Alas, The Shame!

Life has come to a near standstill out here in western Maharashtra. Are we living in the Dark Ages? Or perhaps India is one of the lands that have been untouched by modernization and have remained uncivilised, degenerate, stagnant? Possibly we are like the primitive people shown in Peter Jackson's 'King Kong' who were so supremely backward that it was shocking. Um, maybe we don't look half as hideous as the people Jackson's wonderful imagination permitted to be, but we definitely do share certain traits with them. How else can anyone explain the shameful riots and violence that have erupted because of the desecration of a certain leader's statue? Clearly, we are a country to be pitied.

The entire city of Pune was nudged into submission to the rioters' wishes today, with every meek little attempt to bring things back to normalcy being met with non-violent yet firm resistance. Most of the shops remained closed throughout the day, and seeing as how Pune is not exactly the most active place in the world (I still find it hard to accept the blissful afternoon siestas celebrated by most local businessmen), the city bore striking resemblance to a village today. And this is not the first time such a thing has happened either; mindless violence and disgustingly fierce protests are pretty commonplace in India. Things as trivial as a politician being shown disrespect can send the masses into a flurry of rage and the police into a tizzy. Not that the police are particularly effective at controlling such mayhem. But the slight disturbance such incidents cause to their leisurely pace of work can really annoy our pot-bellied heroes.
Seriously, how sickeningly revolting can the situation get? While our newspapers talk of our perpetually rising GDP and the amazing speed at which the country's financial class is gaining 'soft power' in rapturous tones, they forget that the rampant illiteracy, unemployment and poverty in the country are only making life miserable for the masses. After all, it is only the vulnerable lot of the poor and the illiterate that engage in such merry turbulence. For how long can we afford to let our trigger-happy politicians manipulate and even encourage such abominable acts? So many questions, so few answers. I don't know about the others, but times such as these make me seriously reconsider even living in India.

And while I've been writing this post, I've been in constant, intense fear that another power blackout may make it necessary for me to write all of it again. Ooh, that was close! Just a fluctuation in the voltage, thankfully. Seriously, we ARE living in the Dark Ages. Literally.

England's Cup Of Woes Spilleth Over

Another Ashes Test, another humiliating defeat for England. The trend that had been snapped so dramatically in last year's Ashes series has been restored, much to the chagrin of England's very expressive media and the tenacious Barmy Army. To say that I am deliriously happy with the result would be an understatement. I have always been a huge fan of the Australian cricket team, and it would not be too far from the truth to say that I was probably as passionate about Ponting's men extracting revenge from England for last year's aberration as Ponting's men themselves. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit here, but what I'm trying to say is that I support the Australian team more fiercely than a person supports his home team, which may sound strange to some people, but sounds perfectly rational to me. Australia are, after all, the best team in the world, and by quite a long mile at that.

England's woes could not have been better expressed than with the first ball delivered by Steve Harmison, which momentarily caused Andrew Flintoff (who was standing at second slip) to add yet another job to his burgeoning list of duties-that of a wicket-keeper. So much has been written about that atrocious wide that it'll probably go down as one of the most famous, or infamous, if you will, deliveries in the history of cricket. Understandably, the media, especially the English one made known their disappointment very eloquently. Things went steadily downhill for England from that point, and Glenn McGrath's efficient spell must have only made them quake in their shoes at the prospect of facing their old nemesis at his accurate best for as long as four more Tests. Fifteen months of hysterical joy among England's fans were wiped out in a matter of two days. And then, wondrously, inexplicably, Ricky Ponting chose not to enforce the follow-on in spite of having a neat lead of 445 runs. 'He's going for slow torture', said some, while others, presumably English optimists, said 'the rains will rescue England!'. The rains, however, did no such thing as rescuing England, and though Pietersen and company did bat positively in the final innings, it was just not enough. And nothing will ever be enough, believe me, if Australia choose to play the perfect cricket that they played over the course of the five days. In the midst of all the England-bashing, people seem to have forgotten just how clinical Australia's performance during the Test was. Ricky Ponting was magnificent (I'm losing count of the centuries he's scoring) while the bowlers were amazingly unstoppable on an unresponsive pitch.

