There is something to be said about playing to the gallery with such pinpoint precision that the very act, provincial and classless as it may seem on the surface, is elevated to an art. The makers of Iron Man 'play to the gallery' with such remarkable intensity that it's hard to imagine anyone not thoroughly enjoying the movie. The loud bangs and vivid scenes of mindless flinging and flying of heavy objects are all in place, as are the mandatory romantic subplot and crisp humorous lines by the protagonist. Just about every cheap mass-appealing cinematic technique is thrown in, but no one's complaining, because all of it works so perfectly. It helps, of course, that the film is laden with some of the most magnificent cinematography and special effects ever seen, and that Robert Downey Jr. and Gwyneth Paltrow have no shortage of that thing called screen presence. No, this movie won't be thought about in connection with the year's Oscar hopefuls, not even as a joke, but I can tell you one thing: you'll have a blast watching it. Which is considerably more than you can say about any potentially Oscar-winning movie. Don't get me wrong, I still think Batman Begins is the best superhero movie ever made, but sometimes it's nice to not keep looking for cinematic brilliance or aesthetic expertise or thought-provoking dialogue and instead watch a movie for pure entertainment.
Moving on to a completely different subject, I've just realized what the best thing about the game of tennis is: it allows for very little mourning time. The tennis schedule is so jam-packed with tournaments that the average tennis fan gets very little time to wallow in his miseries and bemoan the total lack of joy on earth when his favourite player or players lose, because before you know it, the next tournament, and the chance of redemption for the player in question, is already underway. And this is exactly what happened with me this week, when Roger Federer's quarterfinal loss to Radek Stepanek (?!) at the Rome Masters was followed by Novak Djokovic winning the tournament, which, trust me, is a big, big tragedy in my eyes. The Hamburg Masters actually began even before the final match between Djokovic and Stanislas Wawrinka started, so I had no option but to snap out of my depression and get back to my nervous checking of the tournament schedule and live streaming/scores and assure myself that Federer hasn't yet made an early exit at a tournament for the umpteenth time this year. Incidentally, a potential semi-final match between Rafael Nadal and Djokovic at the Hamburg Masters might just turn out to be the marquee match of the year, considering the fact that the winner of the match gets to walk away with the No. 2 rank in the ATP computer rankings. I'm nervous for Rafa already.
Just finished watching the extended, unedited versions of all the three Lord of the Rings movies (which might actually be the exact antithesis of a movie like Iron Man) for what seems like the hundredth time. And yet, the sheer magnificence and grandeur of the trilogy never ceases to amaze me. I think I've said this to nearly everyone I've ever talked to about any sort of movie, but this is the first time I'll be putting it in writing: In my opinion, the Lord of the Rings trilogy is the greatest set of movies ever made. You can have your Godfathers and Shawshank Redemptions and Gone With The Winds, but nothing comes close to the jaw-dropping spectacle created so lovingly by Peter Jackson. It's just as well that the 3 LOTR movies together picked up no less than 17 Oscar awards. Just goes to show that the Oscar jury does get it right every once in a while.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
Back Without A Bang
Ok, I'll admit I can no longer stand the guilt that comes with not writing a post for over a month; I feel I can be brave enough to concede that the only reason I'm writing this is because every other blog writer I know continues to merrily write post after post without so much as a hint of a furrowed brow, while my blog has been languishing in the sorrowful shadows, unattended and ignored. Ugh, looks like the month-long hiatus has made my writing a little over-dramatic. But what the heck, as long as I'm writing something....
Perhaps the most significant development in the last one month, other than Hilary Clinton closing the gap on Barack Obama in the Democratic presidential race in the US, the previously unheard-of phenomenon of foodgrain scarcity scaring the living daylights out of Americans, Priyanka Gandhi meeting with one of the assassins responsible for her father's death, and our dear old MSEB announcing that Pune will not have to face load-shedding at least until September but deciding to subject Puneites anyway to frequent, painful power-cuts lasting anywhere between 5 seconds and 5 hours (whew, this is turning out to be one long sentence), has been the roaring success of the Indian Premier League, or IPL, to be more hep about it. Actually, 'roaring success' might be an understatement - there's something so enthralling, so rivetingly amusing about seeing those mighty Australian and South African players being meekly obedient to their Indian captains and eagerly putting in the yards to, oh, defeat just another State team filled with a bunch of second class Indian cricketers, that there never really should have been a doubt about the success of the tournament. It helps, of course, that the format of the tournament is eerily similar to that of the many football leagues in Europe that are so wildly popular with a small but substantial segment of Indian sports watchers. The IPL has done to cricket what a 100 years of Test cricket and 40 years of one-day cricket couldn't: it has made cricket, in every shallow and amateurish sense of the term, 'cool'. Way to go, BCCI!
