Let's blow out the candles: Happy Birthday!

To the A-lister, who made being of Irish descent fashionable, here’s wishing him many many more birthday candles to blow out. Cheers!

Happy Birthday, George Clooney!

Being him sure isn’t easy. Here’s why:

• He’s the first person to be nominated for Oscars for both Best Director (Good Night, and Good Luck), and Best Supporting Actor (Syriana) in the year 2006 (He won in the latter category). And we know that that gold-plated lady is pretty choosy, turning up her nose more times than Paris Hilton can change her beaus

• Named the Sexiest Man Alive by People Magazine, not once, but twice. Again a first.. Is the world sitting up and taking note? The only other guys to be named twice besides Clooney – Brad Pitt (drool) and Johnny Depp (pant pant). Now why aren’t we surprised?

• This yummy, baritoned-twinkling eyed Batman, is the United Nations messenger of peace. May there be more super heroes like him! Of course, the Bat Mobile must make it easier for him to Vroooom there

• Talk about confidence. He has struck arguably one of Hollywood’s most-talked about bet. Both Michelle Pfeiffer and Nicole Kidman bet him $ 10,000 each that by the time he turned 40, he would have fathered at least one child. They were both wrong. Beaten, they sent their respective cheques to him, which were duly returned. Reason – he bet double or nothing, adding that he would still not have fathered a child even by age 50. Well, he turns 50 today, and I bet Michelle and Nicole have had to eat humble-pie again.

• Being the eternal bachelor, he’s turned on the charm to thousands of swooning women. There are also those who make a beeline to Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum in Vegas, to be photographed with a beaming, ‘Marrying George Clooney’ in a tux, no less. Visitors can put on a wedding gown and stand right next to the beaming wax impression (and now you know the second reason for me to make a visit to LV)…Shhhhhh...


• He’s had my attention since the first time I saw him in Street Hawk. Talk about first impressions. Okie okie, am making this up – I looked this one up;-)

As this salt-and-pepper haired hottie turns 50 today, let’s just hope that he never goes “Out of Sight,” cos’ it would be “Intolerable Cruelty” if that totally unthinkable thing were to happen.

And, let’s see, perhaps “One Fine Day,” I do get to meet him…that’ll sure have me on cloud nine, “Up in the air.”

Ahhh! dreams...What would I do without them?

“Good Night and Good Luck” to me.

Knock on wood...

Who'd make the best Bond?

‘Shaken, not stirred’ – a smooth voice booms in the watering hole.
You don’t need to scratch your head. God knows that you’ve heard the catchphrase long enough times to know that the world’s most celebrated spy is standing right behind you. You can visualize him clearly – suave, dressed in an impeccable Saville-Row suit, an Omega Seamaster adorning his wrist, and an Aston Martin waiting for his touch outside, and of course a bevy of admiring glances from both men and women alike. This British Secret Service agent has a license to kill, and takes it to a new level – a License to thrill.

For over five decades, James Bond has been scorching the scenes. It’s not hard to see why - adrenaline-thumping chase scenes, futuristic gadgets that do his bidding at the flick of a finger, a bevy of tantalizing beauties, his stock of ready one-liners in that much-perfected baritone – all do their job in making him a Box Office darling, raking in the moolah and making all those associated with the Bond banner go laughing all the way to the bank.

Sean Connery, Roger Moore, George Lazenby, Roger Moore, Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan and now Daniel Craig – all have assayed the role of the world’s most famous secret agent, with varying degrees of success. And while I think 4 of them absolutely breathed life in their portrayal, I wouldn’t mind the following actors getting into 007’s skin and give that iconic introduction –

The names Bond...James Bond.

1. George Clooney – at the top of my list, most definitely. He oozes charm, can smooth talk his way through any situation, has that mischievous glint in his eyes, is a pro at wink-your-eye flirtiness, and has that slightly wicked-naughty streak. Oh and did I mention that he’s easy on the eyes and has been known to make millions of women worldwide go weak in the knees. With so much as a look...It’s been Intolerable Cruelty that he hasn’t been cast till now. EON Productions should absolutely Burn After Reading this!

2. Hugh Jackman – with his rugged-looks, this Aussie actor can pack a mean punch, thus bringing much-needed realism to the Bond movies. And of course, that baritone isn’t too bad either. It’ll be nice to see him trade his Wolverine three moon claws for a lethal Walther PPK. Will be great Prestige for this Leopold, I’m sure...

3. Gerard Butler – from a humble cameo as a crew member in 1997’s Tomorrow Never Dies to the actual her Majesty's agent, it would be RocknRolla good to see the valiant King Leonidas exchange his steely armor for a suave tuxedo.

4. Jason Statham – This Mean Machine is one helluva Transporter. Plus he looks good in a tux. Plus he’s an acclaimed Martial artiste. He’ll have to work on his voice though – that rasp couldn’t possibly pass off for Bond’s, hough the accent will be his redeeming point for sure.

5. Christian Bale – This stylish Welsh actor has proved his mettle time and again – as Batman, John Connor in the fourth of the Terminator series, as a serial killer in American Psycho. A veritable Treasure Island, he looks good in almost everything (or nothing, as the case may be). He can quip, wield a gun effortlessly, And we’d be delighted to see him reprise the role of Bond. Thank you very much!

6. Clive Owen – This Brit is as Inside Man as it gets and can easily Vroom away in the iconic black Aston Martin. He’s got it all – the looks, that genteel air, the talent – and is bound to leave in his wake millions of people panting for more...

7. Jude Law – He’s among the youngest in this section, but there’s nothing lacking in him in the looks, talent or charm department. We would Love, Honour and Obey this Talented Mr. Ripley if he were to shake his martini, curl his lip in mock-amusement and stroll into a packed-room with that debonair charm, knowing all too well that all eyes are upon him.

