Kurbaan

I watched Kurbaan on Friday evening and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since. It is not that it is an extraordinary movie — the more I think about it, the more flaws spring to mind. But somehow, I am unable to bring myself to dislike it. I think my irrational fondness has a lot to do with one key exchange between two characters in the movie, both terrorists, one of whom has just found out that a loved one is about to die as a result of the plot he is part of.

“But she is innocent,” he protests. (Woh be-kasoor hai!)

“And how are we guilty,” retorts the other. (Aur hum kaun se kasoor-vaar hain?)

Any story that tries to personalize terrorism is likely to draw upon two emotions — the anger that springs from personal loss, and the fear of losing a loved one. But not often has a movie managed to express this conflict in such succinct fashion. It is also emblematic of all that is right about Kurbaan. When it stays focused on how its characters feel, the film is honest, plausible and thought-provoking. Where it focuses on the plot, it rings false.

Consider, for instance, the scene where a law enforcement officer has just survived a blast that has killed many of his co-workers and bystanders. The plot demands that he keep moving. But his character needs some time to get over the shock. And sure enough, we see him slumped against the seat of his car, trying to gather himself. Only gradually does he get back in action. On the other hand, a character who needs to make a crucial decision about which wire to cut in order to defuse a bomb (the most enduring staple of movies with bombs in them) is not shown agonizing about it — he has seconds to go, and he makes a snap decision as he must.

As true as these scenes are to their characters, there are ones that undermine them as well. An important supporting character is a liberal-minded Muslim who decides to extract a measure of revenge from the terrorists who were responsible for his fiance’s death — his choices are among the most problematic in the movie. The intention is good — create a character who represents the moderate face of Islam and put him in a scenario where he has to deal with the same rage that the terrorists deal with. There is so much that one could do with a premise like that. Some scenes, like one at a sandwich place, show promise. But on the whole, the character development feels rushed, implausible and somehow inorganic to the plot. It doesn’t help that Vivek Oberoi’s performance isn’t up to the standards set by the rest of the cast.

Kareena Kapoor gets the sort of role that most actresses would salivate about, and does it justice. She has a moment right at the end that echoes, in a strange way, the ending of Last Tango in Paris — what she does with it is pretty much why a number of big name directors seem to want to work with her. Why she chooses to flaunt a size zero figure when she has talent to flaunt instead is something I will never understand.

Saif does exactly as well as one expects him to do these days. His character is written as one who plays his cards close to his chest, and there is hardly an actor working in Bollywood today who can play that kind of role better. But this turns out to be a troublesome strategy. There is a moment where he makes an unwise choice that makes us wonder — would such a dreaded terrorist make such a stupid move? It is possible that he simply made a mistake as a result of the pressure he was under. But by not letting us see how that pressure affects him, we are led to think of it as an implausible plot development.

The two key supporting performances come from Om Puri and Kirron Kher. Puri is in top form as usual, but it is Kher who surprises — she doesn’t get this sort of role often, but she makes us wish she did.

The production quality is quite good — these days, one doesn’t expect less from a big production house like Karan Johar’s. The music (Salim-Suleiman) is sparse and well-composed. Apart from the quality of the writing, there really isn’t much to complain about. But isn’t that enough?

Still, I can’t help but like the movie. The movie doesn’t ask any easy questions. Kurbaan provides an ending, but it doesn’t delude itself into believing that it offers an answer.

A day before the movie was released, a TV channel carried an interview with Saif Ali Khan where he said, “Terrorism has become a reasonable way to die. When we hear that an aunt is dying of cancer, we feel sad, but we get over it because we have seen it before. The same is happening to terrorism.”

Implicit in that statement was a certain sadness that it has come to this. He is right. Maybe it has to be personal for us to care, to react. Then again, isn’t that true of terrorists as well? Like the character says, hum kaun se kasoon-vaar hain?

ps: Having said all that, here’s a rather less complimentary review by Beth (who clearly loves Bollywood despite its many faults, God bless her) and an absolutely hilarious comic strip version that makes me nod in agreement simply because I’m laughing too hard to argue. Beware of spoilers, though.

 

Boggarts beware!

No, not Humphrey. I mean Boggarts with two g’s, the magical creatures that will take the shape of that thing you fear the most. The method of banishment involves thinking of something funny, pointing your wand and saying Riddikulus! If none of this makes sense, you might want to borrow a set of Harry Potter books from somewhere and get cracking.