In other news, the tennis clay season has begun, and the question that has enchanted and consumed tennis followers for the past 3 years has surfaced again: can Roger Federer beat Rafael Nadal at the French Open? Federer, for his part, seems to have overcome his early season hiccups by stringing together two consecutive finals appearances on his least favourite surface, notching up his first title of the year at Estoril before losing to Rafael Nadal in the final at Monte Carlo. Yeah, I know, nothing new or earth-shattering about that last bit - Federer losing to Nadal on clay has become somewhat of a given, has it not? What does surprise me, however, is the continued and insistent belief that Federer's supporters hold that he will, one day, manage to overcome the King of Clay at the French Open. I mean seriously, if you saw how much advice, not support, but advice that Federer gets before each match that he plays against Nadal from thousands of people who may never have wielded a racquet their whole lives , you'd think Federer was the prized protege of nearly half of the tennis-watching population of the world. Play the slice backhand. Use the forehand dropshot. Come to the net more often. Attack Nadal's second serve more aggressively. Improve your serving percentage. Some have even suggested switching over from a one-handed backhand (that gorgeous beauty of a shot) to a two-handed one. Even Jose Higueras, Federer's celebrated (?) new coach, hasn't been spared the 'expert' counsel. In the midst of all this, some rather more well-informed columnists gravely pronounce that Nadal on clay is a puzzle that cannot be solved; that Federer simply does not have the patience or fitness to get the better of the muscular Spaniard on dirt. How true is that last statement? Being a sworn Federer fan, I like to believe that it isn't in the least true; but it's all rather pointless for us to be armchair psychologists, is it not? At the end of the day Federer has to go out on the court and play solid tennis and outwit Nadal. Nothing more, nothing less. In the meantime, he can continue to delight us by displaying the kind of dazzling tennis that he put on show in his quarterfinal match against old nemesis David Nalbandian, and by handing out a few dozen more defeats to Novak Djokovic, preferably including several bagel sets. And of course, a few more moments like the "Be quiet, ok?" admonition that he shouted out to Djokovic's mother in their semi-final match at Monte Carlo. That was just so unexpected and so very wonderful. I mean, wow.
Watched a couple of Bollywood flicks last week, first Tashan, a strange movie that has all the right ideas but falls sorely short in execution. The first half is stylish and mildly interesting, the second half shoddy and exasperating. A shame, really, considering the extraordinary hype generated by the movie before its release and the oodles of hard work that must have been put in by Kareena Kapoor to achieve that thing called size zero. The other flick that I watched, U Me Aur Hum, is almost the reverse of Tashan - intolerably boring first half, mildly touching second half. Here too, the makers had a great premise, but the mandatory theatrics and Bollywood-style wooing sequences ruin things considerably. Kajol comes up with a vintage performance - even after all these years, she still holds, in my opinion, stomping rights to the mantle of being the best actress in Bollywood, and there are quite a few heart-rending scenes towards the end of the movie, but that's just about it. Just a thought: is the tagline of the movie, "Sometimes the greatest journey is the distance between two people" supposed to be a quote from an outside source, knowing as we do how the Ed Norton starrer The Painted Veil has the exact same tagline, or is this another pathetic attempt at thinly disguised plagiarism by Bollywood's dear old thieves?
Okay, for what seems like the umpteenth time, I seem to have run riot with my post - there's nothing more irritating than a post that never seems to end, is there? So I'll end right here - no conclusion, no dramatic parting line. Yes, this is it. The End. I quite like the ring of that. Hehehe.
Perhaps the most significant development in the last one month, other than Hilary Clinton closing the gap on Barack Obama in the Democratic presidential race in the US, the previously unheard-of phenomenon of foodgrain scarcity scaring the living daylights out of Americans, Priyanka Gandhi meeting with one of the assassins responsible for her father's death, and our dear old MSEB announcing that Pune will not have to face load-shedding at least until September but deciding to subject Puneites anyway to frequent, painful power-cuts lasting anywhere between 5 seconds and 5 hours (whew, this is turning out to be one long sentence), has been the roaring success of the Indian Premier League, or IPL, to be more hep about it. Actually, 'roaring success' might be an understatement - there's something so enthralling, so rivetingly amusing about seeing those mighty Australian and South African players being meekly obedient to their Indian captains and eagerly putting in the yards to, oh, defeat just another State team filled with a bunch of second class Indian cricketers, that there never really should have been a doubt about the success of the tournament. It helps, of course, that the format of the tournament is eerily similar to that of the many football leagues in Europe that are so wildly popular with a small but substantial segment of Indian sports watchers. The IPL has done to cricket what a 100 years of Test cricket and 40 years of one-day cricket couldn't: it has made cricket, in every shallow and amateurish sense of the term, 'cool'. Way to go, BCCI!