8. Ethan Hawke – quite a lady killer this – after all he managed to sweep Uma Thurman off her feet and also put a ring on her finger. Too bad the pair fell through, but one thing’s sure, if this Hamlet were to take on Bond’s role, it would be for keeps.

9. Colin Farrell – Fellow Irishman Pierce Brosnan once famously said that Colin Farrell would probably fit the best in Bond’s sleek shoes. This bad boy gadabout Alexander could be the real thing. After all, he knows a thing or two about strutting his stuff (both onstage and offstage), can arch his eyebrows in mock-amusement like Bond, can mix a mean drink, is not averse to kicking some bu**, is a Daredevil, a pro at driving fast cars, and is known for making women swoon.

10. Eric Bana – another Aussie on this list, this 40-something holds his own against heavyweights (remember him in that fight sequence with Brad Pitt in Troy). On top of that, he’s ruggedly handsome and that smile can make the toughest of hearts melt. ‘Nuff said!


So who do you think could set the BO on fire as Bond? While I’ve had my share of talking, it’s only fair that I turn it over to you.

Who do you think could best whip the likes of Le Chiffre, Goldfinger and Blofeld to pulp?

Who's Bad?

They could probably put Michael Jackson and his moon walking out of business, the way they can immortalize those words, ‘I’m Bad.’

The Joker. Voldemort. Hannibal Lecter. Darth Vader. Count Dracula. Agent Smith. The Terminator. Goldfinger.

Closer home – Gabbar Singh, Mogambo, Langda Tyagi, Dr. Dang, Shakaal, Kesariya Vilayti, Prem (ironically).

The list is endless.

They make viewers sit up - wide-eyed and quivering - despite the still-warm bucket of popcorn sitting snug in your lap.

Their cold stealth, bizarre acts of creepiness, ominous facial expressions, and the sinister, dastardly acts they perpetrate upon their victims, frankly sicken you to the very stomach. You recoil and shiver, despite the scorching heat outside. Mean, murderous – they smirk, rubbing their hands and smacking their lips in pure glee when they find that yet another opponent is out of the villainous path they tread unheedingly.

Scarcely an hour into the move, you want to get hold of your new soccer shoes, and make them scream – but not in sadistic delight as is their wont. But in agonized terror, as they richly deserve.

They lay gruesome traps, wield (and use) shiny revolvers / chainsaws / butcher knives / ninja blades – you name it - to unleash a trail of terror, stomp on victims – diabolical grin in place, and sneer contemptuously when a potential victim flinches in alarm.

However said than done – I think villains have more fun than heroes. While you may not exactly find the idea of cosying up to them particularly appealing, they often are more intriguing than their living-by-the-straight-and-narrow, tightrope-routined counterparts (read ‘heroes.’)

After all, how interesting can it be to play yet another role of the perfect (read ‘boring’) hero when you can create mayhem with a few quick bullets? And talk about identifying – it’s been more than a few times that I haven’t been able to identify a shred with the so-called ‘hero.’

Which probably explains why many A-listers are turning to purely-evil, villainous, malevolent roles – and all at the peak of their careers.

Who am I to complain – with hotties like Jude Law, Christian Bale, and Matt Damon, doing a volte-face and turning into baddies, I daresay it doesn’t hurt one wee bit.

Does it?

Will 99 'strike' the right note?

The April impasse between Indian multiplex owners and Bollywood producers over sharing box office releases doesn’t look like it would dissolve in a hurry.

The better part of my last month was spent in wedding arrangements, zooming off for the honeymoon, relinquishing dates for quieter, at-home do's and settling into a new home and hearth.

However, there is no time like now to sink into a comfy seat in a theatre, lazily munch upon some popcorn, inhale the stale perfume of the couple sitting yonder, and sip some bitter coffee.

And of course, watch a movie, arms linked cosily with better half’s.

Fat chance!

The drought of flicks since the last five weeks makes sure that the above remains just that – a wistful dream.

The split between multiplex owners and producers just seems to be getting bigger, much to the chagrin of movie-buffs like me. Who swear by their fortnightly S-cube (Silver-Screen-Staring).

Multiplex owners are also in quasi panic, slashing rates of tickets, introducing too-good-to-be-passed-up-schemes, freebies, lucky draws – the works. All to make the audience make a beeline to the swish theatres, as they used to before.

All to no avail.

Theatres bear gloomy, deserted looks, people resorting instead to renting movies from the ever-grinning-perpetually-rubbing-his-hands-friendly neighbourhood DVD store-keeper, watching the IPL, or venturing into swanky malls, and returning with those ecstasy-inducing shopping bags.

It waits to be seen if the Bollywood flick ’99,’ which sees an independent release tomorrow, will be able to change the fortunes of the B.O.

I sure hope so.

Keep watching this space for more.

Movie Review: Quantum of Solace

Bond is back.

He of the blue eyes, clipped Brit accent, steely resolve, wry sense of humor, impeccable Savile Row suits, black Aston Martin, cool handling of martinis, and gasp-inducing, stomach-churning, sucking-breath, death-defying stunts.

All the above are there in the 22nd James Bond flick, Quantum of Solace, where Daniel Craig reprises second innings as the legendary 007 super spy.

And in a first, he arrives in India a full week before his scheduled November 14 date.

Sunday afternoon had all the trappings of a very pleasant time for me - lunch with great friend from college, window-shooping (I've sworn off shopping for a while - touche), and the new 007 flick. All in all, it promised to be a very pleasurable afternoon.

However, that was not to be. While the former two went off rather well, I was miffed, cheated, and sorely disappointed with Quantum of Solace.

Daniel Craig, instead of looking suaveness personified, looks more like a sneering, ruthless trigger-happy street-fighter agent-cum-boxer, with a constantly contemptuous look on his face.

The perpetually snarling, curled upper-lip doesn’t help much to redeem him either.

While Marc Forster (of Monster’s Ball, Finding Neverland fame) deserves full marks for directing Ian Fleming’s most famous spy, the story leaves you a little cold and disenchanted.

