… appears in a Rajni movie called Kazhugu.

The film itself contains such wonders as human sacrifice conducted in a large room containing massive statues of Rameses (looking like he’s undergoing a colonoscopy), fistfights involving large men seemingly made of steel (imagine a cross between Jaws from The Spy Who Loved Me crossed with the Fat Bastard from Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me) and Rajni doing his version of martial arts (Tai Chi crossed with Kathak). Good fun, really, if you’re in the mood for that sort of thing.

But the opening credits… wow! Lurid images that wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of pulp fiction/horror novels, with appropriate music playing in the background — this stuff makes everything else worthwhile.

Do you folks have any other candidates for Best Opening Credits of All Time? Let me know.

Maria, Amrita & Beth go medieval on Karan Johar’s a** in their latest podcast:

Filmistan High Class Reunion: Koffee with Karan Season 3 in Review

I watched a fair bit of Season 1 of KwK, a little less of Season 2 and not even a single full episode of the last season. But from what little I saw, I think they absolutely nailed it. Definitely worth a listen.

Towards the end, they turn their attention to Simi Garewal’s new show, India’s Most Desirable. All I’ve watched of that show is a few promos and about five minutes of the first episode. There’s something very creepy about the show, don’t ask me what. After the first three episodes (Ranbir Kapoor, Deepika Padukone, Siddhartha Mallya), I was quite tempted to label it India’s first sexually transmitted chat show, then they broke the cycle with Sonakshi Sinha.

Unless of course… ah, never mind.

Sometime back in seventh grade, I developed a fascination for long sentences. I once wrote a 100-word answer on Mother Teresa’s contribution to humanity in 3 sentences — the middle sentence was 63 words long. So you will understand why I was fascinated by this paragraph by Brit humorist and cricket writer Andy Zaltzman:

The cricket did not match up to the pre-match hype. This was inevitable. The only way it could have done so was if Virender Sehwag had scored a 25-ball century, Sachin Tendulkar had posted his 100th India 100 before being carried away into the skies in a flaming chariot, Kamran Akmal had taken a series of sensational one- and no-handed catches, Asad Shafiq had run into a phone-box, whizzed round at high speed and emerged as an at-his-peak Garfield Sobers in a superman outfit with a Pakistan passport in hand, hammered his team to the brink of victory, before Virat Kohli came steaming in like Dennis Lillee’s pet wildebeest and obliterated the Pakistan tail with a blood-curdling barrage of 100mph yorkers, bouncers and googlies, before with four needed off the last ball Saeed Ajmal danced down the wicket to Zaheer Khan and reverse-cover-drove him off one knee in the air towards a diving Ashish Nehra on the boundary who caught the ball in the tips of his fingers to prevent it going for 6 before a passing kestrel pecked it out of his hands and dropped it on the ground in front of Manmohan Singh and Yousuf Raza Gilani who then ceremonially tied their feet together and jointly kicked it over the boundary rope for the tying runs, before saying “No-one deserves to lose this match,” then holding hands and launching into a rousing rendition of ‘Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong’ while the Mohali crowd harmoniously crooned backing vocals and all cuddled effigies of Inzamam-ul-Haq.

The rest of the article doesn’t quite match up his usual standards of brilliance. But not a bad read, overall.


So my first spoken blog post is up, courtesy the wonderful folks who run Masala Zindabad. Thanks, Beth & Amrita for putting this up on your site!

This one’s about my experience of going to the movies. Specifically about watching B-movies in a ramshackle single-screen theatre in a little village in Rajasthan. You can listen to it here.


I wrote this for the GE Global Research blog – Edison’s Desk. An excerpt:

We go to the movies for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is vicarious wish fulfillment. For the more scientifically inclined among us, much of this aspect has to do with the cool gadgetry in the movies. It’s almost like a litmus test: which of the scenes in a Bond movie do you like best? The ones with Q or the myraid action sequences? If you fall into the former category, read on. Otherwise… well, humour me for a few minutes and read on anyway.

You can read the rest of this post here.

Banno has a lovely article on the relationship between a filmmaker and his subject here:

getting up close | Upperstall Blogs

My favourite line from the article, just to get you off your lazy ass and click on that link:

When he chooses to film a bar singer, he also chooses to film his own fascination for her.

I wonder how many filmmakers realize this, even when they don’t put themselves in the frame with their subject.

The opening credits of Luck by Chance appear over a montage of shots that depict the frayed boundaries of what is sometimes referred to as the Dream Factory. Old security guards, projectionists, dilapidated buildings serving as make-up rooms for the extras…

The funny thing is, it strikes you neither as a preview to a Madhur Bhandarkar-esque expose, nor as a glimpse of the rose-tinted world that is often affectionately referenced in many other movies set in the film industry. It just feels real. It is as though Zoya Akhtar is saying, “I don’t need to satirize or lampoon this world in any form. I just need to keep my camera trained on this world.” There is genuine affection in that unblinking gaze.

I say this, of course, with absolutely no idea of what the film industry is really like. (When has that stopped me anyway?) But as a world created in a movie and inhabited by its characters for the running length, it rings true.