In other news, the tennis clay season has begun, and the question that has enchanted and consumed tennis followers for the past 3 years has surfaced again: can Roger Federer beat Rafael Nadal at the French Open? Federer, for his part, seems to have overcome his early season hiccups by stringing together two consecutive finals appearances on his least favourite surface, notching up his first title of the year at Estoril before losing to Rafael Nadal in the final at Monte Carlo. Yeah, I know, nothing new or earth-shattering about that last bit - Federer losing to Nadal on clay has become somewhat of a given, has it not? What does surprise me, however, is the continued and insistent belief that Federer's supporters hold that he will, one day, manage to overcome the King of Clay at the French Open. I mean seriously, if you saw how much advice, not support, but advice that Federer gets before each match that he plays against Nadal from thousands of people who may never have wielded a racquet their whole lives , you'd think Federer was the prized protege of nearly half of the tennis-watching population of the world. Play the slice backhand. Use the forehand dropshot. Come to the net more often. Attack Nadal's second serve more aggressively. Improve your serving percentage. Some have even suggested switching over from a one-handed backhand (that gorgeous beauty of a shot) to a two-handed one. Even Jose Higueras, Federer's celebrated (?) new coach, hasn't been spared the 'expert' counsel. In the midst of all this, some rather more well-informed columnists gravely pronounce that Nadal on clay is a puzzle that cannot be solved; that Federer simply does not have the patience or fitness to get the better of the muscular Spaniard on dirt. How true is that last statement? Being a sworn Federer fan, I like to believe that it isn't in the least true; but it's all rather pointless for us to be armchair psychologists, is it not? At the end of the day Federer has to go out on the court and play solid tennis and outwit Nadal. Nothing more, nothing less. In the meantime, he can continue to delight us by displaying the kind of dazzling tennis that he put on show in his quarterfinal match against old nemesis David Nalbandian, and by handing out a few dozen more defeats to Novak Djokovic, preferably including several bagel sets. And of course, a few more moments like the "Be quiet, ok?" admonition that he shouted out to Djokovic's mother in their semi-final match at Monte Carlo. That was just so unexpected and so very wonderful. I mean, wow.
Watched a couple of Bollywood flicks last week, first Tashan, a strange movie that has all the right ideas but falls sorely short in execution. The first half is stylish and mildly interesting, the second half shoddy and exasperating. A shame, really, considering the extraordinary hype generated by the movie before its release and the oodles of hard work that must have been put in by Kareena Kapoor to achieve that thing called size zero. The other flick that I watched, U Me Aur Hum, is almost the reverse of Tashan - intolerably boring first half, mildly touching second half. Here too, the makers had a great premise, but the mandatory theatrics and Bollywood-style wooing sequences ruin things considerably. Kajol comes up with a vintage performance - even after all these years, she still holds, in my opinion, stomping rights to the mantle of being the best actress in Bollywood, and there are quite a few heart-rending scenes towards the end of the movie, but that's just about it. Just a thought: is the tagline of the movie, "Sometimes the greatest journey is the distance between two people" supposed to be a quote from an outside source, knowing as we do how the Ed Norton starrer The Painted Veil has the exact same tagline, or is this another pathetic attempt at thinly disguised plagiarism by Bollywood's dear old thieves?
Okay, for what seems like the umpteenth time, I seem to have run riot with my post - there's nothing more irritating than a post that never seems to end, is there? So I'll end right here - no conclusion, no dramatic parting line. Yes, this is it. The End. I quite like the ring of that. Hehehe.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Turmoil in the Tennis World
While those among us fortunate enough to classify themselves as 'non-tennis followers' sleep comfortably in their homes, blissfully ignorant of distasteful things like Masters tournaments and ranking points, a battle as fierce as any you could imagine rages in the tennis discussion forums of the great big internet. Is the King really dead? Has Rafael Nadal run one step too many in his insanely intense efforts to win at all costs? Is it actually possible for the Royal Clown, or (D)Joker, to ascend to the Emperor's throne? Most importantly, however, are Pete Sampras's Grand Slam record and his standing as the pre-eminent GOAT safe from falling into the clutches of a weirdly aristocratic Swiss snob? Perfectly harmless questions, you may feel, but step into one of the forums discussing any of them, and you'll know the meaning of violent bloodbath.
Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal's tame losses in the semifinals of the Indian Wells Masters, and Novak Djokovic's subsequent triumph in the final, have sparked off a tennis supremacy debate the like of which has not been heard of in 4 long years. For 4 years Federer has dominated the men's tour with such effortless and magnificent ease that it seems almost inappropriate, even vulgar, to talk about the battle for the No.1 ranking. And yet here we are, more than a quarter into the tennis season, and neither Federer nor Nadal has won a tournament, while the Djoker has clinched the two most significant titles thus far. Changing of the guard, for real? Hold your horses, people. Federer, for one, has a very valid reason for his sub-par performances this year: he had contracted mononucleosis prior to the Australian Open, which, while not remotely a life-threatening disease, can be a devastating curse for sportspersons, causing as it does severe fatigue that can last nearly 6 months. Of course, this story itself had its doubters, with many questioning why Federer had to bring this up nearly a month after bowing out of the Aussie Open semis, with some even going as far as suggesting that his doctors made the whole thing up so Federer could blame his loss to Djokovic on the illness. I know, it is sacrilegious to even think such a thing about the man who's just about won nearly every match he's played in 4 years, but Federer certainly does have to let his racquet silence his critics, and soon. His loss at Indian Wells in particular left many of his fans wondering whether he still has the desire or motivation to keep maintaining his incredible standard of play. A lot hinges on how things go for The Mighty Fed, or TMF for short (the nickname that's become really popular on www.tennis.com) in the next few months, not least important of which is the No.1 ranking. Djokovic is closing in on Federer and Nadal faster than Federer can serve or Nadal can run, so it's become almost imperative for TMF to win everything in sight until the hardcourt season, or at least to defend all of his points at every tournament he plays. Personally though, I'd be more than happy if he just won the French Open once. I wouldn't really mind if he didn't win another match his whole life after that. But that's just me.