So you have a still nursing-a-broken-heart, embittered Craig chasing a sinister Dominic Greene (Mathieu Amalric) over three continents, and six countries, with some stunning images of Chile’s Atacama desert. Greene’s character is based on French President Nocolas Sarkozy and former English PM, Tony Blair. The smirking owner of an ecological Organization that he is, has more than the planet’s green resources in mind, and is all out to crack a deal which would make him the undisputed controller of Bolivia’s water resources. He is also a member of the mysterious shadow Organization, Quantum, which has tentacles everywhere.

Bond, in characteristic style, is determined to splash ‘water’ over and ruin Greene’s ambitious plans. Pun intended.

Besides mixing an unforgotten sense of vendetta for the death of Vesper Lynd, the only woman out of the flock he had seduced and been seduced by (see Casino Royale).

So you have adrenaline pumping fight scenes, where a brawny, rippling muscled Craig battles it out, often bare-handed, with nimble-footed, deft adversaries. There are speedboat and bike chases, skydiving stunts, pumping bullets that leave one dazed, jet fights, glass-crashing-into-smithereens moments, car crunchings – all leaving you sitting on the edge of your cushy seats, looking wide-eyed at the almost impossible-looking, gravity-defying stunts.

Veteran Dame Judi Dench returns as M for the sixth time, this time a tad disapproving and resentful of Bond’s trigger-happy ways, trying her best to restrain the unstoppable Bond's reckless movements and ruthless killing sprees. But eventually re-imposes her complete trust and faith in him.

Moving on to the women.

You have the achingly-lovely, luscious-lipped Olga Kurylenko playing Camille Montes, a Russian-Bolivian agent, who harbours a mission to destroy Greene. While the fake tan is a dead giveaway, the lilting accent is pleasing enough, and she holds her own with Craig as a tough-as-nails agent.

The guys will be pleased to know that Craig only shares a brief lip-lock with her at the end of the movie, and not any steamy between-the-sheets encounter. Agent Fields (played by freckled, red-wigged Gemma Arterton) however does have an amorous shot with Craig dropping kisses on her shivering bare back, though in the next scene she is found dead on the same bed, daubed in oil – a shuddering pre-present of what horrors lie ahead, from Quantum.

The only other saving grace of Quantum of Solace besides Olga – is its length. Running for a maximum of 106-odd minutes, it marks itself as the shortest Bond movie.

Go catch the associated video game instead, its namesake, which also marks a release this weekend. Read more about it here.

Maybe you wouldn’t be that disappointed.

Ohh, by the by, Bond wields a Sony phone.

I can almost see that wiping the grins off the faces of the Nokia suckers. Ha!

Movie Review: Fashion

I wouldn’t call ‘Fashion’ a dud, but yeah, coming from Madhur Bhandarkar, the man who gave us stellar hits like Page 3 and Corporate, watching ‘Fashion’ was a tad disappointing.

What could have been an insightful glimpse into the fashion world, turns instead into a protracted catechism / moral science class.

It starts off well though. Predictable, but nice.

So you have the middle-class model-in-the-making, Meghna (Priyanka) who harbours a secret desire to escape from smothering Chandigarh to glitzy Mumbai, and at the end of the long ride, achieve supermodel stardom, complete with all the perks.

So she arrives bag and baggage at the doorstep of a distant relative in Mumbai, a gay friend, who is assistant to a fashion designer, having assured her that he would do all it takes to get her onto the fashion bandwagon.

So far, so good.

After this, the movie goes on a downslide.

In the almost 3 hour long torture, Madhur Bhandarkar introduces you, can by can of every possible vice one may encounter in the swanky fashion realm.

So you have the teetering-off-the-edges supermodel, Shonali (played by Kangana Ranaut) who is on a destructive journey of coke-overdose, nicotine, and arrogance; the fellow struggler (Arjun Bawa) – who shares her profession, and later her bed; an openly-gay designer who marries his school friend Janet (Mughda Godse) – the tough-but-good-hearted model – for the sake of pacifying a society which frowns upon homosexuality as a depraved disease; the grieving parents who moan about their daughter who has kicked off her flat sandals in favour of sky-high stilettos.

There is also the gory / murky side – the business tycoon (Arbaaz Khan) – who provides for her, expecting his pound of flesh in return; his wife (Suchitra Pillai) who turns a blind eye to his flagrant, amorous adventures with young, upcoming, petite models; the hard-as-nails modelling agency head (Kitu Gidwani), who is herself a pawn in the hands of the tycoon...

The movie also deals with fashion issues like a brilliantly handled wardrobe malfunction scene upon Kangana, existence of an evident casting couch, bohemian models whose lifestyles can be called anything but model, excessive forms of intoxication, including snorting, designers ripping off designs from one another, passing-off streetwear as avant-garde fashionwear, catty exchanges between models, promiscuity – the works.

In between, you see Priyanka Chopra, she of the swollen lips, exhibit a hugely-swollen ego and caustic tongue - success has clearly gone to her poker-straight haired head. While Kangana needs urgent voice modulation and dialogue delivery / diction / pronunciation classes, she has still brought the right level of unhinged-ness to her character portrayal. Mughda is bound to go far, the way she has breathed confidence and spontaneity to her character.

As far as Madhur Bhandarkar goes – what can I say – he definitely has a little black book which numbers all the ‘sins’ of the fashion world.

A book which he needs to toss in favour of some much-needed designer scissors.

To trim his next realistic movie.

Movie Review: Made of Honor

Notwithstanding the uncanny resemblance to my Best Friend’s Wedding, Made of Honor does have its own spurts of radiance, where you smile in spite of yourself, similarities be damned.

So you have Patrick Dempsey (swoon yum dreamy delicacy) essaying the role of Tom, the eternal Casanova, who when he is not leading willing blondes, brunettes, you name it, into bed, is tagging along with his only platonic friend, best friend Hannah (Michelle Monaghan), a director of acquisitions at the metropolitan Museum of Art.

