A Bucket Load of Movies

Is Chris Nolan one of the finest directors of our times? I was hardly done with gushing over Batman Begins, in which Nolan did the almost-impossible job of bringing back some dignity to the Batman franchise (those who've watched the George Clooney/Michael Keaton horrors that almost irreparably reduced Batman to a laughably childish piece of trash would know what I'm talking about). And now, after watching The Prestige, Nolan's latest offering, I can't help but feel that here is a director who's well on his way to Spielberg-ish legendary status. Hugh Jackman is simply brilliant in the movie, Christian Bale is remarkably efficient (though I do wish he'd mumble a little less) and even the relatively unknown Rebecca Hall turns in a sparkling performance. The sets, the photography, the editing, the dialogues - everything is absolutely top-notch. Though the sci-fi bits are a little difficult to digest, the way the writers manage to turn the 'magical' machine into the vehicle for carrying forward the basic idea of the movie - the futility of jealousy and obsession - is truly spellbinding. In fact, so polished is the execution of every single aspect of the movie, that one almost lovingly forgives Scarlett Johannson's daft turn as the confused vamp. Did the Oscar jury somehow forget to watch this movie? Now I can't wait to watch Memento, another supposedly virtuoso creation by the master filmmaker.

So my movie-watching spree continues. The Prestige was only one of the slew of movies I've watched over the past couple of weeks, and sadly, was one of the very few that actually left any sort of impact. Meet Joe Black, boasting such big names as Anthony Hopkins and Brad Pitt and such a riveting little concept as the personification of death, was a dismal disappointment. Why on earth the makers had to drag the flick into a 3-hour long exercise filled with abstract pauses and presumably thoughtful silences is beyond comprehension. The acting, save for the ever-dependable Hopkins, is abysmal (Claire Forlani, as the perennially teary-eyed damsel in distress is particularly awful), and don't even get me started on the ridiculous plot and ending and meaningless dialogues. And to think most people on www.imdb.com liked the movie! At least the movie taught me one thing - never to trust the opinions of internet movie fans. No wait, that very important lesson was taught me by another Brad Pitt monstrosity - Interview With The Vampire. Exactly how the producers managed to convince such big names as Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Antonio Banderas to do a movie that basically only contained a string of disgusting sequences involving biting and drinking the blood of all sorts of creatures - rats, dogs, humans, etc. - will perhaps remain the most mysterious event in the history of the movies. And the rat/dog/human biting has been shown quite in quite graphic terms too - GROTESQUE!

Most of the comedies that I watched were predictable and boring. Adam Sandler has truly lost his touch - Click was just about as funny as Daniel Radcliffe's decision to give up his innocent schoolboy image and instead go for a shockingly adult one in his new play Equus. The same goes for You Me and Dupree, a rotten exhibition of how not to make a comedy movie (which probably also applies for Wedding Crashers, Owen Wilson's stupefyingly successful comedy from 2005). Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, however, was a refreshing deviation from the run-of-the-mill, and yes, a very surprisingly sane performance by the ever-maniacal Jim Carrey goes a long way in making the movie strikingly memorable. The movie's confusingly wonderful twists and turns and the very weird plot and editing make for one wondrous joy-ride, and Kate Winslet's shimmering performance as the two-faced love interest make it clear why she got an Oscar nomination for the role, though not quite why she didn't win. Jim Carrey, however, was back to his usual self in Fun with Dick and Jane, which wasn't quite as dreadful as Click or Dupree, but wasn't Carrey's best work either. And considering the measly handful of Carrey's flicks that were actually enjoyable (Liar Liar and The Mask are the only two that come to mind), that isn't saying much.

Alright, that's a lot of opinions for one day. I'll put off my evaluations of the rest of the movies I watched for another day, another post. In the meantime, let us all try to live life to the fullest and find that special something that makes living worthwhile, that momentous purpose for which the most devoted dedication would not be rewarding enough. Ah, seems Hollywood's hopelessly mundane, over-dramatized dialogues have got to my head. I really need to get myself some fresh air.

A Cracking Tournament, and Time For A New Favourite Player

I've just realized that I've been singing too many hosannas about Roger Federer the last couple of weeks, so I will not say anything complimentary about the man today in spite of having been witness to yet another scintillating performance by him in today's final against Gonzalez. Maybe I should only talk about Gonzalez. Fernando Gonzalez had a brilliant run to the final, beating the likes of Lleyton Hewitt (I'll get back to that tragedy later), James Blake, Rafael Nadal and Tommy Haas, all very convincingly, and one of them (Haas) with ridiculous ease. He played a very good match in the final too, but was consistently outplayed by his opponent. Alright, maybe he did make a lot more unforced errors than in his previous matches, but those were necessitated by the tremendous reputation and sheer shot-making ability of his adversary. By the time the third set had begun, Gonzalez had been totally taken apart mentally, and you truly had to feel sorry for a player who had worked so hard and had the ability to match that hard work. If Gonzalez had had to play any man other than the one he actually did, he would have won the match comfortably, but sadly for him, that was not to be. There! I went through an entire paragraph without a single plaudit about Federer. Isn't that a relief?