Take the scene where a bunch of young hopefuls are graduating from an acting class, with Mac Mohan presiding over the proceedings. When he gets up to speak, one of the students ask him to speak his line from Sholay, and the man obliges: “Sarkar, poore pachaas hazaar.”

The beauty of it is, that scene plays tangentially like the ending for a Mac Mohan biopic. I haven’t seen enough of the actor to judge his talent, or what he would’ve been like in a more substantial role. Maybe it is his tragedy that his career has boiled down to that line. If you didn’t keep track of actors’ names, you’d probably just refer to him as the guy who played Samba. But think about this for a moment: nine of ten actors in that graduating class should be so fortunate as to have at least this much to be remembered by.

The central conceit of the movie is that an actor gets the lead role in a big production through a series of chips falling in place at exactly the right time. Some of this is his own doing, his flattery of a yesteryear actress at a party serving him well at the right occasion. When he sees his competition sitting across him in the studio and waiting for his audition, he is not above a little carefully done gamesmanship either. And when the actress’ daughter (who is his co-star as well) comes on to him, he decides to play this new card he’s been dealt. And this, despite having a girlfriend — another struggling actress who unwittingly played a part in his rise — waiting in the wings. And so it goes.

The plot doesn’t entirely escape the shackles of the struggle-rise-corruption-realization cycle that one automatically expects from this premise. The good news is, it manages to do it with a fair degree of realism. Consider the scene where Vikram (the protagonist) gets a call from the big producer’s office asking him to turn up for an audition. The scene is set up so that you imagine he’s finally made it, until you see him entering a dingy hall filled with other actors who have been called to the same audition. The next three minutes are a master class in depicting gut-churning anxiety without too much outward expression, while Sapnon se bhare naina plays in the background.

What kept occurring to me throughout the movie was how precise it all was. There are moments of obvious satire, but the thing is, the movie doesn’t just know it’s satire, it knows it’s obvious. So it plays down the reaction shots to the point where the actors just suggest what they think and let you fill in the gaps. I like it when a movie trusts our intelligence and doesn’t feel the need to spell it out.

The performances are absolutely spot on. Farhan Akhtar creates a character who we have seen before in the movies, but never quite played this way before. He seems to be making a career out of perfect understatement, and the industry is so much the better for it. Konkona Sensharma plays the jilted girlfriend — there’s an undercurrent of irony in the fact that her character, a small time actress, keeps complaining about being typecast in “sister” roles, while Konkona herself  seems to be caught in a different, but similar kind of rut in some ways.

Come to think of it, for a movie about struggling actors trying to make it in an industry filled with star families and beauty queens, the only major characters without pedigree are Dimple Kapadia and Isha Sharvani, who play the yesteryear diva and her daughter respectively. Dimple does what Dimple does — this character isn’t a stretch for her, but you can’t imagine too many other people in that role. “A crocodile in a chiffon sari,” one character calls her at one point. Isha Sharvani, on the other hand, is an absolute revelation. After the critical and commercial disaster that was Kisna and a few years in the wilderness of Good Boy Bad Boy and the like, this is her chance to make it big, and she grabs it with both hands. Rarely do actresses get to have this much fun in a role.

Rishi Kapoor seems to be having the time of his life, now that he no longer has to play the romantic lead. As the big producer trying to get his movie completed, he is a joy to behold. Likewise, Juhi has slipped quite nicely into the supporting actress slot and become someone who automatically makes you smile when she appears on screen. Arjun Mathur plays Vikram’s old friend Abhimanyu, now trying to make a career in theatre, who verbalizes the occasional discomfiting truth. Ordinarily, he would be written simply as the conscience keeper with no additional function, but the script has the sense to treat him as an actual person and give him his own axe to grind.

My favourite supporting performance though, is that of Sheeba Chadha (thanks, Banno!) who plays a small-time producer Chaudhary’s (Alyy Khan) wife and Juhi’s sister. There is a moment where she sees her husband with a woman he is having an affair with and has just dumped, and knows what she is seeing but probably can’t even admit it to herself, much less confront her husband about it. Her conversation with her husband strikes such a perfect pitch, it feels like a punch in the gut.

Hrithik has an extended cameo as a superstar Zafar Khan, the star who walks out of the big production to star in a Karan Johar movie, thereby gifting Vikram the break. Interestingly enough, it is Karan Johar himself who points out the folly of this move. His reaction to that is a study in carefully practiced inscrutability. After the movie, my wife and I were discussing what it would be like if he had done Farhan’s role. Personally, I think he now has the acting chops to do it, but his screen presence is too overwhelming. If you could take Hrithik the actor from today and Hrithik the star from around six years ago, you’d have your man.

Aside: Interestingly enough, reports that Hrithik originally turned down Farhan’s role when it was offered to him. I think it was a few years ago.