Their friendship goes back ten years, when Tom, masked as Bill Clinton, is looking for his Monica at a Halloween bash, and mistakenly jumps into bed with her roommate, Hannah, only to have perfume sprayed into his eyes. The two strike up an unusual friendship, discussing flavors of cakes, petting random canines on the way, and walking along the breathtaking New York streets.

Tom, fondly called “Fornicator,” by Hannah’s grandmother, has made millions by inventing the coffee paper-cup sleeve. His rule while carrying out his favorite pastime is singular – never do back-to-backs with the same girl (a la Joey from F*R*I*E*N*D*S*), and never call a date until a full day has passed.

Of course, he’s got competition – from his father (Sydney Pollack’s last role), who is a church and a divorce attorney’s dream customer – rolled into one. So while he is on his way to the altar to get “knotty” for the seventh time, the gorgeous bride and her lawyer are already negotiating the pre-nup settlement. So much for the sanctity of marriage.

Then Hannah announces that her work requires her to go to Scotland for six weeks, much to Tom’s petulance. The next six weeks are a trial for Tom, who realizes how much he misses Hannah, and makes up his mind to confess his love to her, but without offering matrimony.

His dreams are dashed short, ‘cos Hannah returns from Scotland, in love with Colin (the quintessential Scotsman, who in an almost Bronte style of romance, whisks her off her feet, on a white horse no less.

Tom, not to be outdone by some Scottish thief, decides to strategize. Things are made easier for him because Hannah, the typical, postfeminist, asks him to be her maid of honor (a situation that makes him the butt of some gay jokes).

Now Tom has to think, and think fast. So you have his basketballer guy friends pitching in, each stage-managing the mega plan of stealing the bride. There are magazines to be read on how to become the perfect maid of honor, videos to be watched, gifts to be wrapped, lingerie to be bought, trousseau to be decided upon, besides of course trying one’s level best to bring up the dirt on Colin, who reminds me a lot of Daniel Craig, sans the famous boxers scene. Here’s the kicker – Colin is squeaky clean, and has it all – a perfect family (he’s a Duke for God’s sake), perfect vineyards, perfect way to dunk the basketball, and during a locker room shower session, a view at his more than perfect “package,” which leaves Tom's friends goin "Whoa" and Tom more than a little snappish understandably.

Humor is freely interspersed – so you have appalling hairdos that would do bees proud, a grandma who takes a string of dayglo beads (Ahem Ahem) from a “lady” at a bachelorette party and puts them around her neck (Holy Moly), a more-than-plump maid of honor who survives on some indescribable liquid diet – all to fit into a size 8 dress, but which rips at the seams on the actual day, an obsessed woman who updates her blog on her favorite subject – Tom, amusing wedding customs and some more.

It takes a lip lock between Hannah and Tom, when she is exchanging kisses for change – a Scottish wedding tradition, which sets her thinking.

The rest is fairly predictable fare. But nevertheless makes for a sweet watch with your popcorn and cola.

Watch it for some smiles with your girlfriends.

Not bad at all.

Movie Review: Speed Racer

Slotted in the live action anime film category, Speed Racer had generated more than a fair amount of interest even before its release. It therefore came as no surprise to me that it was showing to packed theaters.

The Racer family first tastes sorrow with the death of the elder son, Rex, while participating in the grandest of all races – the Casa Cristo. Pops (played by John Goodman) and Mom (Susan Sarandon) are naturally protective about their second son, Speed Racer (Emile Hirsche) racing the family Mach 5 to the doomed race. Throw in a darned younger brother, Spritle (Paulie Litt) and an exasperating family chimpanzee, Chim-Chim, and you have the entire happy family. And oh! You have the luscious Christina Ricci, playing Speed’s girlfriend, Trixie.

Though why on heaven’s she agreed to sporting the hideous bangs and pixie cut is something I totally failed to understand.

Moving forth with the plot, there is trouble in paradise. Speed is determined to throw all cautions to the wind, and participate. The owner of Royalton Industries, played by a balding Roger Allam, makes a money-spinning deal with Speed, who turns it down, inviting his fury against him. The 2 hour 15 mins flick also has a race-fixing angle thrown in, a Japanese brother-sister duo keen on rescuing their family business, and Speed’s rival, Racer X (Matthew Fox), who bears an uncanny resemblance to Speed’s deceased brother, Rex Racer.

And now coming to the special effects.

Mind-blowing to say the least. I’m not really a gaming aficionado, but I must say I was impressed by the sheer magnetism of the super-flashy cars that seemed to defy all forces of gravity and physics.

Though there were more than a share of scenes that seemed to be laughing upright at logic, I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the sheer magnificence of it all. The cars hurtle, dash, plunge, and teeter, reel, swerve, careen – they look born to rule.

The slapstick humor is a little out of place in this otherwise lithe movie, but what the heck, all’s fair when there are so many flashy beauties on wheels involved. Vroooooooom!

The kiss between the two protagonists just at the end of the movie is the sorts that makes you go Awwww.

I should know.

"Cos I did...

Movie Review: Tashan

What do you get when you have a debut director who insists on calling the shots with an uber colorful star cast, but forgets to weave them all together seamlessly, and instead has an insipid, threadbare plot to boot?

Three hours of torture, I’d say.

That yours truly inflicted upon herself.

And that too on the first day of the week, no less.

So you have a Bhojpuri don, Bhaiyyaji, played by Anil Kapoor (who is getting to be a fixture in almost every second movie these days), who is yet to wake up to a world of banks, and instead believes in the virtues of stuffing wads of Gandhi printed notes in large aluminum trucks, hauled (pun intended) by the now-as-light-as-a-feather Kareena Kapoor, playing the character of pretty girl-next-door, Pooja Singh.