On a more serious note, this year's Australian Open was another thoroughly entertaining affair; tennis seems to be getting more competitive by the year. Third round clashes produced classics - the Safin-Roddick match was truly one to savor, and 3 of the top 4 seeds failed to make it to the semi-finals. Fernando Gonzalez was the story of the men's tournament, as was Marcos Baghdatis last year, but really, that was just because we've got so used to Federer regularly dismantling his opponents that it has become almost boring now. Nadal was a big disappointment, and seems to be on the decline after just two years in the top bracket of men's tennis. I suspect, though, that it's too early to begin writing him off just yet - he definitely has that 'fighting spirit' that I keep talking about, and the clay season is just about to start, so he may yet put together another stunning sequence of wins. Lleyton Hewitt was another big let-down, and frankly, I don't know how much longer I can put up with his lack of fitness, off-court problems and less-than-splendid form. I think it's time I chose a new favorite player, and Andrew Murray would be a very good candidate for that post, if his match against Roddick is anything to go by. He was definitely the better player for the good part of that match, and he also does have the honorable distinction of having beaten Roger Federer last year. For once, British enthusiasm about its young, emerging sporting hero does not seem misplaced or exaggerated.

Serena Williams's triumph in the women's section was astonishing for a lot of reasons - she is undoubtedly a great champion, and all those who've been doubting her abilities and mental strength (I can happily say that I wasn't one of those) should take a long, hard look at themselves, and perhaps die of shame. Maria Sharapova had a brilliant tournament until the final - clearly, she has all the makings of being a consistent champion, and hopefully, her modeling assignments won't derail that possibility too greatly. Nicole Vaidisova, Anna Chakvetadze and Lucie Safarova all firmly established their credentials too, and are only helping the new wave of Eastern European domination of women's tennis. America, however, had the last laugh this time round, and this was greatly helped by the fact that when Serena Williams is on song, there's not a single player on the women's tour who can defeat her.

So now it's time for the North American hard court season, followed by the extremely long clay one (you can almost see Nadal rubbing his hands in glee). Personally, I'm not too great a fan of clay court tennis, and I'm just hoping that Federer completes his career Grand Slam (and perhaps a calendar one too?) this year so I don't have to bother watching it next year. And I also hope that Murray breaks into the top ten in the rankings quickly. Just in case Hewitt adds another problem to his burgeoning list. Just in case.

Super Serena's Still Got It

I'd made up my mind that I wouldn't be writing another post on tennis until the the men's singles final was over and I could do a complete round-up of the entire tournament, but I can't resist putting in a few words tonight about Serena Williams's remarkable victory in the women's final. To say that she was the underdog coming into the tournament would be a huge understatement - she had been branded unfit, overweight, insufficiently motivated and a host of other uncomplimentary things by most people who'd been following her progress for the past one year. And yet, in true Serena style, she's managed to stun all her critics (and opponents) with some fierce tennis to add yet another Grand Slam title to an already-bulging collection. As I had said in my previous post about the Australian Open, a fighting spirit can take you places. And Serena Williams has just emerged as the most shining proof of that statement. We doff our hats to you, Serena - you certainly ARE the 'ultimate competitor'.

And while we're talking of doffing hats, I'm sure many would have been inclined to do that after watching the semi-final match, or mis-match, if you will, between Roger Federer and Andy Roddick. But no amount of hat-doffing (I wonder why that phrase has stuck with us for so long - who even wears hats in this day and age?) would be sufficient praise for the jaw-dropping exhibition that Federer put up. Seriously, is this guy human? Some of the shots that he played, particularly in the second set, were so sensationally stunning that everyone, including the commentators, were left simply speechless, and for once, this is NOT an exaggeration. I mean, when Federer kept coming up with one preposterous winner after another, all Vijay Amritraj and Alan Wilkins (the two men doing the commentary on Star Sports) could do was shout 'Aaaaah!' or 'Oooooh!' or sometimes, 'Stop it, Roger!'. The best player ever to play tennis? I have no doubt about that, none at all.

Tomorrow's final is shaping up to be a cracker of a match, and that is solely because Fernando Gonzalez has played some brilliantly one-sided matches on his way to the final. I must admit that I've become a fan of his after watching his match against Rafael Nadal. He's got a blistering forehand, and as a bonus he has found a way to make it deadly accurate too. Honestly though, if Federer plays anything close to the way he played against Roddick, no Gonzalez or Nadal or even a Rod Laver in his prime, if I may say so, can possibly hope to derail the Federer Express (okay, I know that was a horrible cliche', but it's just soooo effective). Grand Slam No. 10, HERE COMES FEDERER!!!!

The Many Woes Of A Potter Fan

The Devil Wears Prada wasn't a bad movie. It was fairly enjoyable, and made its point about the whole 'family comes first' theory, that seems to be getting very popular with Hollywood filmmakers these days, quite efficiently. But there was one sequence in the movie that was so jarringly unrealistic that it tarnished an otherwise quite proficient screenplay. I could readily agree with the movie's stand equating obtaining the manuscript of the latest unreleased Harry Potter book with the 'impossible' that Meryl Streep's Devil wishes to assign to the poor Anne Hathaway. But wonder of wonders, Hathaway actually manages to get hold of the manuscript! Now that was a fatal error that could most definitely been avoided. I mean, which self-respecting Harry Potter fan could possibly forgive such a monstrous lapse by the makers of the movie? Getting hold of an unreleased Potter manuscript is the most frighteningly impossible thing ever, and everyone knows that, right? If there existed even a slight possibility of obtaining such a priceless treasure, wouldn't every Potter lunatic (and there are quite a few of those) be straining every sinew to devise an awfully brilliant plan and grab it? Wouldn't they?