Nadal's case is a little more complicated. A lot has been written about the delightful spirit that the Spaniard brings to the tennis court, but these past few months tennis watchers have increasingly been getting the feeling that the spirit has deserted Nadal. He just doesn't seem to be enjoying himself in his matches anymore; he looks spent, both physically and mentally. It may be easy to brush off this judgment as a knee-jerk reaction to the fact that Nadal hasn't won an ATP tournament since July, but if you watched some of his recent losses, specially the ones to David Nalbandian last year and to Mikhail Youzhny and Djokovic this year, you'll know what I'm talking about. Then again, the clay season is about to start, and considering how many experts think Nadal is one of the best, if not THE best claycourt player in history, maybe his fans don't have that much reason to worry. If I were Nadal, though, I would worry, specially since Djokovic is far closer to the No.2 ranking in terms of points than Nadal is to the No.1 ranking. And based on the evidence of the past couple of months, there really is no stopping the Djoker.
Why do rankings matter so much in tennis anyway? The last time I checked, rankings weren't exactly the most accurate reflection of a player's credentials. Look at Maria Sharapova, for instance. The blonde Russian had had a white hot start to the year, winning 18 of 19 matches and capturing two of the three most important events so far (including her third Grand Slam title). And yet, she is placed a lowly 5th in the computerised rankings, below her compatriot Svetlana Kuznetsova at No. 3 and Serb Jelena Jankovic (No. 4). I'm sorry, but is there even a comparison between the headcase Kuznetsova, the can't-stop-playing-until-I-break-down-completely Jankovic, and the fearless, if somewhat incosistent champion that is Sharapova? You've got to be kidding me. I really don't get why there always is such a huge fuss about rankings in tennis. Maybe it's just one of those things that cannot be explained, you've just got to accept them as they are. Like the interesting case of Novak Djokovic being the most hated tennis player on earth. No wait, there is a reason for that. Lots of reasons, actually. Ok, I think I need to stop.
P.S. Random musing: who is the most likely young player to have a breakthrough season and cement his place among the game's elite? Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, Andy Murray, Marin Cilic or Richard Gasquet? My vote goes to Murray, but again, that's just me.
Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal's tame losses in the semifinals of the Indian Wells Masters, and Novak Djokovic's subsequent triumph in the final, have sparked off a tennis supremacy debate the like of which has not been heard of in 4 long years. For 4 years Federer has dominated the men's tour with such effortless and magnificent ease that it seems almost inappropriate, even vulgar, to talk about the battle for the No.1 ranking. And yet here we are, more than a quarter into the tennis season, and neither Federer nor Nadal has won a tournament, while the Djoker has clinched the two most significant titles thus far. Changing of the guard, for real? Hold your horses, people. Federer, for one, has a very valid reason for his sub-par performances this year: he had contracted mononucleosis prior to the Australian Open, which, while not remotely a life-threatening disease, can be a devastating curse for sportspersons, causing as it does severe fatigue that can last nearly 6 months. Of course, this story itself had its doubters, with many questioning why Federer had to bring this up nearly a month after bowing out of the Aussie Open semis, with some even going as far as suggesting that his doctors made the whole thing up so Federer could blame his loss to Djokovic on the illness. I know, it is sacrilegious to even think such a thing about the man who's just about won nearly every match he's played in 4 years, but Federer certainly does have to let his racquet silence his critics, and soon. His loss at Indian Wells in particular left many of his fans wondering whether he still has the desire or motivation to keep maintaining his incredible standard of play. A lot hinges on how things go for The Mighty Fed, or TMF for short (the nickname that's become really popular on www.tennis.com) in the next few months, not least important of which is the No.1 ranking. Djokovic is closing in on Federer and Nadal faster than Federer can serve or Nadal can run, so it's become almost imperative for TMF to win everything in sight until the hardcourt season, or at least to defend all of his points at every tournament he plays. Personally though, I'd be more than happy if he just won the French Open once. I wouldn't really mind if he didn't win another match his whole life after that. But that's just me.
Nadal's case is a little more complicated. A lot has been written about the delightful spirit that the Spaniard brings to the tennis court, but these past few months tennis watchers have increasingly been getting the feeling that the spirit has deserted Nadal. He just doesn't seem to be enjoying himself in his matches anymore; he looks spent, both physically and mentally. It may be easy to brush off this judgment as a knee-jerk reaction to the fact that Nadal hasn't won an ATP tournament since July, but if you watched some of his recent losses, specially the ones to David Nalbandian last year and to Mikhail Youzhny and Djokovic this year, you'll know what I'm talking about. Then again, the clay season is about to start, and considering how many experts think Nadal is one of the best, if not THE best claycourt player in history, maybe his fans don't have that much reason to worry. If I were Nadal, though, I would worry, specially since Djokovic is far closer to the No.2 ranking in terms of points than Nadal is to the No.1 ranking. And based on the evidence of the past couple of months, there really is no stopping the Djoker.
Why do rankings matter so much in tennis anyway? The last time I checked, rankings weren't exactly the most accurate reflection of a player's credentials. Look at Maria Sharapova, for instance. The blonde Russian had had a white hot start to the year, winning 18 of 19 matches and capturing two of the three most important events so far (including her third Grand Slam title). And yet, she is placed a lowly 5th in the computerised rankings, below her compatriot Svetlana Kuznetsova at No. 3 and Serb Jelena Jankovic (No. 4). I'm sorry, but is there even a comparison between the headcase Kuznetsova, the can't-stop-playing-until-I-break-down-completely Jankovic, and the fearless, if somewhat incosistent champion that is Sharapova? You've got to be kidding me. I really don't get why there always is such a huge fuss about rankings in tennis. Maybe it's just one of those things that cannot be explained, you've just got to accept them as they are. Like the interesting case of Novak Djokovic being the most hated tennis player on earth. No wait, there is a reason for that. Lots of reasons, actually. Ok, I think I need to stop.