Now, in case this Boggart thingy isn’t fictitious and there is a ghost of a chance that it might pop out of your cupboard and scare the crap out of you, I suggest you watch Zulm Ki Hukumat at least once. It is an Indianized remake of The Godfather with Govinda in the Al Pacino role (playing a character called Pratap Corleone Kohli), Dharam-paaji in the Brando role and Paresh Rawal in what can only be called a critical value-addition to the script — a fake Swamiji who deals in drugs. He even has a disciple (Archana Puran Singh) dressed as a sadhvi who, when the situation necessitates an item song, will change into something that Cher might’ve discarded as being too trashy.

For best effects, watch it every week. You will radiate such an aura of induced ridiculousness that Boggarts will find some other cupboard to haunt. I’m guessing that Govinda in a gold jacket and a yellow waistcoat that has a huge heart symbol on its back might also work as a patronus.

ps: Oh, and by the way, Aamir Khan did a Godfather remake as well — I think it’s called Aatank Hi Aatank, and features him with slicked back hair and a cheroot in his mouth and looking like a brand ambassador for Isabgol. It might not work as well as Zulm Ku Hukumat but might serve in a pinch.

 

 

Weekend watch: Julie & Julia, All the Best

Just in case anyone ever accuses me of not having enough variety in my diet. Now, on with the reviews:

Julie & Julia

Imagine you’re a guy, and a vegetarian to boot. And someone told you that there’s this movie, about two hours long, featuring two women (and a couple of men by way of supporting cast) cooking for most of its running length. That there’s no plot to speak of really, and no major emotional upheavals. And that the climactic moment involves cutting open a duck and stuffing food in it. How likely is it that you’d drop everything to go watch this movie?

Let me sweeten the deal for you a bit. It stars Meryl Streep, who manages to keep her lead over Kate Winslet in the Oscar nominations race by the simple expedient of doing something brilliant enough to get nominated every year. It also stars Amy Adams, who seems to be closing in on Ms Winslet froom the other end. On top of which, it has Stanley Tucci, who is constitutionally incapable of disappointing.

Still, it’s a lot of cooking and very little plot to cram into two hours. Most people would give it a miss. Most did, if the box office receipts are any indication. I didn’t. And for reasons I don’t fully understand, I found myself engrossed in this simple tale of two women — one who blazed a trail by introducing French cuisine to servant-less Americans in the 1950s, and another who followed it half a century later by cooking her way through the former’s cookbook in a year.

Since I saw it on Sunday evening, I have been trying to figure out why I enjoyed this little movie so much. All I can come up with is this: the movie correctly identifies the secret to good food. It’s butter. Lots of it. Bon appetit!

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All the Best

All the Best takes the zany plot of Kaadhala Kaadhala (or Right Bed Wrong Husband, depending on who the makers want to give credit to), adds a bit, subtracts a bit and eventually comes up with a comedy with roughly the same hit rate. Much of it is due to the fact that the plot is madcap enough to cover a number of flaws.

The leads aren’t really in top form: Ajay Devgan (if he wants to stick that extra vowel where the sun don’t shine, that’s his business — I’m keeping it where it is) is just about okay, and needs to progress beyond the silly smile at some point if he wants to become a good comedian. Fardeen Khan seems, inexplicably enough, to survive in comedies despite the fact that he has the comic timing and voice modulation of the average dead bacterium. Bipasha Basu shows less cleavage than Ajay, but looks gorgeous nonetheless. Mughda Godse takes all the brownie points she earned for Fashion and blows them up here — if there is anything worse than how her role is written, it is how she plays it. Sanjay Butt looks like he ate a whole shark on the sets of Blue and hasn’t crapped it out yet.

But making up for all of this is a comedian who I confess I have never been a huge fan of: Johnny Lever. Playing a mute loan shark named Tobu, he brings the house down every time he appears on screen. How he communicates through his sidekicks is funny enough. But how one of them has trouble with “translating” what he “says” after having sustained an ear injury — that bit is almost Pythonesque in its mix of logic and wierdness. If the rest of the movie had managed to live up to that standard, I’d have been grabbing random strangers on the road and buying them tickets to this movie. As it stands, I can only suggest that you go watch it for Johnny Lever and forgive the rest.

ps: If you do watch it, look out for the reference to Slumdog Millionaire — it’s priceless!