Bhaiyyaji, when he is not blinding people with his garish clothes, and even more loud mouth, harbors a dream – that of speaking English the way George Bush does. The petite Pooja, has other plans in her not –so-dainty-mind, and ropes in an English spouting call center executive, Jimmy Cliff (Saif Ali Khan), who falls hook, line, and sinker in love with her. After a customary song and dance routine, Jimmy, completely under the spell of Pooja’s fluttering eyelashes, helps her loot a handsome sum from Bhaiyyaji, all to “pay off her father’s debt,” and while Saif is still in la di la land, Pooja does a quick vanishing act, playing out her character of con woman par excellence, and is seen shaking a pretty leg and showing quite a bit of skin in a lime colored bikini (that’s one up for the guys) in some exotic locales of Mauritius.

So far so good. Except that Jimmy, who is on the path of smelling sweet roses and love, has to contend with smelling gunpowder and looking straight into the barrel of Bhaiyyaji’s gun. Enter Bachan Pande (Akshay Kumar), a bumbling henchman, who, when he is not scratching his unmentionables (toolbox, if you will Ahem), keeps naively showing a gummy smile, and rattling off quotes of his allegiance to Bhaiyyaji. He and Jimmy go in search of Pooja, who’s done the disappearing act, and enjoying all that loot somewhere.

The rest is, as they say, completely clichéd – retrieving the money, another fixed song and dance sequence, the obligatory exchange of hands and dishoom-dishoom, and some strange hand of fate linking all the characters together.

I’d say that the opening scene is one well-done though. A red Mercedes is vrooming on the highway, its music station getting changed randomly between “Highway to Hell” and “Kabhi Kabhi.” Amidst violent zig-zag motions, it teeters off the highway, plunging into the blue waters below.

As for the rest, it’s like an ill-tasting gloss, hollow of substance.

Spare your money.

Buy yourself a drink instead.

At least your head will not reel, as mine did.

Sample the lyrics of one song in the flick, wherein the three protagonists don ill-fitting, ludicrous blonde wigs, and dance to in gay abandon -

"White white face dekhey
Dilva beating fast, Sasura
Chance marey re
Very Happy in my heart
Dil Dance marey re"

Enough said. I rest my case.

PS - If the Director is lissening, here's a suggestion. He could have tried renaming "Tashan" (style / attitude) as "Nashta" (breakfast) - Kareena, who looks straight out of anorexia land, sure could do with some...

Movie Review: 27 Dresses

I would be lying if I said that I went to watch 27 Dresses without any expectations. After all, what would you expect from the screenwriter who gave us the immensely entertaining and vividly resplendent The Devil Wears Prada (TDWP).

Katherine Heigl as the quirky but nevertheless perennial do-gooder Jane is a Manhattan singleton, in love with her boss (Ed Burns), who besides throwing in a good word and a pat on the back every now and then, is utterly oblivious of her adoration. With a best friend in the form of Judy Greer, she of the sourest of tongues, and the most vivid of expressions, Jane has some relief from her persistent Good Samaritan-ness.

Besides of course, a fascination for weddings...

Our leading lady, when she is not mooning over her boss, can be found shuttling between wedding receptions, sometimes two on the same night.

Dressed as a bridesmaid.

The perpetual bridesmaid, Jane has seen and done it all – she’s dressed in clothes, now stashed into her home closet, that can only be termed torture attire inflicted by the bride-to-be upon the bridesmaids so as to look better than them, lifted gowns of the bride-to-be so that the latter could fulfill answer nature’s call before taking the vows at the altar, danced with the families of both parties, you name it…
Ho-hum story, huh.

Enter Jane’s spoilt younger sister, the man-magnet, Tess (Malin Akerman), who waltzes straight into her life, and into the wide arms of Ed. Within a matter of days, Tess has Ed eating out of her hands, tied to her pinky, and even all set to walk down the aisle. And who else to arrange for the wedding, than dahlin elder sistah!

Respite comes to an unwilling Jane in the form of cynical wedding columnist Kevn (Va Va Voom, James Marsden – the dishy Cyclops from X-Men), who is keen to cover her for his breakthrough story for his reporting career.

A stinging slap from Judy, a deliberate presentation at Tess and Ed’s wedding rehearsal dinner, a very entertaining round of sloshed singing at a roadside bar, the predictable rain, the subsequent romp in the sack, and the morning-after misunderstanding – 27 Dresses has all the trappings of a movie to keep you suitably happy.

And smiling, in spite of its predictability.

A fun-filled Sunday afternoon watch with your gal pals, 27 Dresses is not as huge a stunner as TDWP, but somewhere along the line, the story strikes the right chord.
As for the men folk, for obvious reasons, they would cite severe health conditions and bolt for the door at the very mention of yet another chick flick.

I wouldn’t blame them...

What with all that taffeta, lace, and organza spread throughout the movie in ample measure, they are definite to go running helter-skelter into the open doors of the nearest watering hole, and grab a six-pack...

Hic Hic!

The Cookie Thief

This time while at home, I chanced to see a movie that boasted of ten different stories. While some were better written-off, one, which starred Shabana Azmi – a bastion of Bollywood, was clearly outstanding.

Even after the ten-minute story was over, I couldn’t help but mull over that staunch Brahmin lady, who seems intent on perpetuating the caste-system, but who, in a chance encounter with Naseerudin Shah, another Bollywood veteran, in a station canteen, comes out with a change of heart. A discussion with TOOMA ensued, and he also expressed his assent that the subject was sensitively portrayed. Coming from him, that's the highest praise one can marshal.

The simple story found the right note with me, and I couldn’t help but notice its uncanny similarity with a poem I had read many years back. A poem which, somewhere along the line, makes us wonder if the assumptions we had made, were correct in the first place. And that there is indeed something right about so-called benefit of doubt Below, I reproduce the poem for you, just in case you haven’t read it. It’s by Valerie Cox.

The Cookie Thief

A woman was waiting at an airport one night,
With several long hours before her flight.
She hunted for a book in the airport shops.
Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop.