So the talented Ms Rowling has not considered it appropriate enough to give her despairing fans anything to cling their hopes to, like a release date for book 7 or something. It's alright, we can live with that for a few days more. In the meantime, what better way to kill the months than by going through the millions of theories that are simply waiting to be analyzed by the most hard-nosed of Potter followers? Other than the more obvious (and a little frustrating) 'Harry is a Horcrux' and the perennially unanswered 'Snape is evil' (or 'Snape is good', whichever way you wish to look at it) theories, I've been quite interested in speculations about the 'deathly hallows'. The common consensus is that the hallows refer to the places where Voldemort has hidden his Horcruxes, which I personally don't find convincing enough. But there have been some other versions too - one theory is that the 'hallows' are the souls of people who have died, hence the adjective 'deathly', and that these 'hallows' will in some way communicate with Harry, through avenues which could be anything from the Veil in the Department of Mysteries to the two-way mirror that Sirius gave Harry. Supposedly, the communication will be for the benefit of Harry in his quest to defeat Voldykins. J K Rowling has mentioned in one of her interviews that the two-way mirror will have an important role in book 7, and while I have always assumed this would be on account of Sirius's comeback in some form to help Harry, it could well be a means of communicating with any dead person, including Harry's parents, or perhaps more realistically, Dumbledore. Rowling has also said, of course, that Sirius had to die, that is, his death was very important for the story, so that's another intriguing little point that I have found no conclusive theories for yet. Perhaps the two-way mirror is far more significant than any of us have ever thought.

The mysterious R. A. B. continues to dominate most discussion forums, and yet we are no closer to knowing his (or her?) true identity than we are to knowing whether Harry is the heir of Gryffindor (another hotly debated topic). For my part, I'm almost convinced that the snivelling Mr. Borgin, co-owner of Borgin and Burke's (I hope I've got the name right - I'm not that crazy a fan), whose first name has been very suspiciously concealed by Rowling so far, fits the bill perfectly. He's a coward, he knows a lot about the Dark Arts, he looks at Death Eaters with something close to distaste - he really does have the right credentials. Though, of course, Severus Snape is a strong candidate too (his name seems to figure in nearly every theory; clearly, his character is a masterpiece - we salute you, J K Rowling!), as I just realized after reading an editorial at www.mugglenet. com. Interestingly, the argument with this is that Snape isn't actually R.A.B. - he is only impersonating, or framing, the real R. A. B., whoever he is. And considering Snape's general temperament and nature, this little point sounds very convincing. I'm still rooting for the inconspicuous Mr. Borgin though, and I'm sure I'll be very pleased with myself if I turn out to be right.

Lily Potter remains a fascinatingly cloaked character, and Rowling's declarations about the importance of her wand being good for Charms and Harry having her eyes, her green eyes, has only added to her 'charm'. Some say that the eyes thing was explained by the Slughorn incident in book 6 - when Slughorn looked at Harry's eyes, he was reminded of his favorite student Lily, and so could be persuaded to divulge the missing memory that Harry and Dumbledore wanted. But I'm not convinced about that one. I do believe that there will be a much more strong and interesting reason for Harry having his mother's eyes, or else Rowling would never have bothered to talk about it at all.

The possibility of Nagini, Voldemort's beloved pet snake, being the sixth Horcrux, as assumed by Dumbledore, has been dismissed by many theorists, on the belief that this assumption was one of Dumbledore's 'errors of judgement'. Well, if these theorists are right, and Nagini is not the sixth Horcrux, then we've got another huge problem, haven't we? I mean, we've hardly come anywhere close to cracking the identity of the fifth Horcrux, which Rowling had once said would be easy to find for a true Potter fan from book 6, then how on earth are we going to discover the SIXTH one? Clearly, we need to be even more maniacal than we now are to beat Rowling at her game. Another subject that has been discussed fervently is Trelawney's Prophecy, and just to show how stubborn and outrageously crazy Potter fans can get, some are even suggesting that it's Neville Longbottom, and not Harry, who is 'the One' referred to in the Prophecy, in spite of the fact that Rowling has unequivocally stated that Harry is most definitely 'the Chosen one'. Their argument? The Prophecy talks about 'the ONE', and not 'the CHOSEN one', and apparently there's a big difference between the two expressions. Think this is irritatingly outlandish? You haven't got a taste of the whole big, mad world of Pottermania.

Moving away from Harry Potter, England crashed to yet another dismal defeat against New Zealand today. Though this is not even mildly surprising any more, members of the British media have once again outdone themselves in heaping their scorn on the hapless team. I'll leave you with one passage written by Andrew Miller, the UK editor of Cricinfo, that had me laughing hysterically for no less than two whole minutes:
"And when the cameras panned in on the dressing-room, Fletcher's hangdoggy-in-the-window expression was, to the average long-suffering England fan, every bit as slappable as Ricky Ponting had found it to be at Trent Bridge in 2005. Quite how the shunned Chris Read, sitting in fulminating silence beside him, resisted the temptation, no-one will ever know."
Well done, Mr. Miller!