 

Wake Up Sid

Wake Up Sid starts off more or less asleep for the first hour, stratches and groans a bit for the rest of its running time and manages barely a few moments of absolute clarity in between. And yet, you don’t come away disappointed. If it does wake you up to anything at all, it is this: Ranbir Kapoor is the real thing. And now, since I’ve played enough with the title, I’ll switch back to sanity and get on with the review.

The film tells the story of an aimless rich kid who gets a crash course in growing up when he walks out of his house after a tiff with his folks. His saviour, mentor and ass-kicker-in-chief turns out to be a woman he befriended on her first night in Mumbai and helped settle into the city. That she is probably 6-7 years older than him makes their relationship a little more interesting than the ones we usually encounter. It is almost a cardinal rule in movies of this nature that the girl comes across as more mature than the guy, but to actually make her older is uncommon.

Since the plot itself isn’t earth-shattering, the movie rests on the strength of the writing and the performances. The performances are easier to talk about: Ranbir is in top form, and seems to be in his comfort zone in both the serious and the light moments. Konkona seems strangely ill at ease in what must surely now be called “the Konkona Sensharma role” when scriptwriters create characters like this. The supporting cast is uniformly good and, in the case of Supriya Pathak, absolutely sublime. I’ll get to her in a minute — she deserves more than a single sentence.

The writing is a curious mix of good and bad news. Much of the dialogue falls in the spectrum between obvious and pedestrian. The background score even supplies a chorus that says “Wake Up!” during key moments, just in case the audience is comprised of lobotomized bacteria who don’t Get The Point. The Meet cute, which features an extended conversation between the leads, might as well have been written on autopilot.

And yet there are moments of uncommon brilliance, such as a reconciliation between two estranged friends after one of them has just been dumped by his girlfriend. And moments where you can see how the writer made a conscious and sensible choice with regard to some stock supporing characters –  a potential romantic interest and a sexpot neighbour, to name a couple. And a few absolutely sublime moments, almost all of them featuring Supriya Pathak, who plays Sid’s mom. There are scenes where she (and the writing) accomplishes with a simple look what lesser mortals would’ve taken pages of dialogue to describe.

One in particular, where she visits Konkona’s apartment where her son is currently staying, stood out for me. Right at the end of that meeting, Konkona feels compelled to explain the status of their relationship to Supriya. How that moment plays out is one of the reasons why cinema deserves its place as a creative art in its own right: there is no way a book or a play (with its inability to close in on an actor’s face) could’ve done it exactly right. For the first time in the entire movie, I was gobsmacked.

It is precisely this moment of beauty that makes me so exasperated with Wake Up Sid. The movie shows itself capable of greatness, and but decides to stay off that pedestal and become yet another genre exercise. (Oh yeah, it’s a genre now — it’s called Movies Involving Characters Who Think Andheri Is On Another Planet.)

 

Three reviews, one post

I went on a spree recently and ended up watching three movies in more or less quick succession. Hey, people gorge on chocolate, I watch two movies back to back at a multiplex. So sue me. None of them really deserves a longish review (actually they do, but I’m a lazy bum), so here’s a paragraph or two about each of them.

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Quick Gun Murugun

After a minor tribute to Tarantino’s Kill Bill right at the beginning, the opening credits of Quick Gun Murugun show our hero being ferried to heaven by Yama on what seems like Thailand’s answer to the buffalo. Heaven turns out to be something like a large Government office, complete with an old watchman sleeping at the gate. When Murugun alights, Yama asks him, half-sheepishly, “Saar, meterukku mela konjam…” And when the former walks on without even responding, the latter mutters what must be the most appropriately worded insult in recorded human history: Saavu kirakki. (My apologies to those who do not understand Tamil — my translation skills aren’t quite sufficient to make this joke work in any other language.)

With such auspicious beginnings, one would expect QGM to be an absolute laugh riot. Sadly, this doesn’t turn out to be the case. Like Woody Allen’s Take the Money and Run, it all sounds amazingly funny until you actually sit down and watch it. It’s eminently chuckle-worthy all right, and one never really tires of all the sly references (lines like “Make my day, machchaan” abound), but by and large, the movie manages to be clever without really tipping over the edge into laugh-out-loud-funny.