The English fans might point out that England lost the first Test comprehensively in the last Ashes too, but bounced back most stoically to clinch the series, and that they're sure to do it again. Now I'm not entirely discounting this possibility, but frankly, I don't see that happening twice in two years against a team like Australia, particularly since they're playing Down Under. And if Ricky Ponting's reaction after reaching his hundred is anything to go by, then the Aussies are steeled and pumped and determined and a whole of a lot of other adjectives to crush the English and regain their cherished prize. If they do manage that, the thing I'll be looking most forward to would be the reactions of the grieving English media.

The Failure Of 'Formula'

Dhoom 2 is probably the safest movie that has ever been produced in Bollywood. The original was an iconic blockbuster; the genre and special effects have always had a devoted fan-base; and the movie boasts of big names like Aishwarya Rai, Hrithik Roshan, Abhishek Bachchan and Bipasha Basu. As if all this weren't enough, there is the small matter of the maker being Aditya Chopra, who knows the pulse of the audience probably as well as the number of movies he has directed (for the uninformed, this one is directed by Sanjay Gadhvi). The hype leading into the movie was unbelievably immense-there must hardly be a single person in the country who hadn't discussed the super-slick theatrical promo that was shown two months ago with visible excitement (and perhaps a bit of drooling as well). Seriously, how could anything possibly go wrong with such a sureshot blockbuster?

Sadly, however, things do go wrong. The movie just isn't the ultra-stylish, jaw-dropping thriller that it promised to be. If anything, the direction of the movie looks almost indifferent, as though the makers knew that no matter what kind of trash they hurled at the audience, it would be lapped up because, well, because it was 'Dhoom 2'. Not that the movie is absolute trash. But with the kind of anticipation and hype surrounding it, it is definitely one of the most disappointing movies of the year.

The movie starts off predictably, with a heist executed by the super-suave thief (Hrithik Roshan) that the director had probably intended to appear breathtaking but only comes off as a Mithun-style walkover. The makeup of the 'Queen' (is she the Queen of England? Why on earth is she traveling by a train?) is especially bad, and one could be forgiven for imagining that it was actually Hrithik in disguise all along (which it isn't). The story then moves to Abhishek Bachchan and his somewhat funny sidekick Uday Chopra, who are joined by the sultry Bipasha Basu in trying to nab the mysterious Mr. A (Hrithik, if you hadn't guessed already). The movie then stumbles from one slick heist to another (again, 'slick' only to the extent of the director's intentions-to an audience which has been fed on a constant diet of movies like 'Ocean's Eleven' and 'The Italian Job', most of Hrithik's daredevilry seems like amateur stuff). Of course, as in all Bollywood masala movies, there is a steady stream of songs strewn among the proceedings, and after an hour or so of trundling along, one begins to pray for Aishwarya Rai's entrance. Her opening sequence, however, is again shoddily done, and the movie reaches one of its many low points when Hrithik and Ash engage in a game that is supposedly basketball. Okay Mr. Gadhvi, we know neither Hrithik nor Aishwarya can play half-decent basketball, but did you have to make it so obvious?

The second half is mercifully a lot better than the first, though since the first half is positively tawdry, that isn't saying much. Ms Rai is now Hrithik's partner, and the action moves to Rio de Janeiro for no apparent reason other than the opportunity to do some deft camerawork in a beautiful location. Enter Bipasha's twin sister who has as much meat to her role as a a pure veg Gujarati thali. Uday Chopra's by-now predictable love-sickness occupies much footage in the second half, and irritatingly so. The Hrithik-Ash sequences, on the other hand, have been shot rather well, and their chemistry together is fantastic. Wish one could say the same about the ridiculous climax and the unbelievable stunts performed by the admirable trio of Abhishek, Hrithik and Uday.

Performance-wise, it is Hrithik Roshan who steals the show, towering over the movie with his enigmatic screen presence and efficient acting. Abhishek Bachchan gets completely over-shadowed in the sequences between him and Hrithik, but is fairly proficient otherwise. Bipasha Basu has nothng much to do other than look alluring and dance insignificantly in the background. Uday Chopra takes off from where he left in the original, which means that if you hated him in the original, you're sure going to hate him here as well. And that brings us to Aishwarya Rai. The former Miss World, in her completely new get-up, looks stunning with a capital S, and is bound to raise a few eyebrows with a few unusual sequences. She emotes well too, which is precisely why her scenes with Hrithik are the high points of the film.
Perhaps the biggest problem with Dhoom 2 is that there are too many big stars in it. In trying to give every one of the actors a fair share of the footage, the director loses the essence of the main plot. The charm of the original was in the novelty of its concept and the simplicity of its execution. Here, however, the director tries to create a larger-than-life impact in every single frame, and that only makes every piece of dramatic background music and every polished slo-mo sequence a bit of a painful experience.