P.S. Random musing: who is the most likely young player to have a breakthrough season and cement his place among the game's elite? Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, Andy Murray, Marin Cilic or Richard Gasquet? My vote goes to Murray, but again, that's just me.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
What's That You've Got Missing? A Heart?
Ok, let me start by saying that I went in to watch Jodhaa-Akbar fully prepared to fall in love with the historical epic. Ashutosh Gowariker, after all, does have a rather splendid body of work to impress and excite people with. You don't get nominated for an Oscar for nothing. And the premise this time seemed so perfectly grandiose - a sweeping love story set in the royally magnificent days of Mughal Shehenshahs and phrases like "Takh Liya!" - what more could one ask for? Everything seemed so right about this movie that, much as in the case of Sanjay Bhansali's Black, people were talking about the Oscar prospects of the movie months before its release. Sadly, they spoke too soon.
I can't really give the exact reason why the movie failed to impress me. The plot construction and character development are more than adequate, the acting is top-notch and the painstaking attention to detail evident throughout the movie is truly commendable. I guess it's just one of those movies which you can brush off with a comment like, "but it had no soul!". And as snobbish as that sounds, I think it's spot on. Gowariker seems to have got a little lost amid all the splendor and the fancy Urdu. The cornerstone of the movie, the fundamentally vulnerable bond between Emperor Akbar and the Rajput princess Jodhaa simply doesn't create an impact as strong as one would have expected in a larger-than-life saga such as this. As contradictory as this may sound, Gowariker had an excellent premise to cut his teeth into, but not enough meat in the central plot to chew on. A cinematic head-scratcher, I'm sure, that not many filmmakers have to deal with.
Historically speaking the movie seems well-researched (for a wikipedia-educated person anyway), though it is certainly questionable whether Akbar would have spent so much time and energy wooing the politically-bonded Jodhaa when he reportedly had over a 100 wives to worry about. The military conquests and political travails of Akbar are intricately woven into the plot in an efficient enough way so that no sub-plot seems out of place or unnecessary. When I say 'sub-plots', of course, I don't include the overly long-drawn sequences of grief and melodrama suffered by just about everyone in the movie, because there sure are plenty of 'unnecessary' instances of those. The movie trundles along at a luxuriously leisurely pace, and while that is forgivable for a period drama, one does wish that Mr. Gowariker hadn't wasted so much time in the first half just trying to establish the proceedings. And the battle scenes. How do I put it? When I first heard about the lavish budget and use of CGI in the film I began to dare to hope that for once, Bollywood would turn out something revolutionary in the purely technical realm of live action. All that came crashing down the moment the Battle of Panipat came on. The sequence is a seriously ridiculous piece of trash, and I was almost in tears by the end of it. Thankfully, however, the quality of the battle scenes improves dramatically as the film moves on (thanks in no small part to the fact that all the subsequent battles aren't really full-fledged, all-out wars but more of small-scale, half-hearted negotiation-cum-conflicts). The final one-on-one fight between Akbar and his principle nemesis bears striking resemblance to the Brad Pitt-Eric Bana fight in Troy, and though it isn't quite as good as the Troy one, it is reasonably well done. The swordfight between Jodhaa and Akbar, however, scores over all the other fight sequences, and considering how much the cinematography and stunt direction of this movie were being talked up, that's a little sad.
The movie's dialogue is considerably difficult to understand, specially since the actors simply refuse to pronounce Urdu the way that it is supposed to be pronounced. And sorry, but there just aren't enough memorable lines for a movie of such epic proportions. The music by A.R. Rahman is fantastic as usual, particularly the Azeem-O-Shaan Shehenshah track, which, in one word, is awesome. As for the acting, I can confidently say that Hrithik Roshan has matured into a truly marvellous actor - he brings out every confused and passionate facet of an emperor with such incredible intensity that I repeatedly had to hit myself on the head for ever having doubted his capabilities as an actor. That said, however, I could never quite shake off the lingering feeling that Hrithik just didn't fit the role of Akbar. He looks - how do I put it? - far too - chiselled? and a little, um, puny, for a king. If you're laughing at me for calling the man with probably the best body in Bollywood 'puny', you ought to take a look at the size of the guy who plays his brother-in-law. Aishwarya Rai is perfectly cast as the headstrong woman-who-would-be-queen, and manages to look like an exquisite dream even when she's straining every nerve trying to make those sobs sound genuine (I have to say I admire her immensely for the effort she puts into acting). The rest are all sidekicks who get sidelined repeatedly during the course of the stuttering romance between these two, though it must be said that Sonu Sood does surprise you with a competent performance.