I have watched both of Shashanka Ghosh’s movies now — Waisa Bhi Hota Hai and this one. Neither of them will rank as a work of comic brilliance, but maybe these will turn out to be the opening notes in a brilliant career. Who knows, the man might even give us our own Annie Hall sometime in the future.

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Dil Bole Hadippa

Dear Yash Raj Productions,

Despite my better judgement, I have watched most of the movies you have come out with in recent times. I do not need a refresher.

Sincerely,

Ramsu

The trouble with DBH, I suppose, is that while it isn’t really a bad movie per se, it doesn’t seem to be bothered much with being a good one. Then again, if all you have is the idea of an ambidextrous Punjabi kudi wanting to play cricket with the boys and masquerading as one in order to do so, just how good can it get? At least Twelfth Night added more complications (like the business of twins) to disguise the fact that it was basically just fluff.

Nobody really stands out. Rani Mukherjee tries gamely, but quite frankly, she just doesn’t have what it takes to elevate this material. The best you can expect from her is to do justice to a well-written part — this one isn’t. Shahid Kapoor moves his career up one square by playing an essentially likeable character yet again, except with a bigger banner paying him to do nothing this time around. Rakhi Sawant moves her career up one square by getting a more-or-less non-speaking 5 minute part in addition to her item song. Sherlyn Chopra turns up with seemingly one purpose — to increase the per capita exposure in the movie by a few dozen square inches. She does well at that. A non-speaking part would’ve been even better, but as it stands, it doesn’t really hurt the movie. The others convert O2 to CO2. On the whole, I’d have been better off doing the same at home.

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Wanted

I doubt I can say it any better than Amrita has in her absolutely wonderful review of this movie. The best I can do is say the following: Wanted is exactly what it claims to be, and it is very good at what it aims to do.

I was initially skeptical about the casting choices — I felt Salman was too old for the part, and that Prakash Raj’s performance might not work as well in Hindi as it did in Tamil and Telugu. I was wrong on both counts. Both of them seem to be having the time of their lives, and from what I could see in the multiplex, the public absolutely loved it. Ayesha Takia proves yet again that, were it not for the occasional little gem like Dor or Socha Na Tha, all we might end up remembering of her is how she fills out a t-shirt. (Very well, I might add.)

As for the supporting cast: Vinod Khanna has a nice little role doing nothing. Inder Kumar seems to be raking in millions in steroid endorsements. Mahesh Manjrekar is suitably sleazy while managing to be a mite less over-the-top than his counterparts in the Southie versions — which is saying very little and very much at the same time. And a bunch of interchangeable goons seem to growl and die in the background often enough to keep the story going. One even commits suicide instead of letting the hero kill him — I’m not sure how he sees this as a better option, but I’m disinclined to argue the point.

On the whole, this is an absolutely wonderful B-movie. And if you need any other reason to watch it, here’s one: as toothpaste ads go, it’s much better than Hum Aapke Hai Kaun.

 

Love Aaj Kal

Saif Ali Khan has two brilliant monologues. Both involve him starting off with a certain point of view and realizing that his heart has been running on a different track midway through it. He does this switch so naturally, makes this realization seem so unforced, that you really get a sense of how confused his character really is.

The girl who plays Harleen Kaur has a moment on her balcony in Kolkata when she realizes that Veer Singh (Saif again) has come all the way from Delhi to see her and is standing across the road. Watching her smile is a delight.

The structure is interesting: two love stories, one set in the past and one in the present, both differing in how the lead characters approach love. Hao Hsiao-Hsien did it in Three Times a few years ago, I believe — I haven’t seen it, so I’m not sure how much this structure owes to that one. But even if it was inspired, we can credit Imtiaz Ali for having picked a good inspiration.

That’s about it. The rest of the movie is a total loss.

You know the feeling you get when you’re in a groove while writing and it’s all you can do to write as fast as the voice in your head is telling the story to you? When the words start to tumble over one another in their hurry to get out? Contrast this with those moments when you want to write but really don’t feel like it, and have to force the sentences out word by word. If the first half of Jab We Met felt like the former experience, nearly all of Love Aaj Kal felt like the latter.

After two fantastic movies, Imtiaz Ali seems to have lost his way. Watching the movie unfold, I was left with the distinct impression that his heart wasn’t in it. It felt like he first wrote out what the screenplay should be, and mechanically filled in the scenes. We get precision when we need rhythm.