The story at the box-office, however, might just turn out to be all gold and glitter, and that is because Dhoom 2 is tailor-made for the masses. The stunts and drama may be difficult to digest for the 'multiplex crowd', but are bound to be loved by the rest of the crowd. And I hate to admit this, but the movie never gets boring or dull at any point of time. Low quality cinema this may be, but the fast pace and big names ensure that you remain glued to your seats for the considerable length of the movie. However, if you really want to watch a quality thriller, I suggest you go and watch 'Don' again.

The Wizard Does It Again

The 18th of November. The day to experience musical bliss - the date of release of the music of 'Guru', the latest Mani Ratnam offering with A R Rahman as the music director. The combination of Ratnam and Rahman has, of course, produced musical masterpieces of the finest quality in the past, not least irresistible of which was 'Dil Se' and the magical 'Chaiyya Chaiyya' number. Add to that the fact that I simply LOVE anything and everything created by Rahman, and you'd get a fairly good idea of how excited I was for the 18th of November to arrive.

Arrive it did, and after a lot of frantic hunting and searching I finally got my hands on the seven prized tracks of the movie. And though I was pretty confident that I would not be disappointed with the jackpot, considering Rahman's outstanding tendency to repeatedly come up with stunning music, after hearing the songs my first reaction was - 'Better than Rang De Basanti. Now don't get me wrong, I am actually very fond of RDB's music, but I always felt that the focus of Rahman's efforts in RDB was to make songs that suited the movie and carried the story forward. They did do that brilliantly, but the niggling feeling that the music of the movie in its individual sense wasn't of the very high quality that is expected of Rahman in a big movie such as RDB never quite left me. With Guru, however, it is a different story altogether. Perhaps it's the Mani Ratnam influence at work, but Rahman crafts a thoroughly assured album this time, with all the versatility and unpredictability that has become so expected of his music.

'Tere Bina' and 'Aye Hairathe' are two wonderfully similar and wonderfully soothing numbers, and have a distinctive sufi style to them, a brand of music that Rahman had perfected so long ago in 'Taal' and 'Fiza'. 'Barso Re', on the other hand, is a very boisterous track that is sung brilliantly by the extremely talented Shreya Ghosal, and I need hardly mention that this is a winner of a track too. 'Mayya Mayya', sung by a singer with a singularly Arabian feel to her voice (I forget the name of the singer-Rahman does have a very irritating habit of pickng up completely unknown and unheard of singers from nowhere) is very well-composed for the most part but loses steam (and a little rhythm too) towards the end. Somehow, the Gujarati elements interspersed among the heavily Arabian flavour present throughout the song don't strike the right chord.

'Jaage Hain' is a very slow, soft track that will seemingly create a greater impact when heard during the movie. The two situational tracks in the album, however, stick out horribly, but this is no real shock because Rahman does have a tendency to range from the supremely sublime to the intolerably trashy, even within a single album. 'Ek Lo Ek Muft', in particular, is very probably one of his worst songs ever, and Bappi Lahiri's vocals do nothing whatsoever to induce any liking for the song. It just sounds bad, period. 'Baazi Laga', meanwhile, is quite an insipid composition, and hardly compares with the 'Chori Pe Chori' track from Saathiya from which it draws inspiration. However, the rest of the tracks in the album are so exceptionally good that the two shoddy numbers can hardly make a dent in the impact created by the album. And the impact, it must be said, is very very strong-I can say without hesitation that this is one of Rahman's finer albums, and is definitely better than the previous collaboration between Ratnam and Rahman, Yuva.