The cinematography, I'll make no bones about this, is disappointing. The imposing forts and the sets look grand, I'll agree, but I always felt like there was something missing, something that Gowariker forgot to add when taking all those sweeping shots of architectural marvels. There was no majesty in the art direction, no sense of awe-inspiring grandeur. The only times the movie looked anything close to a visual spectacle were when the camera focussed on Ms Rai. This, however, is a completely subjective opinion; I'm sure there are lots of people out there who were totally taken in by the sets and the photography. It's just that I wasn't. It's one of those things. And the movie's length! God, did no one on the sets of the movie remember to carry a watch? 3 hours 45 minutes is WAY too long for ANY kind of movie. One thing's for sure, this film is not going to win any awards for editing.
Gowariker'e last movie, Swades (which I personally loved), was widely criticized for being too much like a documentary and for lacking heart and entertainment value. I think that sort of criticism is much more appropriate for Jodhaa-Akbar. The movie has all the right intentions and the means to be going on with, but it simply fails to ignite the emotions of the viewer. It almost looks a little robotic - some of the lines and sequences, like the one where Akbar abolishes the jizyah tax, come off as downright mechanical. Not a major fault on the part of the director, by any means, but sometimes this sort of thing stops an ambitious and well-made project from becoming a great movie. Swades was a great movie. So was Asoka, if you're talking about historical epics. Not so Jodhaa-Akbar.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Overreacting to Molehills
It's been 3 days since the India-Australia Test at Sydney got over, but the furore over the events during the match simply refuses to subside. I suppose you could call this a good thing, what with Test cricket getting such passionate attention after a prolonged spell of unpopularity, but that would be being optimistic in the extreme. You know what else has been extreme? The knee-jerk and unreasonable reactions to the whole unfortunate episode. I'm sorry, but threatening to boycott a cricket tour because of a couple of bad umpiring decisions and a harsh sentence for an allegedly racist remark is going WAY overboard. I wonder if the series would have been in as much jeopardy as it is now if India had managed to save the Test?
The media has been every bit as excessive in its assessment of the affair as the boycott-happy Indian cricket board. The Times of India has been particularly boisterous in its coverage of the episode, first calling for the result of the Test to be annulled and then proceeding to devote headline after headline (and editorials too) to the threatened tour. Perhaps someone should tell the guys up at The Times of India that if the result of every Test match that suffered from umpiring errors was annulled, there would barely be more than a couple of Test results in the sub-continent in the 80's and early 90's. Umpiring errors, specially when they come from non-biased umpires (Steve Bucknor and Mark Benson are both 'neutral' umpires; they have almost no connection with Australia or Australian cricket) have to be taken with a pinch of salt; there's nothing much you can do about them until the ICC and the cricketing world in general realize the importance of bringing technology into all decisions on the cricket field. So much for level-headed common sense.
As far as the 'bad sportsmanship' of the Australian cricketers is concerned, I'd like to know when the Aussies have ever been a saintly group of sweet-talkers. The Kangaroos have been known to be past masters at sledging, or 'mental disintegration' as Steve Waugh liked to euphemistically put it, and if the rest of the cricketing world could tolerate their nonsense for a whole decade, then why the hue and cry all of a sudden? The English and their 'jellybeans' tactics hadn't attracted half as fierce a backlash as the Aussies have in this Test, which makes me really wonder whether it's just human nature to revel in the foibles of the mighty and the powerful. And puh-lease, since when has claiming half volley catches become a criminal offense? Nearly every player in the world has done it at some point of his career, and while that doesn't make it any less distasteful, it certainly does raise a few questions about the indignant reactions to Michael Clarke's catch to dismiss Sourav Ganguly (which, incidentally, wasn't even proven to be conclusively illegal).
The Harbhajan Singh-Andrew Symonds spat was a serious issue, I'll admit, but wouldn't a straightforward motion for an appeal (which is all the Indian management was left to do eventually anyway) have sufficed, rather than the dramatic boycott threats and disturbingly grave statements that the BCCI so foolishly indulged in? Ah, theatrics! How we love to honour thee! Ok, maybe that was a little cheesy, but I really am at pains to understand why the media and the Indian cricket board have made such a big issue out of this matter. It was only a cricket match, after all - a cricket match in which a few decisions unfortunately and unwittingly decided the course of the match, but also a cricket match in which one team lost because it couldn't survive an over of part-time left-arm spin. Perhaps it would do the Indian team a whole lot of good if its management spent half as much time and effort as it did in attacking the umpiring and refereeing in the match into teaching its bowlers how to hold a bat.
The media has been every bit as excessive in its assessment of the affair as the boycott-happy Indian cricket board. The Times of India has been particularly boisterous in its coverage of the episode, first calling for the result of the Test to be annulled and then proceeding to devote headline after headline (and editorials too) to the threatened tour. Perhaps someone should tell the guys up at The Times of India that if the result of every Test match that suffered from umpiring errors was annulled, there would barely be more than a couple of Test results in the sub-continent in the 80's and early 90's. Umpiring errors, specially when they come from non-biased umpires (Steve Bucknor and Mark Benson are both 'neutral' umpires; they have almost no connection with Australia or Australian cricket) have to be taken with a pinch of salt; there's nothing much you can do about them until the ICC and the cricketing world in general realize the importance of bringing technology into all decisions on the cricket field. So much for level-headed common sense.