Central to the appeal of his earlier movies was the funny, sassy dialogue. Best of all, it felt natural. This time around, hardly any of the dialogue works. Worse still, the actors don’t seem to have fun with the material. The dialogue delivery is plagued with the split second delay that is fatal to comedy. The characters seem to smile not because they’re happy, but because they are in a movie made by the guy who made Jab We Met. Deepika, especially, spends much of the movie looking like she’s endorsing Orbit chewing gum. She even says “It works” at one point — if she had said “It really works”, I think the producers could’ve raked in a little sponsorship money. Then again, if they had spent the casting budget on a better actress, it might’ve worked a damn sight better for them on the whole.

When the leads don’t seem to have much fun, you look to the supporting cast. Trouble is, there really isn’t one. Friends and family, other girlfriends and boyfriends, none of them have anything to do. Even Rishi Kapoor, one of the most dependable character actors working today, starts off with a good scene and then simply fades back into the woodwork.

That’s it, I guess.

ps: When I write a review, I usually spend some time working on a good opening and closing paragraph. But when the filmmaker doesn’t work towards crafting a good ending, I figure, why should I go to all the effort?

 

Apropos Kambakkht Ishq

No, I haven’t seen it. And no, I don’t have a burning desire to see it either.

What I was wondering about was this. The reviews (1, 2) of Kambakkht Ishq on rediff mention that the movie involves a bickering couple –  a stuntman and a doctor. So does it borrow, by any chance, a reel or two for Pammal K Sambandham, that Kamalhassan starrer where he plays a stuntman and Simran plays a doc?If anyone who has seen PKS happens to see this one, please do let me know. I’ll even pay for your therapy sessions.

While on the top of not-so-promising Akshay Kumar movies, I happened to watch Chandni Chowk to China recently on TV. Aside from the fact that it mixes Manmohan Desai, Kung Fu movies, The Three Amigos and a few fish-out-of-water movies into some sort of diabolical chow mein, what struck me the most was how easily this could’ve been a good movie.

There are around 20 minutes in the middle when Akshay is going through the manddatory training sequence at the hands of a Chinese ex-cop who happens to be Deepika’s dad. It is wonderfully tongue-in-cheek, and Akshay’s comic timing is just spot on. Why the hell couldn’t the rest of the movie maintain that standard? <Sigh>

 

Shahrukh Aman?

I just watched bits and pieces of Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi last night and it occurred to me suddenly that it was essentially a gender-swapped version of Satyam Shivam Sundaram, with SRK in the Zeenat Aman role and dancing instead of boinking.

Does anyone else agree, or is it just me?

It’s genetic, I think. My dad happened to watch Bombay on TV one day and commented that the song Kannalanae was simply a gender-swapped version of Maankuyilae Poonguyilae from Karakattakkaran, with Manisha in the Ramarajan role.

ps: While on the topic of SSS, could someone please assure me that it was all meant to be symbolic? Otherwise, I’d be up all night screaming at those characters to have their tubes tied and do the gene pool a favour.

 

Freeze Frame #134, #135: Taare Zameen Par

I confess to not being overly enthusiastic about watching Taare Zameen Par when it came out. I have no idea why. When I finally did see it a few months ago, I kept wondering why I had waited so long. It’s a wonderful movie about a dyslexic kid having trouble in school until a sympathetic art teacher comes along and helps him out.

I agree wholeheartedly with the assessment that the second half is painted in very broad strokes and has none of the subtlety and power of the first half. Still, despite the fact that I know I’m being manipulated, I don’t feel like dissing it. I guess I like being a puppet every once in a while.

Two sequences stand out for me. One is an extended sequence in the first half where Ishaan bunks school and walks around the city for a while before coming home. When this scene started, all sorts of alarm bells were ringing in my head. No kid his age should be out alone on the roads like this!

But after the first 30 seconds of fretting about the dangers of the situation, I settled down to see what he would do. And I was drawn in. There doesn’t seem to be any conscious design to what Ishaan stops to observe and what he passes by without a second glance. It would’ve been easy to make him observe only those things that emphasize his artistic bent of mind. But the movie doesn’t try to shoehorn any pattern into the situation. It wisely recognizes that, to a hyperactive kid (artistic inclinations or not), anything could be interesting.