A Week of Few Surprises

A fighting spirit can take you places. It sure can. It gives you an immediate and potent advantage in everything that you do and helps you accomplish the impossible on many occasions. But is it enough ALL the time? Today, Fernando Gonzalez proved that sometimes, it is sheer naked ability that trumps over a refusal to lose. Lleyton Hewitt tried the best he could; he chased down impossible balls, and came up with stirring shots at the most desperate of times. But for every gritty salvo that he fired, Gonzalez answered with a breathtaking scorcher that even the super-fast Hewitt had no hope of reaching. Ever so often, Hewitt was simply helpless. Admittedly, Hewitt has not been in the greatest form and his off-court troubles haven't helped his cause much. He had huffed, panted and steeled his way to the third round after two unexpectedly difficult encounters against rank outsiders in his first two matches. His serve has been, quite frankly, pathetic all tournament, and this was no more painfully obvious than in the first two sets today. He managed to lift his level considerably in the third set, and would have completed another come-from-behind victory if he hadn't been playing against the tremendously inspired Gonzalez. It was just one of those days - days when everything seems to fall in place for one player. For Hewitt though, this is the end of yet another disappointing home Grand Slam run. Take heart, Hewitt, your incredible never-say-die attitude will help you fulfil your dream of winning in Australia. After all, it's only sometimes that players can have that perfect day and defeat your stupendous fortitude. Unless, of course, it's Roger Federer, who seems to have that kind of day everytime.

Federer has waltzed his way, almost indifferently, to the fourth round and and is just four strikes away from his tenth Grand Slam title. Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be another ridiculously easy campaign for the rampaging Swiss? The one player who I thought could have given Federer a bit of a tough time, Marat Safin, has been bounced out after an unfortunate third round match-up against a remarkably improved Andy Roddick. In the best match of the tournament so far, Roddick displayed all of his new-found toughness and together with Safin put on a brilliantly fast-paced display. Jimmy Connors, you're doing a great job. Safin was his usual touchy self, and kept breaking out into explosive tirades against everyone within his sight, including himself. In one guffaw-worthy moment, Safin, in reply to the referee's question whether he wanted to call for the trainer for his bruised finger, Safin grumpily pointed his bleeding finger at the referee and asked, "What do you want me to do?" Safin may be a lot of things - absurdly gifted, mentally unstable, heroic rebel. But he's also a real entertainer, as was proved further by his furious post-match comments about the decision of the officials to resume play after the rain delay. There's got to be something special about a man who can unflinchingly call the officials 'stupid', 'blind' and 'pathetic' in one fuming breath. Cheers, Marat!

There were few surprises in the other early round matches, with the exception of the early exit of Ivan Ljubicic, who many feel is hardly fourth-rank material anyway. The real fun will begin from tomorrow, kicking off with the Andy Roddick-Mario Ancic and Serena Williams-Jelena Jankovic matches. And that brings me to the women's arena, and I must say that this has been one of the most competitive draws in recent Grand Slam history. It's almost impossible to pick a winner at this stage, with Maria Sharapova, Kim Clijsters, Amelie Mauresmo, Martina Hingis, Jelena Jankovic and Serena Williams all having established themselves as strong contenders. I suppose this has partly to do with the absence of Justine Henin-Hardenne, who seemingly is always the tournament favourite, and not without reason. Sania Mirza, of course, made a disappointingly early departure, and I dearly hope she does better next time. So a very competitive set of matches awaits us in the final rounds, though if I had to put my money on any player I'd go for either Clijsters or Williams.

There could hardly be a more striking contrast in the men's field - whichever way you choose to look at it, there seems to be one winner, and one winner alone. At the beginning of this post, I had talked about Hewitt's fighting spirit, and how it fell short of Gonzalez's stunningly awesome play today. Most champions have that spirit - Agassi never stepped on a court without it, and Serena Williams used it in combination with her extraordinary power to reach unchartered heights. But with Federer, it's difficult to say whether he has the fighting spirit to go with his frightening talent, because, well simply because he's been in difficult positions on so darned few occasions, at least in the Grand Slams. Can anyone even muster up the courage to try and make it difficult for him? God help the men's field!

When 'Nothing' Becomes News

Beep, beep. Ridiculous Celebrity Headline alert. Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai are engaged! Now isn't this the most groundbreaking piece of news imaginable! Front-page material, most definitely. George W. Bush's ingenious insurge plans (or is that insurgency?) and Noida's serial killer/cannibal can be comfortably pushed to page two. Yes, the Abhi-Ash engagement deserves the hugest media attention - every newspaper must devote at least half of its front page to the critical event, and news channels must unhesitatingly unleash the exact painstaking details about the entire episode as their 'top story'. After all, every single Indian, and many non-Indians too, are going to be deeply affected by this earth-shattering development and so, of course, it's the media's sacred duty to keep them thoroughly well-informed.

Are you kidding me? Who cares that two of the most publicity-hungry individuals in the country decided to gather a little more publicity by the simple matter of the announcement of an engagement? This was just a brilliantly executed PR exercise, for God's sake. And considering how conveniently close the announcement was to the release of their movie together, Guru, can anyone find fault with their stunningly effective move? It's not for nothing that Mr. Amitabh Bachchan's family has been accorded the prestigious title of 'Bollywood's First Family'. These guys know how to keep the media, and the public too, for good measure, passionately interested in anything and everything that they do. It's one of the advantages of having been blessed with superstardom two decades ago - fame can teach you how to handle an entire country. And predictably, the media lapped it all up; just days after the incident of the Bachchans walking a considerable distance to a temple, barefoot, made front-page news, came the report of the momentous engagement, which was given as much reverence as the testing of a nuclear weapon. The beautiful Ms Rai played her part quite effectively too; subtlety has taken a long time in becoming a part of her many charms, but it finally has, and the talented former Miss World ensured that the delay would not go in vain. The effect was deadly - with Ash doggedly dodging the media, Abhishek valiantly going about promoting Guru, and none other than Amitabh Bachchan himself making the formal announcement, the family had it all covered. Brilliant strategy, if you ask me. And guess what, Guru has taken a very good initial too. Stroke of genius!