As far as the 'bad sportsmanship' of the Australian cricketers is concerned, I'd like to know when the Aussies have ever been a saintly group of sweet-talkers. The Kangaroos have been known to be past masters at sledging, or 'mental disintegration' as Steve Waugh liked to euphemistically put it, and if the rest of the cricketing world could tolerate their nonsense for a whole decade, then why the hue and cry all of a sudden? The English and their 'jellybeans' tactics hadn't attracted half as fierce a backlash as the Aussies have in this Test, which makes me really wonder whether it's just human nature to revel in the foibles of the mighty and the powerful. And puh-lease, since when has claiming half volley catches become a criminal offense? Nearly every player in the world has done it at some point of his career, and while that doesn't make it any less distasteful, it certainly does raise a few questions about the indignant reactions to Michael Clarke's catch to dismiss Sourav Ganguly (which, incidentally, wasn't even proven to be conclusively illegal).
The Harbhajan Singh-Andrew Symonds spat was a serious issue, I'll admit, but wouldn't a straightforward motion for an appeal (which is all the Indian management was left to do eventually anyway) have sufficed, rather than the dramatic boycott threats and disturbingly grave statements that the BCCI so foolishly indulged in? Ah, theatrics! How we love to honour thee! Ok, maybe that was a little cheesy, but I really am at pains to understand why the media and the Indian cricket board have made such a big issue out of this matter. It was only a cricket match, after all - a cricket match in which a few decisions unfortunately and unwittingly decided the course of the match, but also a cricket match in which one team lost because it couldn't survive an over of part-time left-arm spin. Perhaps it would do the Indian team a whole lot of good if its management spent half as much time and effort as it did in attacking the umpiring and refereeing in the match into teaching its bowlers how to hold a bat.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Bollywood 2007: Highlights
I know this is a little late, but here's the second of my 'best of the year' lists, which is about Bollywood. I guess I'll just have to abandon the third of my lists; my posts about tennis hardly get any readers anyway.
Movie of the year: A tight three-way contest between No Smoking, Taare Zameen Par and Jab We Met. After a lot of thought I’ve decided to go with No Smoking for its fantastically imaginative and original script that is treated with such immaculate flair by Anurag Kashyap. No Smoking has almost made me forgive Kashyap for his disparaging comments about Sanjay Bhansali’s Black. Almost.
Performance of the year: Kareena Kapoor’s exuberant turn as the rumbustious Geet in Jab We Met may not have been the greatest exhibition of acting, but it will be remembered for years to come for the sheer fullness of its spirit and naturalness of its expression. Jab We Met wasn’t so much a story of a chance meeting between two potential lovers as it was a celebration of the star that is Kareena Kapoor. And did Kareena enjoy the celebration!
Honorable mention: Darsheel Safary for his stunningly realistic portrayal of a dyslexic child in Taare Zameen Par.
Disappointment of the year: Om Shanti Om may have been the biggest blockbuster of the year, but it fell miles short of my expectations from Farah Khan, especially as it came after the super-enjoyable Main Hoon Na. Someone needs to tell Farah Khan that the spoof-cum-tribute thing is getting a little old now.
PR mastery of the year: Amitabh Bachchan made all the wrong moves career-wise, starring in duds ranging from the ridiculous Jhoom Barabar Jhoom to the pitiable Ram Gopal Verma Ki Aag, but he was mighty successful in one thing – teaching his son how to handle the media. Abhi-Ash was low-key and unglamorous, but not one joint public appearance by the couple failed to whip up a media frenzy. Clearly, the B Family’s got what it takes. I’ve finally figured out how Aishwarya Rai could ever have agreed to marry Abhishek Bachchan. Enough said.
‘Still got it’ star of the year: Shahrukh Khan defied his age and lack of versatility to come up with a couple of blockbusters and Anil Kapoor proved in Welcome that there’s no one who can quite do the loveable hooligan as well as him, but it is Madhuri Dixit who gets my vote for this award for simply being the Madhuri Dixit we’ve all grown to love. Five years after her last cinematic appearance in Devdas, Ms Dixit-Nene in Aaja Nachle is every bit as charming, as beautiful and as magical as she was in her heyday. Too bad her comeback movie itself was as silly as was Madhuri enthralling.
‘Serves you right’ act of the year: The legal team of Hitch suing, or attempting to sue the makers of Partner for plagiarism. It’s about time Bollywood puts a stop to its shameless and utterly disgraceful ripping off of Hollywood flicks.
Song of the year: As many as 3 songs from Taare Zameen Par could have come up trumps in this category - Aamir Khan sure does know a thing or two about songs and their place in a movie. Maa was unbelievably heart-rending and the title track was magnificent. But Mera Jahan had it all - great music, terrific lyrics and choreography that was almost too perfect to be true. Well, the movie was Aamir Khan's directorial debut; something had to be perfect.
Honourable mention: The Main Agar Kahoon track from Om Shanti Om for its wonderful, wonderful picturization, Tum Se Hi from Jab We Met for its beautiful construction coupled with its sweetly soothing tune and Phoonk De from No Smoking for, well, you'll never get it, so never mind.