Other well-known film personalities make guest appearances, either as themselves or in a small supporting roles. Their appearances are mostly used well and not just piled into one overlong song sequence (do I hear sighs of relief?). Anurag Kashyap has a nice turn as the hassled scriptwriter. Saurabh Shukla steals the show as the acting teacher Nand Kishore. SRK appears as himself and dispenses sage advice at a critical moment. Aamir Khan, Rajkumar Hirani, Manish Malhotra, Abhishek Bachchan, Vivek Oberoi, Ranbir Kapoor, John Abraham, Kareena Kapoor and Akshaye Khanna all get a little face time. Of the lot, Akshaye seems to have the most fun — God, does that man radiate smugness!

But my favourite is still Mac Mohan.

ps: While you’re at it, go read this absolutely fantastic piece by Banno on her reactions to the movie.

Not from me, although I have much to be thankful for. This one is about acceptance speeches.

My friend Rajendran posted a comment to my Kate Winslet post asking whether the reference to Emma Thompson was due to her acceptance speech at the Globes years ago, for Sense and Sensibility (Thompson won for Best Adapted Screenplay). And I realized that not many people might know about this little gem. So here it is, in full:


Thank you very much. Good Heavens. Um, I can’t thank you enough, Hollywood Foreign Press, for honoring me in this capacity. I don’t wish to burden you with my debts, which are heavy and numerous but, um, I think that everybody involved in the making of this film knows that we owe all our pride and all our joy to the genius of Jane Austen. And it occurred to me to wonder how she would react to an evening like this… [Puts down statue on stage, reads paper] And this is what I came up with.

Four a.m., having just returned from an evening at the Golden Spheres, which despite the inconveniences of heat, noise and overcrowding was not without its pleasures. Thankfully, there were no dogs and no children. The gowns were middling. There was a good deal of shouting and behavior verging on the profligate, however, people were very free with their compliments and I made several new acquaintences. There was Lindsay Doran of Mirage, wherever that might be, who’s largely responsible for my presence here, an enchanting companion about whom too much good cannot be said. Mr. Ang Lee, of foreign extraction, who most unexpectedly appeared to understand me better than I understand myself. Mr. James Shamis, a most copiously erudite person and Miss Kate Winslet, beautiful in both countenance and spirit. Mr. Pat Doyle, a composer and Scot, who displayed the kind of wild behavior one has learned to expect from that race. Mr. Mark Kenton, an energetic person with a ready smile who, as I understand it, owes me a great deal of money. [Breaks character, smiles] TRUE!! [back in character] Miss Lisa Hanson of Columbia, a lovely girl and Mr. Garrett Wiggin, a lovely boy. I attempted to converse with Mr. Sydney Pollack, but his charms and wisdom are so generally pleasing, that it proved impossible to get within ten feet of him. The room was full of interesting activity until 11 p.m. when it emptied rather suddenly. The lateness of the hour is due, therefore, not to the dance, but to waiting in a long line for a horseless carriage of unconscionable size. The modern world has clearly done nothing for transport.

P.S. Managed to avoid the hoyden Emily Thompson, who has purloined my creation and added things of her own. Nefarious Creature!

Thank you.


This is the sort of speech that makes for a wonderful trivia question, and warms the cockles of my quizzing heart. She followed this up with an Oscar win as well, although that speech was marginally less wonderful:


I don’t really know how to thank the Academy for this. And if I try we’ll be here till Christmas. So I better get on…

Before I came, I went to visit Jane Austen’s grave in Winchester Cathedral to pay my respects, you know, and tell her about the grosses. I don’t know how she would react to an evening like this, but I do hope — I do hope she knows how big she is in Uruguay.

Profound thanks to Columbia Pictures and the lovely forms of Lisa Henson, Gary Wiggan, and Mark Canter for hiring a first-time writer; to James Shamus for his rare intelligence; to Sidney Pollack for asking all the right questions, like ‘Why couldn’t these women go out and get a job?’ Why, indeed. To the cast and crew, for being impeccable. To my friend and my teacher, Lindsay Doran, for being the single most frustrating reason why I can’t claim all the credit for myself. And finally, I would like with your permission to dedicate this Oscar to our director, Ang Lee. Ang, wherever you are, this is for you. Thank you.

Source: Wikiquote

Bonus feature

Since I am in a generous mood (also since I don’t have to do much else other than cut-pasting these items here), here are Youtube links to Hugh Grant’s acceptance speech for his second Golden Globe win (Best Actor in a TV Series – Drama, for House):


This is, absolutely, without doubt, the best performance of The Beatles’ Hey Jude I have ever heard. ’nuff said.

Hat tip: To Nithya, who posted the link on her facebook page and alerted me to this gem.

I found this little gem when I was searching for some other link in my bookmarks. It got filed under a work-related folder by accident. I think.

If ever you feel like reading a nasty review of a bad movie would make your day a bit better, go search for Roger Ebert’s zero star reviews. It’s not just that he tears the movie apart — he does it with such style that you feel like watching the movie just to see what he wrote about. Here’s one that I particularly like.

Dirty Love :: :: Reviews

My favourite line in the review: 

She (Jenny McCarthy) is cheated on by her boyfriend, Richard (Victor Webster), aka Dick, who looks like the model on the cover of a drugstore romance novel about a girl who doesn’t know that guys who look like that spend all of their time looking like that.

As analogies go, that one is positively Wodehousian.

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