The saddest thing about this whole affair is the fact that the media is making Indian sensibilities go the Hollywood way. A few years ago not many would have cared how many cans of Pepsi Shahrukh Khan drinks in a day or what Hrithik Roshan's kid's first words were. Now, however, people have actually begun to take interest in such sordid things. And I blame the media squarely for this monstrous turn of events. Particuarly the news channels, who sometimes take such concerted efforts to champion such hopeless non-issues that you actually fear for their sanity. Remember the infamous Shahid-Kareena Kapoor kissing incident?

In defence of the Indian media, they''re only taking a few cues from their counterparts from the West. There, the celebrities and the media have together done such a terrific job of whipping up interest among the common public in even the most awfully insignificant things that it is truly remarkable. The TomCruise-Katie Holmes courtship/wedding made a lot of money for a lot of people, and you've only got to thank the American public's excited interest in the personal lives of their celebrities for that. In fact, so much curiosity and brouhaha was created out of the relationship that even I was induced to watch a couple of movies of the previously unknown Katie Holmes, both of which were eminently rubbish (Distrubing Behavior and Teaching Mrs. Tingle, just in case you need to be warned). The 'Brangelina' episode still dominates headlines, and so do Britney Spears'/Paris Hilton's/Lindsay Lohan's daring escapades, Mel Gibson's occasional lapses into raving insanity, Scarlett Johannson's eternal desire to appear on screen unclothed and Ashton Kutcher's many unfortunate travails that have come from marying an older woman. But I didn't think it possible that our Bollywood stars could even come close to becoming as eccentric and greedy for publicity as their Hollywood counterparts. Sadly, however, they are well and truly on their way to doing so, aided and abetted by the headline-happy media. And to my great discomfort, neither the stars nor the media have been deterred by the initial lack of excitement among the Indian public - they've got a mission to accomplish, and from the looks of things, they're eventually going to accomplish it resoundingly. We humans only need a reason and an occasion to go prying into the lives of others. And when the media willingly provides so many reasons and occasions, and the 'others' lead such magnificently glamorous lives, can we possibly resist the temptation? Tragically, no.

So is there any solution to the madness that will soon engulf us all? Probably not. No wait, I've got an idea - why don't we just shoot all celebrities? Hmm, that'll probably not be too humane. And it might just make our lives a little boring. Hey, I've got another one - let's shoot all the tabloid journalists! No, that wouldn't work either, because we'd never get hold of ALL of them. Alright, before I get any more macabre, I'll stop here. And I hope Ash ditches Abhishek just as cruelly as she did Vivek Oberoi. He hardly deserves someone as beautiful as her.

Tennis Players Get Back To Business

Has Roger Federer forgotten how to lose? Or has he had a sinister operation done on him that gives him a ridiulously unbreakable spirit and enables him to find all those impossible angles and breathtaking shots even when he's down and out? I'm sorry, but his match against the unfortunate Radek Stepanek (whose engagement to the beautiful Martina Hingis, one would've thought, would've brought some luck into his life) in which he ground out an amazingly gruelling three-set victory has unnerved me a bit. Seriously, has he simply taken an Unbreakable Vow (Harry Potter fans would know what I'm talking aboutt) to never lose a match again? And this wasn't even an ATP match, for crying out loud. It was a lousy exhibition match that mattered for little more than a bit of media attention and the prestige of winning a trophy. Honestly, he's starting to scare tennis followers a little bit.

So the start of the tennis season this year hasn't been too happy for me so far. Nearly all of my favourite players have been losing like there's no tomorrow. Lleyton Hewitt has been besieged with a wide variety of problems ranging from injuries to bad form and to the embarrassing quitting of his coach. He pulled out from the Sydney International after a shock defeat to an unheralded player (I can't even remember his name) and is not looking too good for the Australian Open. Terrible, terrible. I wonder if he will ever be able to fulfil his dream of winning his home Grand Slam. I will be praying he does, of course. Martina Hingis has been continuing her habit of losing crunch matches, going out in the final of one tournament and in the first round of the next. Serena Williams's comeback was cut short, and now looks really unlikely to repeat her 2005 performance at the Open. Sharapova too has tasted defeat already this year, losing to Clijsters in the final at Hong Kong. So that makes four of my favourite players who haven't exactly been on smashing winning streaks this year. And to make matters more miserable, the players that I'm NOT too fond of have been enjoying themselves in the sun (quite literally - they say it gets really hot Down Under this time of the year). James Blake, Ivan Ljubicic, Jelena Jankovic - they've all been winning matches left, right and centre. Andy Murray and Sania Mirza doing well have been small consolation - neither won a tournament in spite of helping themselves to impressive giantkilling sprees.

Rafael Nadal lost in Chennai and is far from fully fit. In fact, he has had a start to the year pretty similar to that of Hewitt. Now if only Nadal's ill-fortune continues until the end of the French Open. Okay, I know I sounded like a disgusting sadist when I said that, but frankly, Nadal has no business thwarting Federer's ambitions of winning all the four Grand Slams, particularly since he doesn't play half as brilliantly as does Federer. It's pretty obvious that Federer is just taking a little more time than usual to sort Nadal out, not least because Nadal is a bleeding left-hander. The odds of Nadal's dominance over Federer continuing for any further stretch of time are probably as slim as those of Venus Williams ending the year ranked No. 1.