She was engrossed in her book but happened to see,
That the man sitting beside her, as bold as could be.
Grabbed a cookie or two from the bag in between,
Which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene.

So she munched the cookies and watched the clock,
As the gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock.
She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by,
Thinking, “If I wasn’t so nice, I would blacken his eye.”

With each cookie she took, he took one too,
When only one was left, she wondered what he would do.
With a smile on his face, and a nervous laugh,
He took the last cookie and broke it in half.

He offered her half, as he ate the other,
She snatched it from him and thought… oooh, brother.
This guy has some nerve and he’s also rude,
Why he didn’t even show any gratitude!

She had never known when she had been so galled,
And sighed with relief when her flight was called.
She gathered her belongings and headed to the gate,
Refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate.

She boarded the plane, and sank in her seat,
Then she sought her book, which was almost complete.
As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise,
There was her bag of cookies, in front of her eyes.

If mine are here, she moaned in despair,
The others were his, and he tried to share.
Too late to apologize, she realized with grief,
That she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.

How many times in our lives,
have we absolutely known
that something was a certain way,
only to discover later that
what we believed to be true … was not?

Movie Review: No Reservations

I often go overboard, I have been told.

Which is why, after weeks of no theater-visit, I saw two flicks last weekend.

The first was this riotous Indo-American comedy that left me in splits.

The second was No Reservations, which I must say without any reservations, tugged at my heartstrings. Oh well, quite a few times.

Catherine Zeta Jones is in top form after a two-year sabbatical. She plays Kate Armstrong, a standoffish, work-obsessed chef in Manhattan, whose regimented life is utterly thrown into disarray upon the death of her sister, leaving her in custody of her niece, Zoe (Abigail Breslin), last seen in a splendid performance in Little Miss Sunshine.

Jones is caught in a crisis – what with her 9-year old niece who will touch none of the exotic meals she whips up, a restaurant owner, Paula (Patricia Clarkson) who insists that she go for weekly visits to an octogenarian shrink (Bob Belaban), and a maverick “rival chef” , Nick (Aaron Eckhart) who insists on playing opera in the kitchen. It is small wonder that she (Jones) gives way to the occasional outburst with a customer who complains about her less then perfect foie gras or steak, and she is fit to throw the pretty toque that she has donned on her pretty head throughout the movie.

Aaron Eckhart disappoints though. As the Good Samaritan who is totally smitten by both Jones’ culinary skills, and erm… ______ skills, he paints too good a picture. Seen last year as another Nick – a hard-nosed tobacco lobbyist in Thank You for Smoking, who will stop at nothing to increase smoking amongst the public, Eckhart is unconvincing as the do-gooder, who will continue with his good act, despite Jones barbs.

The movie has its pluses though. For a self-confessed foodie like me, it was a veritable delight. Tantalizing, sumptuous feasts are elaborately arranged on immaculate tables, akin to a Sidney Sheldon description, causing my tummy to rumble, grumble, and growl throughout the movie. Too bad that I had to contend with coffee and corn while arrays of delectable pies, appetizers, aperitifs, and finger foods constantly made their appearance.

All in all, however, the movie was decent.

Not recommended for those who like mush though…

Movie Review: The Queen

After having missed it last weekend, I was more than a little anxious that I did not miss Stephen Frears’ tour de force, The Queen. So this weekend, I set out with an old friend, to watch it – she was keen to watch it too. And might I add, both of us were not disappointed.

At a time when Tony Blair has, in real-life, made way for Gordon Brown as the new UK PM, The Queen ensures that his (Blair’s) politically populist, media-savvy campaigns and views do not fade into oblivion. Michael Sheen gives a notable performance as the newly-sworn in Prime Minister.

But the movie belongs to Helen Mirren, who delivers a stellar performance as the enigmatic, guarded, stoic, wary of the PM who is intent to “modernize” Britain, class-conscious monarch. A stalwart HRH, her dry humor and ability to bring down people a peg or two, be it her nutty husband, Prince Phillip (played by James Cromwell), her spineless, whining son – the Prince of Wales, Prince Charles (Alex Jennings), the “brash” pro-modernist Blair, or his “middle-class” and outspoken anti-royalist wife, Cherie Blair (played by Helen Mccrory), as also her private secretary Robin Janvrin(Roger Allam), is par excellence.

Most of the movie is based on the time right after the People’s Princess, Princess Diana’s death in August 1997, and the complex relationship between the traditionally restrained Queen and the bursting-with-ideas Blair, barely three months into his role as PM after a landslide Labor win. Post news of Diana’s death, the Queen retains the monarchical stiff upper lip, refusing to let the Union Jack fly at half mast over Buckingham Palace, rebuffing a public mourning, and declining to address the nation live about Diana’s legacy. The reason – Diana was separated from Charles, and technically did not “deserve” a royal funeral, especially after her escapades with Dodi Al Fayed were lapped up by yellow journalists and / or the paparazzi.

At a time when the British public were anxious to hear condolence messaged from the Queen, she instead seeks refuge at Balmoral Castle in Scotland, surrounded by her dogs, jeeps, kilt-wearing husband, son, and grand-children, more concerned with stag-hunting than the humongous public grief that had built up. Her single arched-eyebrow speaks volumes, and she is appalled by the publicity Diana’s death has generated.

This is where the slick Blair steps in, carefully steering the much-vilified-by-the-fourth-estate Queen in the right direction. She makes a public appearance, addresses the nation live, and does damage-control for her appallingly aloof English reaction. HRH – the aristocratic, acid-talking, class-driven Royal, bound by protocol, has the perfect antidote in the savvy, politically-driven, smooth-operator, modernist, Blair.

Helen Mirren fittingly deserved the Academy she marshaled for the vivid role she essays with such consummate ease.

The movie is a no-nonsense intimate human drama of manners, where each person is shown battling his / her own private battles with an aching vulnerability.

Miss it at your own risk.

