relationship between Naseer and Arshad and new characters, Vijay Raaz and Manoj Pahwa; more than make up for the film’s minor flaws in the second half. Producer, and writer, Vishal Bhardawaj’s dialogues and  two most amusing scenes involving Vijay Raaz, take the otherwise predictable story two notches up. One scene involves Naseeruddin, Arshad and Vijay Raaz and a bunch of goons standing fixed, aiming guns at each other throughout the night. Watch the film just to see how this scene ends and have your best laugh out loud moment. Another scene brilliantly enacted by  Vijay Raaz and Manoj Pahwa, is a hilarious take on Nawaabs, Sonia Gandhi’s Italian connection and the meaning of DNA.

The poetry, the music and the lyrics bring alive the old world charm of Nawaabi gatherings and romantic era gone by. Gulzaar’s words, Rekha Bhardwaj’s lilting voice,Vishal’s music and Madhuri’s dance to Begum Akhtar’s thumri “….dekha dekhi tanik ho jaaye..hamari atarya pe…” are a cinematic  treat for the ears and the eyes.

Arshad is at his best, both in his comic sense of timing and as a confused lover, especially when he delivers the lines..” Aaj zindagi mei pehli baar tai nahi kar paa raha hoon ki kya de raha hoon aur kya le raha hoon.”

Naseeruddin is great but overshadowed by the inimitable Vijay Raaz. Manoj Pahwa deserves a special mention for the best comic timing.

 Dedh Ishqiya charms in most parts, with its naughty humour, rich Urdu poetry and comraderie both amongst the men and the women.

Mr Joe B Carvalho: Lollypop Humour

Lollypop, strangely, has always been a filmmaker’s, favourite resort to corny and not so funny comedy. But, surprise, surprise, it is the lollypop in Mr Joe B Carvalho, which makes the most interesting debut at its slurpy best. All thanks to Javed Jaffrey and the writing by Mahesh Ramchandani. However, too soon, the humour goes dry and so does the film.

The premise holds some promise in the characters. The talented but unrecognized Arshad Warsi as a failure of a detective who loves his blind mom; the petite and charming Soha Ali Khan as a ‘dabangg’ cop who looks equally hot in a police uniform as well as a blue itsy bitsy bikini; and Javed Jaffery who is on a killing spree, dressed in a saree and a lollipop in his mouth.

The film, however, does not live up to its promise of comical detective caper. The story starts off well but goes into predictable zones, killing every effort at entertainment.

Joe Carvalho (Arshad) is hired by a rich dad (Shakti Kapoor) to follow his daughter who has apparently run away with an old bawarchi. Meanwhile, a killer, Carlos (Javed) is also hired by a jilted lover, to kill the daughter. Soha, the cop, is on a mission to catch Carlos. A comedy of errors follows as everyone mistakes Carvalho for Carlos. Caught between Soha’s furious gun (they also have a past together), Carlos’s knives and another bunch of goons, Carvalho ends up lost in his quest for the missing bride to be.

The characters with their quirks, extremely well played by each, could have been sufficient to drive the screenplay. But the cheesy lines simply fall flat at times, taking away the situational humour. Lines like “maut, potty aur Carlos kahin bhi aur kabhi bhi aa sakte hain” and such attempts at forced humour fail to provide any laughter.

Despite the flaws, there are a few upsides in the most unlikely areas, mainly Javed’s characterization. Javed’s lollypop has an interesting variation. He portrays a hilarious schizophrenic who has mental conversations with his mom, ‘Lolly’, and dad, ‘Pop’. ‘Lolly’ and ‘Pop’ keep having small, funny arguments in Javed’s mind, which he enacts with wonderful perfection.

If Javed’s acting takes the lollypop, it is the lyrics that take the cake in trite humour. Two songs in particular are actually fun in their silliness: Virag Misra’s “...Ringa Ringa Roses….” and Amitabh Bhattacharya’s lyrics in “Chumma Chaati …I love Saiyaan ji ki late night party... I hate, hate ...hate, hate Chumma Chaati.” (Watch out for Soha dressed in a cute number, doing a cabaret).

Debutante, Samir Tewari displays a fair amount of potential as director even though he fails to entertain in this film. Vijay Raaz could have been utilized better in his role. Himani Shivpuri and Ranjit are at their hamming best.

Arshad as always is charming in his over sincerity. Incidentally, his excellent dancing skills are also on display. After all, he started his career as dancer and choreographer way back in the 90s.

Javed Jaffrey is more than one up on his dad, Jagdeep’s comedy and timing. Soha Ali Khan is simply delightful in her bold new avatar of having fun beating up goons, turning into a cabaret dancer and smoothly slipping into a bikini.

Boring in most parts, watch the film only for Javed Jaffrey’s mono act involving ‘lolly’ and ‘pop’ and Soha Ali in electric blue bikini.