So another couple of days before the Australian Open begins. Federer is the runaway favourite in the men's event. Sometimes I actually think the other players on the tour shouldn't really bother to turn up at events that Federer plays. I suppose they just do it for the TV and the fans. The women's section is a lot more open, and with Henin-Hardenne pulling out Sharapova has emerged as the dubious favourite, based more on her high ranking than anything else. I say this because Kim Clijsters, in her last year on the tour (yeah, she's retiring from tennis at the age of 23) is looking lethal, and Amelie Maursesmo is always a major contender. Jankovic has been in the form of her life, and Hingis will be looking to add at least one big title to her impressive collection, most of which she achieved before her three-year hiatus. I, of course, will be praying fervently for Hewitt to come good, and I also hope Sania Mirza manages to make something more than a string of two or three wins out of her blistering forehand. I will NOT be praying for Federe to lose early, because that'd just be pathetic. But I do hope Hewitt doesn't run into him this year. Come on Federer, give him just one chance.

Cricket Gets A Blockbuster

Alright, yesterday's 20-20 cricket match between Australia and England may have been yet another damning indictment of the English team's depressing perils, and Australia may have proven yet again why there is such a wondrous gulf between them and the rest of the cricketing world. But if ever cricket has thrown up a sight to behold that exuded pure thrilling entertainment, it had to be Australia's batting in the first innings. Actually, it may not be entirely correct to describe what Australia did in the first part of the match as 'batting'. 'Massacre' might be a much more appropriate expression. In what turned out to be a record-shattering innings, the Aussie batsmen launched an astonishing onslaught on the hapless English players, and in the end it seemed so much like child's play for the marauding batsmen that it was positively scary.

Hayden was all muscle and aggression, Gilchrist's clean hitting and awesome power were mind-boggling, Ponting was thunderous class personified, and Symonds was buccaneeringly brutal. Even the relatively unknown Craig White feasted sumptuously on the format and England, and Michael Vaughan's men could only gaze on stupefied and dazed by the violent assault. 221 runs in 20 overs is no joke, as the unfortunate English batsmen found all too painfully when it was their turn to bat. To say that the Aussie spectators had a rip-roaring time would be an understatement. The fireworks provided by Australia's batsmen which were followed by the spectacular fireworks provided by the kind Sydney organisers made sure that the day was nothing less than one huge festive party.

I must confess that this was the first 20-20 match I've watched live on TV. And just this one experience was enough to turn me into a huge fan of the format. I'm convinced - this is the future of cricket. And a money-spinning future too. Just have a look at the overwhelming response cricket-lovers have given to 20-20. Whether it's England, South Africa or Australia, the crowds turn up in droves to witness the mad bashing and mauling of bowlers at the hands of some merciless batsmen. So what if the importance of technique and classy strokelay has been diminished? We do have Tests to preserve cricket in its purest form, don't we? When one-day international matches were started, I'm pretty darned sure there must have been the same snobbish protests against its 'unruly' nature. "Mediocrity will be encouraged", "batting and bowling will never again be conventional enough to qualify as art", "cricket will no longer be a gentleman's game". These are the oh-so-predictable disagreements with the shortening of the game, aren't they? Well, to that I just have to say that if the countless incidents of less-than-gentlemanly behaviour over the past decade or so including last year's Oval disaster are any indication, then cricket has ceased being a gentleman's game since a long long time.

Ironically, the performers of yesterday's magnificent display themselves have misgivings about 20-20 cricket. According to Ricky Ponting, a format 'which is a whole lot of fun but not very intense' does not appeal too greatly to his fiercely competitive mind. Adam Gilchrist and Co. have also registered their mild disapproval of the format. While the players themselves have every right to frown upon a novelty that seems threatening enough to their playing mindsets and attitudes, I think these protests will soon die out: when 20-20 cricket is actually exploited of its full and splendid potential, I don't see too many cricketers sticking their necks out and condemning the 'belittling' of the game, as some of the game's elite contemptuously prefer to call it. The bottomline is, money talks. And 20-20 will bring in the money by the truckloads. Not without reason either. Who wouldn't pay to watch a game in which every time a bowler puts in all a whole lot of effort to run in 20 metres and bowl one lousy delivery, the batsman doesn't decide it's too docile a delivery to be done anything with other than left alone? Clearly, 20-20 is the way to go. 50-over games will soon be ancient history. And if all teams decide to bat even half as enterprisingly as the Australians did yesterday, then we've got no real reason to worry. Cheers people, it's party time!

Superheroes, Sunshine And Stumblers

Has there ever been a better pastime than spending a nice, cozy evening at home watching a nice, entertaining movie? Well, perhaps, reading a nice, gripping novel at home could fit the bill. Or going on a nice, energetic picnic. Or if you're a real one for adventure, reading a nice novel at a nice picnic. Have I been using the word 'nice' too often? Anyway, before I continue with this rambling spree, I'll just say that I have been busy with plenty of thrilling pastimes, the most notable of which has been watching movies. Yes, I've been watching movies left, right and centre this past week and I suspect that if I don't stop soon, I'll end up wanting to be a movie critic, because there's only so much trash under the guise of cinema that one can tolerate.