Movie Review: Shootout at Lokhandwala

Frankly speaking, when my date suggested that we watch Apoorva Lakhia’s new directorial venture, “Shooutout at Lokhandwala,” I had many misgivings in my mind. After all, what would you really expect from a guy who had previously delivered duds with an ex-Miss-India-looking-uncomfortably-gauche-in-cholis-but-with-a-fancy-accent-to-boot in “Mumbai Se Aaya Mera Dost” (shudder), and a badly hashed rendition of “Man on Fire,” rechristening it “Ek Ajnabee?”

Far out though.

The guy has evolved.

And how!

I expected it to be yet another potboiler, wherein the director had decided to cash-in on the topical surge of gangster movies that are “aggressively” being churned out in dozens.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Shootout at Lokhandwala is a fast-paced, chilling movie.

Based on “true rumors,” the movie is set in Mumbai, 1991, and explicitly depicts the infernal “encounter” on November 16 that year, between the Mumbai police unit, ATS (Anti-Terrorist Squad), led by Aftab Ahmad Khan, and five members of Dawood Ibrahim’s gang.

Some would find it a tad too gory, but heck, with a title like that, what else did you expect? Violins, roses, and actors lip-synching laughable lyrics in exotic Swiss locales?

Duh.

So we have the hard-as-nails Khan, played effortlessly by Sanjay Dutt, who I must remark is a pretty versatile actor, fitting the mould of lovable don with a heart of gold (Lage Raho Munnabhai), and steely-cop(Shootout…) with equal ease.

His ATS is based on the LAPD SWAT team, for which he enlists the best cops.

Two of his closest aides are “Inspector” Kaviraj Patil (Sunil / Suneil Shetty), who, when he is not spewing the choicest abuses, makes umpteen blank calls to his wife, to saving his marriage from dissolution, and Javed Sheikh (Arbaaz Khan), a caricaturized extended version, resembling a professor who has been unwillingly turned into a cop. Probably that explains his lofty homily on the “f” word, and consummate skill in spouting chaste Hindi.

Amitabh Bachan, as the chief Inspector turned private prosecutor, Dhingra, is the picture of subdued precision, although you do cringe when he unnecessarily thunders / bellows at Sheikh and Patil to keep their traps shut.

Moving on to the gangsters, Vivek Oberoi, playing the role of Maya Dolas, is perfect as the smirking, compassionless, henchman of the Dubai-based don. His four cronies, played by Tusshar Kapoor, Rohit Roy, Shabbir Ahluwalia, and Aditya Lakhia, deliver decent performances, though Tusshar Kapoor is ludicrous, when he, all of bulging-eyes and lean-frame avatar, threatens Sunil Shetty, almost double his size, in the gym scene. Awww, and come on, Tusshar, you hafta also quit shedding buckets in your movies, lest the viewers confuse you with a character from your sister’s K-serials.

The women are a let-down, except for Amrita Singh, who excels in her depiction of Maya's strong mother as a Marathi-rattling-pan-chewing figure.

Dia Mirza as a reporter fails to deliver. She probably didn’t get her homework right. After all, serious reporters pay more attention on getting the crisp-news factor right, than on getting their kohl-rimmed eyes to speak eloquently / expressively and / or mastering their histrionic capabilities.

Aarti Chhabria could have done better with a meatier script. Here she’s relegated to a couple of hip-gyrating-bosom-heaving-pelvic-thrusting-song-and-dance numbers, and some fancy waterworks.

Neha Dhupia, she of the long face and constant dead-pan look, should strictly limit herself to making an odd appearance at P3 parties, or at Pashmina shawl launches. What is the word I can think of for her? Wooden, that’s it. Enough said.

There are some scenes in the movie that were completely avoidable.

For instance, Abhishek Bachan, as a gun-toting, Ray-Ban-wearing biker cop, in his five minute role, before he is gunned-down, could have been given a miss.

As also for the very very quotable Ms. Rakhi Sawant in her blink-and-you’ll-miss-her-in-her-red-cleavage-baring-dress role.

Ditto for the totally incongruous bar songs.

A couple of questions too for the director.

In the last few minutes scene, where the gunpowder and pellets are free-flowing in the building housing the gangsters, the phone lines do not get jammed, even till the end. Probably the telecom department was sensitive enough to let the gangsters bid their final adieus to their near and dear ones, right?

Also, how come the police-force that came to wipe out the gangsters, didn’t wear bullet-proof jackets?

Nevertheless, the movie is worth seeing.

As my guy said, the movie is RAW.

You won’t even need popcorn to munch on.

It will keep you glued to your comfy theater seat.

Not recommended for the meek at heart though.

Movie Review: Bheja Fry

Bheja Fry is not your average Hindi comic-bordering-on-cheesy flick, as is the rule nowadays with the tacky comedies that Bollywood has been regularly churning out in hordes. Rather, the director, Sagar Ballary, does serve decent fare in his maiden project.

The only slip-up – the comic caper turns monotonous half way through the movie. And what had amused the audience in the first part, becomes a droning, dragging piece.

The movie does have its shining moments though. Especially in the form of a certain Mr. Pathak, who sails through the part of a bumpkin taxman, and an aspirant singer, with commendable ease. Ranvir Sheorey, another caricaturized tax-officer, also gets the obligatory number of laughs, though I wish he had more screen space t share with his VJ peer.

Rajat Kapoor, as the smug, pom-pomming music producer, seems to have perfected the suave-smooth-operator-meets-haughty act. Except that it starts getting under your skin, and you’d rather that he stop. And probably show some versatility in his next character portrayal. Puhleeeez - Mr. Kapoor, wait jus yet, before you accept yet another cheque for the same kinda character. Jeeeez. In the movie, his idea of an entertaining Friday night is to invite some buffoon, so that he and his other stuck-up friends can share some good old scotch and delicate hors-de-oeuvres, “harmlessly” laughing at the antics of the chosen idiot of the day. Sounds neat, no?

