Reviews by Sukanya Verma from Rediff
EMAET is neither on the epic side like Dharma Productions' great, grand ancestors nor weighed down by an overload of pop culture references of those that define the genre. Instead the confection's appeal lies in its underplayed wit, quirky within plausibility protagonists and a refreshing disregard for conventional conclusions. Almost like a big studio flick with an indie mindset. Almost.
It is Rishi Kapoor's wily turn as Rauf Lala, representing the collective villainy of Terelin, Usman and Shetty, that is the greatest revelation of this piece. He has done some awe-inspiring work in the last couple of years (Luck By Chance, Chintuji, Do Dooni Chaar) but nothing tears down his sweater-clad lover boy reflection like Agneepath. To me, that's exactly how Agneepath works, less of a remake, more of a tribute. They should have just called it Dharmapath.
The Dirty Picture, despite the comprehensive objectivity implied through its title, is not a full-fledged biopic. Instead of painting a layered portrait of Silk, it draws an outline of an unapologetic resident of a flesh-obsessed film industry responsible for her rise and ruin. But Vidya lends her so much transparency, aplomb and sauciness, the outcome is far more awe-inspiring than it deserves to be. Whether she's cracking crude innuendos or bursting out of her tightly-fitted clothing to expose all those meticulously added calories, the actress, literally, puts her soul and body to embody Silk. In a world, where a majority of women obsess over a flat stomach above anything else, Vidya flaunts a protruding belly as though it didn't exist. Such commitment would impress anybody -- you, me. Tom Hanks? In terms of creativity, it's a middling effort. But where bravado is concerned, The Dirty Picture kicks ass by virtue of three very strong reasons: Vidya Balan. Vidya Balan. Vidya Balan.
Rockstar, like Mani Ratnam's Dil Se.. or Ashutosh Gowarikar's [ Images ] Swades [ Images ], is a heart-felt, inflexible vision of an insightful filmmaker. It is bound to generate polarizing responses. Either you will be able to hear the unsaid, draw your own subtext, understand Jordan's disdain for the system, disregard for his fans, sense the reason for the lingering rejection of his family and girl , read his eyes, see the pain and feel his need to be treated normally again. Or you will nitpick where he took his guitar lessons, why don't we ever see him talk to his mother, why did he not reveal his true feelings to Heer earlier on, why doesn't he care for idolisation, why are Heer's folks so benign and inconsequential, why does the film end without any drama or dhan-te-nan?
Rascals, with no structure or motive, cannot (rather does not even try to) conceal its desperation to make itself funny. And this insecurity shows in each and every gag. What begins as a mindless laugh raiser with a set of 2D animated opening credits, quickly establishes itself as a tale of two swindlers Chetan (Dutt) and Bhagat (Devgn), engaging in some vacuous, worn-out tricks, to steal from an unsuspecting Anthony Gonsalves (Arjun Rampal in an indifferent cameo) and win the affections of a doltish heiress (Kangna Ranaut) in Bangkok. This flake of a story, believe me or not, is pretty much the entire plot.
Mere Brother Ki Dulhan is a pretty ordinary effort. It's the kind of movie where everyone looks catalogue cool and beams with enthusiasm to make the going-ons appear droll and exciting. And though one's a sourpuss for not buying it, I'll take the risk of being one.
Despite Game's passive first half and dull soundtrack, its little-above-two hours running time makes the ordeal a lot less painful than it could be. And though it could do with a spectacular leading man -- Bachchan Jr is neither Bond nor Poirot nor impressive. For its entire obsession with ambiance, Game is, at heart, a frustratingly old-fashioned murder mystery. If you're the kind who follows the genre keenly, by second act, you'll have figured out the wild card and the culprit. Question is do you want to?
What makes this clamour and clutter in an implausible balle balle scenario worth a watch is that the actors -- irrespective of their stature or screen time -- keep the madness in control. The frenzy is of the frothy sorts with Anushka Sharma contributing a great deal of it, and the excitement to click as a team appears genuine. The foolhardiness works purely on the strength of Akshay's vulnerability and restraint. Quite conveniently, a politically correct Advani never shows Akshay playing against India. Predictably, the men in blue do march to victory; it's just a few shades darker than I would have liked to cheer for.
A wannabe sex comedy in the garb of a trivialising rom-com, DTBHJ is about three men wanting to get laid at the audience's expense. Even more agonising is Bhandarkar's talent for handpicking astonishingly bad actors to play bit parts. Among his several pathetic efforts to fish laughs, the ones that strike most offensive involve a homosexual caricature mouthing crudities like Agle janam mohe gudwaa hi kijo, another effeminate bloke rolling his eyes to blurt out his sexual preference or a divorce lawyer making a creepy pass at Devgn. The screen is cluttered with secondary characters that pop in and out without bringing anything to the story other than add to the mess. And that's what Dil Toh Baccha Hai Ji is, a silly jumble of misspent potential and hollow creativity.
Going by its tacky finishing and detailing (what detailing?), the final product appears to be an intermediate draft of a work-in-progress file. No wonder not a single character from this portly, colourful bunch strikes as anything out of the ordinary. Neither the Bappi Lahiri-lampooned Gappi nor the blatantly-copied Jessica Rabbit clone. Flaws aside, the climatic twenty minutes are absolutely pleasurable. Akin to the thrill one gets out of arcade gaming, Devgn and the missus confront multiple-levels of challenge with childlike relish.
Ultimately, the actors get it right. It's the toons that disappoint.
Comedy, black, white or blue, is its effective best when spontaneous and born out of erratic, whimsical reactions against a perfectly genuine backdrop. Precisely why Phas Gaye Re Obama scores. It takes a real-life upheaval and mixes it up with the metaphor of survival is every man's need, morality no bar, to concoct a sharply-penned, rib-tickling adventure. It's insane. And it's awesome.
Post-interval, the promise of delving into the complications of long-distance romance begin to dwindle as Break Ke Baad runs out of ideas, spark, focus and momentum, procrastinating endlessly, before racking up yet another addition in the list of far-fetched 'n' filmi fairytale endings. Call it tribute or inspiration, the prospect of zero individuality in a creative medium is hardly a deal breaker. And it's definitely not cool anymore
For a script so hopelessly dependent on conversation, Jhootha Hi Sahi is one spark-free one on one. Only Pakhi, with her hard expressions, and a warmth-exuding John share zero chemistry. Manoj Lobo's vibrant cinematography delivers a handsome visual package of the grand city, Jhootha Hi Sahi, save for the odd 'B' word or Indo-Pak camaraderie, doesn't really have an English bone in its body. Nor a romantic one.
What make this fluff worth its while are Ravi K Chandran's splendidly-lit frames, Vishal-Shekhar's awesome soundtrack and Ranbir Kapoor's knack to keep it real. He's a fine mix of chilled out and endearing even when everything around him makes you scream 'whatever.'
Lafangey Parindey, like its attention-grabbing title, is unapologetically superficial with a brief attention span. It doesn't dwell too long on the possible complications or questions that may arise in its protagonist's lives and conveniently wiggles out of/wraps up any uneasy development.