If I have counted rightly, I think I've watched 15 movies in the last couple of weeks. Unfortunately, Superman Returns was one of those 15, and boy, was that movie a disaster! There's absolutely nothing in the movie to hold your interest long enough, and seriously, if it weren't for the somewhat-snazzy special effects, I'd have even said that our desi, homegrown Krrish packed a meaner punch than the singularly miserable Superman. And I hadn't at all expected that from a Bryan Singer movie. What a wonderful contrast, then, to follow that up with two of the best superhero movies I've ever seen - X Men 3 and Batman Begins. X Men 3 is, without a doubt, the most spectacular action movie ever produced in Hollywood, and is more than a fitting finale to a very competent series. Batman Begins, on the other hand, is more of an intellectual, thought-provoking flick, and to say that for a superhero movie is really saying something. To be very honest, Batman Begins is infinitely better than either of the Spider-Man movies. Alas, if only the box office thought so too!

The Star Wars series has suddenly become fashionable on Star Movies, so I duly watched the four of the series that they've aired so far from their promise to show all of the six, and that too in order. So I finally have some inkling of the crazy world of galactic empires and democratic republics and solemn jedi knights. Frankly, for a totally fictional, even fanciful plot, there's a little too much imagination on show in the franchise. Oh well, I suppose we have no right to question the admirable creativity of Hollywood filmmakers. As long as the audience continue to remain awed by their ridiculously resourceful movies, nobody's got any reason to complain, I suppose.

The Devil Wears Prada and Just My Luck were fairly good comedies, though a little too stereotypical for my liking. Little Miss Sunshine, meanwhile, was a very interesting little movie, and the sheer naturalness of its humour and realism of its situations go a long way in making it quite a memorable experience. It's hardly a wonder then that it's being talked up for Oscar success. Bewitched, however, was distinctly woeful, and I was more than a little shocked that they managed to turn such a sureshot script into the shoddy thing that it ended up being. Nicole Kidman was just about the only bright spot of the movie, but even she couldn't really recreate the Elizabeth Montgomery magic. Celllular was another listless movie - someone should've reminded Kim Basinger and Chris Evans that they were supposed to act, and not just do over-the-top theatrics in the movie.

One movie that stayed with me for a long time was Garfield 2. Yes, I know, the movie was a box office dud and hardly created any sort of flutter when it released in India, but for some reason, I absolutely adore all animated movies and animated characters, and Garfield, the one character that has so often made me laugh hysterically over my morning cup of coffee, was simply hilariously fantastic in the movie. The CGI was very very well done, and so were the powerhouse songs, especially the one about the lasagna: pure delight. I honestly don't know why people didn't like the movie. But then again, people do tend to have strange taste in movies, you know....

That's it for today I guess. Anyone who's not watched all of these movies is sure to find this post horribly boring, but there's hardly anything I can do about that, is there? I mean, I've already written all of this, and just cannot make myself write a new post all over again. So that's that. A very good day to you all! (I don't really know why I'm ending with this cheesy line, but I can't for the life of me think of anything else).

Yet Another Tribute To Shane Warne

Yes, I know, nearly everybody who is anybody has written or said something in praise of the legendary Aussie leg-spinner, and not just since he announced his retirement a week ago. The subject of Shane Warne - how extraordinary a bowler he is, what a fantastic entertainer he has been, how fallible, controversial and colourful his life and career have been - has been discussed so widely that I think it very possible that he is the most talked about cricketer ever. Which is precisely why I have been resisting writing my own piece about him; among the millions of eulogies about the man, mine would be in serious danger of being completely overlooked. And yet, as I watched Warne swing away today in his inimitable style to put together 71 English-morale-annihilating runs, I couldn't help but feel that if I didn't write something about the remarkable life of this cricketer, I wouldn't be doing justice to my love for cricket. If I could devote an entire post to Ashley Giles and his travails, then surely the best spinner the world has ever known deserves some space here too.

There's something to be said about a bowler who makes for gripping viewing while doing his thing. Now don't get me wrong, I'm a complete supporter of the cricket-is-a-bowler's-game-just-as-much-as-it-is-a-batsman's philosophy, but frankly, how many bowlers would you pay to watch? Rather unfortunately, bowlers don't have the option of displaying artistry while exercising their craft, something which comes quite naturally to batsmen like Brian Lara or Damien Martyn (another retiree who I really should have written about). With Shane Warne, however, it was entirely different. He was one bowler who put so much effort and thinking into his clashes with every single batsman that it was simply stunning to watch. You could almost see his mind work, as he tested his opponents with ripping leg-breaks and a plethora of other deliveries, some of which he gave his own creative definitions. There was the zooter (sadly, I've never really figured out what that does), the slider, the flipper, the googly (which he's never really loved too much) and many others which I don't personally know the names of. And very often he used all of these in a single over. A born entertainer.

People have often wondered how such a phenomenally shrewd brain as his could stop working so regularly when off the cricket field. The sheer stupidity of the many blunders he committed in his personal life has baffled the world just as completely as his mastery of the cricket ball. The nickname given him by his teammates, 'Hollywood', could hardly have been more apt for the man. I guess it's a thing with genius; masterful in one field and totally daft in others. Shane Warne fits the bill perfectly-he was undoubtedly brilliant with the ball, but somewhat of a blockhead without it. And history shows that it's the flawed genius who is remembered most vividly of all. So has Shane Warne done enough to go down as the most memorable and legendary crcketer of all? To my mind, yes, though much of what Warne has 'done' to achieve that status has come about unintentionally.