Sarika, his morally-righteous singer-wife, is a character whom the director probably forgot to draw finely. Her sketchy dialogues, mood-spells, bamboo-purses (I felt one of them had a snake coiled inside it), and badly-pronounced English almost wants you to pay for some diction (and theater) classes. (Isn't it surprising that she didn’t pick up any histrionics from her ex-hubby, Kamal Hasan?)

Milind Soman, he of the Star-Trek-ears-variety, tries to hide them under a month of stubble, and long hair. Pity that he also hides his acting skills, under limited screen space, woody dialogue-delivery, doubling up with laughter, and then gliding away on his superbly-crafted crocodile-leather moccasins, before you would even register that he had walked in, in the first place.

All in all, Bheja Fry is a movie strictly for those who have ample time to spare(and waste). Oh yes, also if you fancy singing along to some songs, that Vinay Pathak insists on singing in bursts and starts, in the entire breadth of the movie. I'm not too sure what would be your movie companion(s)' reaction though. Psssst - it could waver between amusement and ire. As an audience to my friend's crooning, I fell in the former category. :-)

Heard that it is a remake of a French movie - Le Diner De Cons (The Dinner Game).

Haven’t seen it. Don’t think I want to either.

Do you?

Movie Review: The Holiday

Withstanding the nippy air and steady droplets of rain yesterday, we bravely reached a theater to watch Nancy Meyer’s light romance, “The Holiday.”

I wouldn’t call it earth shatteringly great, in fact to be honest, it is a tad slow to watch in places, but overall, I wouldn’t call it a bad chick flick.

The movie unfolds with Iris Simpkins (Kate Winslet), a reporter with the Daily Telegraph, Surrey. Perpetually reaching out for tissues, Iris is in an unrequited love relationship. The object of her affection is her fellow-colleague, Jasper Bloom (Rufus Sewell), a schmuck who conveniently walks all over her, remembers her only when it comes to getting his papers edited, has an affair with another colleague, and gets engaged to her.

On the other hand is glam Amanda Woods (Cameron Diaz), a movie trailer producer in L.A., who despite all her efforts, finds herself incapable of shedding even a single tear. Revolted by her cheating boyfriend, Ethan (Edward Burns), she packs a punch on his face, and throws him out of her luxurious apartment.

On an impulsive whim, the two disillusioned, workaholic women decide to go in for a home exchange, and land up in each other’s homes. Does Amanda find love in the sinfully-sexy Graham (Jude Law), a widower with two adorable daughters, and who happens to be Iris’s elder brother, and with whom she hits the sack in their first encounter?

And does Iris succeed in getting Amanda’s neighbor, ageing Hollywood script-writer Arthur Abbott (Eli Wallach) grace the Writer’s Guild Festival, sans his crutches? Meanwhile, much against her will, she finds herself liking Miles (Jack Black0, Amanda’s assistant.

What’s the hitch, you may ask? He’s already heads over heels in love with Maggie, an aspiring actress.

The movie does have its moments of light-heartedness, notably the phone call in which Iris puts both Iris and Graham simultaneously on hold., and goofs up tremendously.

Watch it if you have nothing better to do on a lazy Sunday morning / afternoon.

Keep the popcorn and soda handy though.

You’ll be needing them.

The name's Bond...James Bond.

Was pleasantly surprised yesterday to see that the sixth B(l)ond (and the most under-rated one at that), can actually act. Daniel Craig, he of the piercing-blue eyes, curled upper lip(almost resembling a cynical snarl), clipped Brit accent, sexy baritone(va va voom), does a decent job in the twenty-first Bond movie – Casino Royale.
Except that one does feel bad for Ian Fleming's iconic spy, who for once, revealed his vulnerable side, exposed his sinewy chest, lost his heart to Vesper(played by Eva Green), but finds himself betrayed in the end.
Hmmm, probably now, the next time Bond does lose his heart, it would be to a blonde.
After all, don't gentlemen prefer blondes?

Don (Yawn)

Friday, October 20, 2006.
It started out as any other average day.
Except that we were to go watch the first day first show of the much-hyped, “Don.”
Let me add here, that we went with zero expectations, and the movie well lived up to that.
3 hours, replete with Shah Rukh Khan grinning, whispering hoarsely, baring his fangs, declaring how much he fancied "wild-cats", and some fight-scenes, saw us all emerge from the theater bleary-eyed, yawning, and exclaiming that Farhan Akhtar should go back to what he does best—1) picturising three “dudes,” in Goa / Australia 2) Changing hairstyles 3) Posing prettily for the shutterbugs 4) All the above.
The three women-Priyanka Chopra, Kareena Kapoor, and Isha Koppikar, are little more than ornamental pieces, though Priyanka definitely has the most meaty part, among the three. (She has literally taken the term "bee-stung" lips, though. Catch the promos of the film on TV, to know what I mean).
Bebo disappoints us, more so, because after having delivered a swell performance in Omkara, here she is relegated to a blink-and-you’ll-miss-her-role, “donning” a gold dress, war paint, sexy strappy sandals, and gyrating uncomfortably to the original Helen-number,”Yeh Mera Dil.’
Five minutes later, she is dead in the lift. Courtesy, the ugly-lipped Don. Bah!
Isha Koppikar casts dagger looks at Priyanka Chopra throughout the movie, while secretly looking at SRK with love-lorn eyes.
Champagne flows freely throughout(now, where was I?)
Boman Irani and Om Puri are wasted. Om Puri, more so.
Arjun Rampal as the limping Jasjit, doesn’t “walk” into our hearts either.
The music is nothing to write odes about.
The mid-air action sequence is a laugh.
SRK’s sunglasses look as if they have made their way to him, right from a scrap-dealer / local flea market.
All in all, a strictly avoidable flick.
My suggestion is, see the original “Don” on DVD.
As for me, I wish I’d seen “Open Season” instead.