Kuruvi

On the way back from the multiplex, I spent a considerable length of time trying to figure out what to put in my review of Kuruvi. I came up with nothing. I could claim that the movie was beyond even my capacity to describe it, but that would be dishonest. Truth: I just ran out of nasty. I’ve already used whatever creative insults I could come up with, in my earlier reviews of movies I didn’t like.

So, instead of actually reviewing the movie, I’m just going to list the various attempts I made and discarded.

Attempt #1: Rant by Letter

Dear Dharani,

Whatever you’re smoking, it can kill you.

If it doesn’t, I will.

Wake the f*** up and start making some good masala again.

Regards

Ramsu

Attempt #2: Rant by Review Reference

National Treasure is so silly that the Monty Python version could use the same screenplay, line for line.

— Excerpt from Roger Ebert’s review

Now, replace the words National Treasure with Kuruvi and the words Monty Python with the words Lollu Sabha. Read the sentence again with the replaced words.

End of review.

Attempt #3: Rant by Literary Reference

Kuruvi is what happens when someone watches Waiting for Godot and decides to make an action film adaptation.

My suggestion to you, dear reader, is that you watch or read the Samuel Beckett play and rent a DVD of Gilli or Dhool afterwards. That way, I can keep this review really short, and you can thank me for some good recos. Good night, and good luck.

Attempt #4: Just Rant

One third of the way through Kuruvi, I realized that it was futile to hope that this was a Locomotive 38 movie. There was really no explanation other than that the makers were crazy. They were deadly serious about this plot and the way it was handled, I realized. They actually thought this was a good movie.

The plot involves an illegal diamond mine in Cudappah (“Blood diamond,” the villain proudly declaims at one point, maybe to claim coolness by association) where a number of workers, including the hero’s father, are kept enslaved. How he liberates them forms the story. How he moves from one fight to another while looking perpetually pissed forms the screenplay. How Trisha manages to keep the same moony expression throughout the movie forms the romantic sub-plot. How I managed to tolerate all of this without actually barfing forms my review.

Do I really need to go on?

ps: Okay, so I didn’t quite run out of nasty just yet. But one more Vijay movie like this and I’ll probably hang up my boots.

pps: Oh, and here’s a brilliant rant by Baradwaj Rangan on the movie.

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16 thoughts on “Kuruvi

  1. Sagarika says:

    While I’ve been busy reading the only blog that I’ve managed to snag a recurring slot on my robotic daily schedule (checking back here only once every 10 days or so, since you’d deluded me into thinking that you’re not inclined to post all that frequently), you decide to completely blindside me by quietly scattering some serious gems about so freely, so I could do what when I come back? Kick myself and launch on a reading frenzy, that’s what! Damn you, Ramsu. ๐Ÿ™‚

  2. Rajendran says:

    Rant by literary reference takes the cake. This was of the same league as the review of Jhoom Baraabar Jhoom. As an aside, is there a logic why the movie is titled Kuruvi

  3. Folks, thank you! Movies like this make me so mad, it’s the fun in writing a review like this that makes it worthwhile ๐Ÿ™‚

    Rajendran>> Kuruvi, according to the movie, is apparently a term used to refer to people who go abroad (to places like Kuala Lampur) carrying goods from home to Indians who work there. I am not entirely convinced of the logic of getting perfume from back home while working in KL, but that is not the movie’s biggest worry, I think.

    And yes, this was a Jhoom Barabar Jhoom sort of experience.

    ~r

  4. ramsu,
    two words: pinnitte machi! no disrespect meant. Just couldn’t find a more perfect phrase or better words to say it. ๐Ÿ™‚ I just finished barfing about Kuruvi on my blog and immediately it struck me, that you may have written something about it too. so dropped in and, lemme just say TGIF, not a lot of people are at work, and I could actually laugh-out-loud. ๐Ÿ™‚

    cheers!

  5. Shankar says:

    Well, my nickname in college was exactly the title of the movie…Kuruvi!! Though it had nothing to do with ferrying goods to people!! ๐Ÿ™‚

  6. Shankar says:

    This nick infact started out from my school days (11/12th)…Apparently, my hair was curly at that time, an unruly mop, resembling a kuruvi koodu. So the name stuck. It then followed me into college where, by the time I was in Bhag and Mal, it was “chellama” shortened to Kuru. I’m sure when I graduated, nobody could place me by my real name!! Isn’t it funny how nicks take their own life?

  7. True, I remember most of my classmates by their nicknames. Every once in a while, someone asks something like something like “Do you remember S. Sriram from your batch in BITS?”

    Trouble is, the people who ask this:

    a) Don’t know their nickname
    b) Think that telling me the full name, like Sriram Subramanian or Sriram Sankaranarayanan, is helpful.

    ~r

  8. Sagarika says:

    Shankar: “Isnโ€™t it funny how nicks take their own life?” You mean nicks tend to be suicidal? ๐Ÿ™‚ (Although I do realize what you’re REALLY trying to say is the exact opposite…that the darned things are indestructible.) Sorry senior, pet peeve of mine, that’s all. I do make a sport out of picking on such subtle semantic slips, I know. I have a heck of a lot of time at my disposal, what can I say? ๐Ÿ™‚

  9. Sagarika says:

    That “invisible” footprint above was mine, by the way. ๐Ÿ™‚ Makes me feel like I’m a digital goddess or something. (I’m sure you’ll immediately see that I’m trying to channel that beat-to-death “Footprints” poem, verse, whatever that used to be on posters that maybe some sidee of yours (too) had on his room wall. Cheesy stuff, wasn’t it? Sorry God, no offense…) ๐Ÿ™‚

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