A lot of people have been saying that Warne is the greatest cricketer since Bradman. Personally, I don't quite agree with that. His shortcomings against Indian batsmen, particularly in India, will always stick out like a sore thumb in his otherwise dazzling career. Bradman never suffered failure against any particular opposition (unless you count having an average of 74.50 against the West Indies as compared to his overall 99.94 a failure). Neither did Viv Richards, Gary Sobers or Brian Lara, for that matter. So no, I do not think Warne is the greatest cricketer since Bradman, nor do I agree with the view that he is the 'bradman' of bowlers. And yet, even in failure Warne was astonishingly entertaining. His encounters with Sachin Tendulkar and Kevin Pietersen, two batsmen who often dominated him, have become the stuff of legend. History will definitely be very loving with Warne.

They say no matter how many wickets Muttiah Muralitharan ends up scalping (and the current projection is 1000), he will not be considered the best bowler of his generation, let alone of all time, because of his suspect action. However, I believe that it's not only Murali's suspect action that will go against him. The simple fact that his bowling was never as fascinating or jaw-dropping as Warne's will forever be etched in every cricket-lover's mind. Warne was pure genius; in fact, so breathtaking was his talent that some might even say he has under-achieved. And truly, if the name of a bowler who has taken 700 Test wickets, 1000 international wickets and has the distinction of having bowled the most famous, and possibly the best ball in the history of cricket can even be imagined in association with the word 'under-achiever', then we are talking of someone very very special. Take a bow, Shane Warne, you're a living legend.

Happy Eid And Happy New Year!

So it's here at last- a sparkling, promising, brand new year! 2007, you beauty! What a fortunate people we are to witness the dawn of yet another path-breaking set of 12 months! Alright, I think I'm done with the sarcasm here. Frankly, I've never really understood the feverish hoopla that surrounds the start of every new year. I mean, what does New Year's really stand for other than being a perfectly silly reason to party? So it's the beginning of another Gregorian year, big deal! Do we ever realize how little December 31 and January 1 would have meant to us if we hadn't been following the calendar that we do? Its not like we celebrate the dawn of a path-breaking era every year either - it's just another set of 12 months, which more likely than not is going to bring fresh bouts of misery and misfortune to the underprivileged. And all that hogwash about a new year bringing hope and promise and potential that every self-respecting socialite faithfully recites every time someone asks him the significance of New Year's is just that - hogwash.

On a less cynical note, the past year was a mixed sort of year - there were some good times, and some not so. India's nuclear deal has been a revolutionary step of sorts, though it's benefits or otherwise can only be known after a bit. George w. Bush's spectacularly dim-witted strategies were given a resounding disapproval by the American public, to the extent that he's now a lame duck in the US Congress. Hopefully, Dick Cheney won't take the term 'duck' too literally and even more hopefully, Bush will have the good sense not to go hunting with Mr. Cheney, or the next thing we know we'll have a President assassinated by accident. Saddam Hussein's execution just before the end of the year was, of course, some consolation for the despondent President. North Korea, inevitably, tested a nuclear weapon, and the reactions to the test were predictably pathetic. Thankfully, no major terrorist attacks this year. Here, I'm talking, of course, about the world other than the perennially violence-torn region of the Middle East. Iraq burned with a passion, while the trigger-happy Israel couldn't keep their weapons unused for too long. The year also witnessed intense debates about the acceptability of the Muslim veil, and some very injudicious remarks by the Pope, both of which angered Muslims all over the world, and rightly so, don't you think?

Back home in India, reservations were in vogue, and for all of the Rang De Basanti-style spirited protests by concerned citizens, the government went right ahead and enforced the Reservation Bill, sending waves of despair among the indignant victims - students. The judiciary had a relatively good year, with a host of celebrity killers being convicted for their famous crimes. Then there were the regular political scandals and high-tension dramas. Boring. The year was a good one for movies - Rang De Basanti, Don and Lage Raho Munnabahai were decidedly classy, and even the ludicrous Dhoom 2, the lamentable Fanaa and the somewhat stylish Krrish made big bucks. Hollywood, of course, came out with its steady supply of mass-oriented action flicks, and hey, no one's complaining. X Men 3 was fantastic, Pirates of the Caribbean 2 was hilarious, and everyone was happy.

The year 2006 was a big one for sports, of course, what with the Football World Cup and all. Much to my disappointment, Italy emerged winners, and Zidane had an end which could be either deplorable or glorious, depending upon your point of view. Roger Federer had another ridiculously successful year, and Tiger Woods had an emotionally successful one. Michael Schumacher, Andre Agassi, Ian Thorpe (a bit of a surprise, this one), Shane Warne and Glenn McGrath were the other greats to retire, and the last two may well be on their way to giving a heart-broken England their worst defeat in 85 years. Oh well, England and their unbelievably arrogant fans (you'd have thought sixteen years of Ashes sorrow would've taught them to be a little more restrained in celebration) needed to be brought down a peg or two.

Harry Potter fans had nothing much to cheer about, with no movie release this year, and J K Rowling, with her obstinate refusal to hand her fans more than a few crumbs consisting of the title of book 7 and a few mysterious one-liners that could have about a hundred different interpretations made it all the more disheartening. So in the final analysis, a mixed year. Now should I be happy about that? I think, well, maybe. One of my all-time favorite quotes goes something like, "No one really cares if you're miserable, so you might as well be happy". How piercingly true. So happy it is for me.

Eid today was quite a pleasant affair, and to tell the truth, all the work that Eid, specially Bakri Eid brings along with it is quite a lot of fun. Of course, the biryani and the sheerkhurma and the khichda have a way of turning fun into ecstasy. Anyway, I think I've written a little too much YET again, so I'll end here before it gets too bad. Happy Eid and a Happy New Year to everyone once again! (I really don't have a problem with just the greeting, you see - it's only the mad frenzy that I detest....)