One of the pleasures of going to the movies is to find ourselves in the company of fully realized characters. There are so many movie characters who race so breathlessly through the plot that they hardly stop by to say hello. When a movie takes five minutes (heck, a whole first half, come to think of it) to do that, it’s gratifying. It is this attention to detail that wins the movie enough brownie points to make up for the string-pulling in the second half.

The other scene that worked for me is this little reaction shot right towards the end, when the Principal of the boarding school is about to announce the winner of the school-wide painting contest. We know already, having seen so many movies, that Ishaan would win. When the Principal announces that the judge has chosen a student’s work over his teacher’s, we know exactly what he is talking about even before any names are mentioned.

But a reaction shot of the art teacher beginning to applaud before holding back and waiting for the actual announcement? Now that is interesting, isn’t it?

It is not surprising that the art teacher would’ve guessed who the principal was talking about. But how often do the makers figure on giving this particular reaction shot? Think about all those movies where a competitor overcomes great odds to win a contest with a supportive coach by his/her/their side. How often does this reaction get shown, no matter how obvious? It is only after you see the shot that you realize that yes, this is exactly how he would’ve reacted.

 

Delhi 6

First things first. Amrita, you were right. This is the first real Rahman album in a while. I could obsess about each song in turn for a month. So I’m going to imagine that he actually won those two Oscars for this album and not for Slumdog Millionaire. Go Rahman! (To have spoken a line in Tamil and quoted Deewar up there — you rule, man.)

It is a measure of Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra’s success with Rang De Basanti that he could get pretty much any character actor he wanted for Delhi 6 and not have to worry about giving them enough screen time. It is also a measure of his ability to direct such a vast ensemble cast that they manage to pull the movie through some crucial moments where the script doesn’t quite give them the backup they need. Alas, even such a team can sustain it for only so long.

Delhi 6 tells the story of a second-generation Indian-American who comes home with his grandmother who has contracted a tumor and wishes to spend her last days in her ancestral home in Chandni Chowk (PIN code 110006, hence the film’s title). For the next hour and a half, you let yourself get surrounded by this neighbourhood, swayed by its rhythm, loved by its people and worried/amused by their little rivalries, while a “monkey-man” terrorizes the city and this neighbourhood with mostly-imagined nocturnal attacks.

You have no idea where the film is going, but it feels comforting to be welcomed into and ensconced in this world Mehra creates with such fondness. And when he decides to ratchet up the tension by bringing in the spectre of communal disharmony, this neighbourhood, with people jostling for every inch of space, begins to seem combustible. The way he brings this up doesn’t work too well and almost plays like comedy at times, but you care enough about the people that it doesn’t seem to matter.

Trouble is, he’s now created a situation that he cannot resolve in too many ways. And in trying to resolve it in an unexpected manner, he stretches credibility a bit too thin. And you walk out feeling… a bit let down, to be honest. These characters deserved better than an ending like this.

There are a few other glaring flaws. Like Amitabh Bachchan in an entirely unnecessary cameo that irritated me no end by its mere presence. Or Abhishek Bachchan’s now-you-hear-it-now-you-don’t accent, coupled with a performance that really isn’t on par with the rest of the cast. But what was really disheartening was how Mehra simply refused to be subtle when needed.

Consider the minor character who carries around a mirror and asks everyone to look into it. This mirror is referenced so beautifully in the end credits, it almost makes you forget the missteps he made right at the end. But instead of leaving it at that, he got one of the characters to speak at length about what the mirror really means. For heaven’s sake, man, we get it!

But despite all these flaws, when I wake up today I don’t remember its ending. And months from now, when I think of this movie, I know what will come to mind:

Om Puri and Pavan Malhotra indulging in a game of one-upmanship during a bhajan session.

The luminous Sonam Kapoor dancing in the Delhi metro. This is a girl worth watching out for. Anyone who is capable of dancing and smiling while running the risk of having a pigeon poop on her head at close range is a keeper.

Rishi Kapoor’s easy elegance. Why did this man ever have to be young if he could be so fantastic in old age?

Waheeda Rahman’s character making meticulous preparations for her own death. Lady, we see too little of you, but when we do, you make us thankful for it.

Atul Kulkarni, Vijay Raaz, Deepak Dobriyal, Divya Dutta, Supriya Pathak, Sheeba Chadha…

They are the only reason to watch Delhi 6. If that prospect doesn’t sound enticing, then this movie isn’t for you.