What is it that makes Rahman click, over and over again? His incandescent genius has been on show for nearly fifteen years in Bollywood now, and perhaps much longer in the South. And yet, he manages to surprise you with a remarkable new sound nearly every single time he creates an album. Perhaps his greatest skill is the amazing ease with which he transcends the boundaries of Bollywood to come up with truly global music that at the same time gels wonderfully well with Indian movies and sensibilities. And his music hasn't always been of the arty kind that only appeals to the intellectual elite. Indeed, he is one of the few musicians who have been able to effortlessly glide between the classical and the blockbuster and whet the appetite of the classes as well as the masses with astounding aplomb. Some of the music he has created, like for instance Taal or Lagaan is so striking that it leaves you wondering why and how he is still employing his phenomenal gifts in a place as loud and trashy as Bollywood. Quite frankly, I don't think Bollywood deserves an extraordinary genuis like A R Rahman.

Blonde Bond Is Bland

The unnaturally high media interest and hype that surrounds the James Bond franchise has always seemed a little puzzling to me, considering the fact that none of the instalments of the series have actually been historic blockbusters. Perhaps it is the tendency of the British media (and not just the tabloid one) to sensationalize every little insignificant move made by any Briton who is 'somebody' that is the cause of this aberration. The frenzied speculation among the headline-happy media about the identity of the new James Bond had, however, been silenced to widespread disappointment when Sony unveiled the little-known Daniel Craig as the latest spy with a licence to kill. Craig's apparent lack of charisma and a somewhat colourless persona had been a source of much anguish for Bond fans who were soon fervently wishing that Pierce Brosnan had never left the franchise. The reasonable ones among the legions of Bond fans were more guarded in their reactions and were content to adopt a 'let us see' attitude to the sordid affair. And now that 'Casino Royale', the centre of the entire debate, is out in the open, does the hype justify the actual product? Is Craig cut out to be the suave spy? Or did Sony make the stupidest blunder in the history of 007 filmmaking by dropping a successful Bond for a less-than-adequate replacement? Having watched the movie today, I can only say that Sony made mistakes not just in the casting department, but in the entire making of the movie.

Casino Royale is not so much a hi-tech, jaw-dropping follow-up to Die Another Day as it is a throwback to the brawny Bond movies of old. For one thing, there are hardly any hi-fi gadgets or irresistible gizmos to help Mr. Bond in his mission to stamp out terrorism from the world, nor any awe-inspiring action sequences. For another, 007 spends more time romancing the gorgeous Eva Green with the disarmingly pleasant smile than fighting the bad guys. At one point of time, he even resigns from his post because he cannot bear to 'lose any more of his soul' by indulging in mindless violence and murder. Hello? Is this the ruthless scoundrel that we have all grown to love to watch with amused incredulity? Why would Mr. Martin Campbell (the director, for the uninformed) want to thrust this weepy short-tempered mortal gladiator on to the viewers in place of the always-composed, elegant superhero that Brosnan had so nearly perfected? Is there any room for emotional realism in a concept as frivolous as James Bond? Clearly, the makers have got it all wrong.

Admittedly, Ian Fleming had always intended for Bond to be more of a human spy with discernible weaknesses than the untouchable immortal that has emerged through forty years of glamorized extravaganzas. But that isn't reason enough to abandon an eye-pleasing, crowd-pulling formula for something as pretentious as Bond shedding copious tears for his beloved. This is James Bond we're talking about; and James Bond is anything but pretentious. Ridiculously unbelievable he may be, but he never shows even a hint of aiming to be anything else. He is, after all, the very personification of cliche'd fiction.
And how does Craig, the object of all the pre-release cynosure, actually perform? Well, he certainly tries very hard, and gets the body language and voice intonations fairly well. It's his face and expressions that are the problem. Sorry, but Mr. Craig just does not look like an ultra-suave super-spy. Maybe the change in style that Sony were aiming at required someone like Craig who could look like a troubled, even tortured man who puts on a brave face for the world. But James Bond is not supposed to be such a man.

The news that Craig has been signed on to play Bond in the next instalment as well has definitely made me more than just a little uncomfortable. I certainly don't want to watch another mushy melodrama that has not the slightest touch of sensitivity, at least not with James Bond as the protagonist. Perhaps the guys at Sony will get some sense knocked into them before such a sad misfortune comes to pass. And while we're talking about sense, how about someone like Hugh Jackman as Bond? He certainly looks much less troubled than the admirable Mr. Craig.

All Hail King Federer!

There's something about Roger Federer that makes you want him to break all those seemingly insurmountable records set by other less attractive tennis greats. Perhaps it is his effortless touch on the tennis court which gives him the ability to manufacture a host of breathtakingly impossible shots; or perhaps it his almost balletic grace while moving around the court that enables him to reach every corner of the court before his opponent has even the chance to stand back and admire his 'unreachable' shot; or then perhaps it is his amazing spirit that helps him hit aces when defending break points, and repeatedly at that. Of course, the question that keeps coming back to you over and over again while watching his majestic play with jaw dropped in awe is: how on earth could anyone be so damn good?

In today's Master's Cup final in Shanghai Federer gave only further indication that he is firmly on his way to unforgettable greatness. Not that there has been any lack of signs the past three years. The manner in which he takes apart famed opponents, especially in finals of major tournaments, with alarming ease must definitely rank as one of the greatest spectacles in modern sporting history. And the thing that's most scary about Federer is the fact that he's all of 25 years; one can only pity the long line of unfortunate opponents that are likely to be demolished under the avalanche of his scorching play. James Blake, otherwise an admirably gritty player who has fought his way through plenty of obstacles to reach the elite group of players, could hardly have said anything more frightfully true when he said that 'Roger is the best of the best'. Certainly, Roger is the 'best of the best' of his generation, by a long mile. 9 Grand Slams (and counting), 12 Masters' Shields (and counting, again), 146 consecutive weeks as No. 1 (don't hate me for this, but again, COUNTING) more than stand testimony to the great distance between him and the rest. Whether he is actually the best of all time is a matter best left to talk about at the end of his career, although many have been inclined to give him that label already.

How very unfortunate for me then, that Federer isn't actually my favourite player. No, that place still belongs to the tenacious Lleyton Hewitt, who has very tragically been bogged down with injuries and bad form the last couple of seasons. Yes, I know, Hewitt can't really match the class or ability of Federer, but he did develop into a good player much before Federer did, and I don't change my favourite player just because a scintillating talent blossoms elsewhere. Such disloyalty is not for me. So if Hewitt and Federer ever clash with each other in a match, I'd wholeheartedly root for the Australian, and the very distinct possibility of heartbreak at the end of the match won't dampen my spirit in the slightest. Isn't that a little sad?
That's it for today I guess. My next post will definitely be about something other than sports, so that the sports-haters will not altogether hate my blog. Hope I wasn't too boring today.

The Magnificence Of Brian Lara!

So finally I jump on to the bandwagon of the big bad world of blogs! Ok, I've been staring at that first line for fifteen minutes now, I need to write something! This isn't as easy as I thought! I'm using too many exclamation marks! Somebody stop me!!!!!!!

Ok, back to some measure of sanity. I've been rather happy the past couple of days because Brian Lara scored a gorgeous century against Pakistan. For some reason, I get a very personal satisfaction whenever my favorite sportsperson or team plays well, so you can imagine how unimaginably thrilled I was when Brian Lara, the one sportsperson whom I admire most of all, got down to some seriously majestic stroke-playing. If there's one reason for people who think cricket is a boring sport to start watching it, then it has to be Lara's batting. Lara's regal drives, his lightning footwork (I've never figured out how he actually manages to remain standing with all the complicated movements that accompany every single shot of his, even the defensive blocking ones), his scintillating cuts and pulls - they're simply out of the world (or at least, out of the cricketing world). How very unfortunate then that this may well be the last year of his cricketing career. He'll be leaving behind a West Indian team that he's tried to very lovingly nurture into a competitive one, but has so far only succeeded in making it an almost mediocre one. Maybe being a brilliant captain was never a part of Lara's destiny, or maybe the West Indian players are just too pathetic to be playing international cricket. One thing remains certain, however-Lara will forever remain etched in cricket lovers' mermories as the batsman who made batting look beautiful. The Pontings and Tendulkars may come and go, but a Lara comes only once in a millennium.

Alright, I think I need to stop the hurrahs about Lara, because I'm pretty sure that last remark that had something to do with a certain Mr. T will not go down well with many cricket fans. But this is just my opinion, and this is my blog, so I think people can understand if I took a few liberties every now and then. So is there anything else I can talk about besides Lara? Maybe I'll do that in my next post. Hmm, I've just read this post, and it sounds a little boring to me. So what oh what shall I do? Nothing, I've decided, other than actually publishing this one and writing a more interesting one the next time. Talk about deciding the obvious.