Dance sequence of the year: Kareena Kapoor and Saroj Khan’s Yeh Ishq Hai number from Jab We Met. Most people might shudder in alarm at a Kareena Kapoor dance getting any sort of award in the year that Madhuri Dixit made a smashing dance-oriented comeback, but Ms Kapoor was something else in that song. She wasn’t dancing in front of the camera; she was having a whale of a time out there. So much so that some of her enthusiasm seemed to rub off on everyone else who appeared in the song. And I haven’t even started on the effortlessness of it all. *shakes head in awe*
Unintentionally hilarious movie of the year: Without a doubt the indescribable Cash. The only thing I want to know is: how on earth could Ajay Devgan have gone from the sensational Omkara to something as alarmingly inane as Cash? Incidentally, Cash would also be a strong candidate for the worst movie of the decade award, if ever someone decides to give such an award away.
Movie of the year: A tight three-way contest between No Smoking, Taare Zameen Par and Jab We Met. After a lot of thought I’ve decided to go with No Smoking for its fantastically imaginative and original script that is treated with such immaculate flair by Anurag Kashyap. No Smoking has almost made me forgive Kashyap for his disparaging comments about Sanjay Bhansali’s Black. Almost.
Performance of the year: Kareena Kapoor’s exuberant turn as the rumbustious Geet in Jab We Met may not have been the greatest exhibition of acting, but it will be remembered for years to come for the sheer fullness of its spirit and naturalness of its expression. Jab We Met wasn’t so much a story of a chance meeting between two potential lovers as it was a celebration of the star that is Kareena Kapoor. And did Kareena enjoy the celebration!
Honorable mention: Darsheel Safary for his stunningly realistic portrayal of a dyslexic child in Taare Zameen Par.
Disappointment of the year: Om Shanti Om may have been the biggest blockbuster of the year, but it fell miles short of my expectations from Farah Khan, especially as it came after the super-enjoyable Main Hoon Na. Someone needs to tell Farah Khan that the spoof-cum-tribute thing is getting a little old now.
PR mastery of the year: Amitabh Bachchan made all the wrong moves career-wise, starring in duds ranging from the ridiculous Jhoom Barabar Jhoom to the pitiable Ram Gopal Verma Ki Aag, but he was mighty successful in one thing – teaching his son how to handle the media. Abhi-Ash was low-key and unglamorous, but not one joint public appearance by the couple failed to whip up a media frenzy. Clearly, the B Family’s got what it takes. I’ve finally figured out how Aishwarya Rai could ever have agreed to marry Abhishek Bachchan. Enough said.
‘Still got it’ star of the year: Shahrukh Khan defied his age and lack of versatility to come up with a couple of blockbusters and Anil Kapoor proved in Welcome that there’s no one who can quite do the loveable hooligan as well as him, but it is Madhuri Dixit who gets my vote for this award for simply being the Madhuri Dixit we’ve all grown to love. Five years after her last cinematic appearance in Devdas, Ms Dixit-Nene in Aaja Nachle is every bit as charming, as beautiful and as magical as she was in her heyday. Too bad her comeback movie itself was as silly as was Madhuri enthralling.
‘Serves you right’ act of the year: The legal team of Hitch suing, or attempting to sue the makers of Partner for plagiarism. It’s about time Bollywood puts a stop to its shameless and utterly disgraceful ripping off of Hollywood flicks.
Song of the year: As many as 3 songs from Taare Zameen Par could have come up trumps in this category - Aamir Khan sure does know a thing or two about songs and their place in a movie. Maa was unbelievably heart-rending and the title track was magnificent. But Mera Jahan had it all - great music, terrific lyrics and choreography that was almost too perfect to be true. Well, the movie was Aamir Khan's directorial debut; something had to be perfect.
Honourable mention: The Main Agar Kahoon track from Om Shanti Om for its wonderful, wonderful picturization, Tum Se Hi from Jab We Met for its beautiful construction coupled with its sweetly soothing tune and Phoonk De from No Smoking for, well, you'll never get it, so never mind.
Dance sequence of the year: Kareena Kapoor and Saroj Khan’s Yeh Ishq Hai number from Jab We Met. Most people might shudder in alarm at a Kareena Kapoor dance getting any sort of award in the year that Madhuri Dixit made a smashing dance-oriented comeback, but Ms Kapoor was something else in that song. She wasn’t dancing in front of the camera; she was having a whale of a time out there. So much so that some of her enthusiasm seemed to rub off on everyone else who appeared in the song. And I haven’t even started on the effortlessness of it all. *shakes head in awe*
Unintentionally hilarious movie of the year: Without a doubt the indescribable Cash. The only thing I want to know is: how on earth could Ajay Devgan have gone from the sensational Omkara to something as alarmingly inane as Cash? Incidentally, Cash would also be a strong candidate for the worst movie of the decade award, if ever someone decides to give such an award away.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Cricket 2007: Awards
It’s that time of the year again. No, I won’t be a cynical prick this time by bemoaning everything that’s wrong with silly New Year’s parties and launching into the ridiculous behaviour of the depressing bunch of people that make up the party-going crowd. Instead, I’ll follow the second most popular trend that people tend to follow at this time of the year – compiling ‘best of the year’ lists. So here is the first of 3 lists that I have come up with:
I. CRICKET:
Team of the year: Perhaps the most yawn-inducing category. Was there even a hint of a challenge to Australia’s supremacy in any form of cricket that lasted longer than 4 hours? I don’t know why opposing teams even bother to turn up against Ricky Ponting’s demons.
Player of the year: An infinitely more difficult category than the first. Do I give the nod to Jacques Kallis’s metronomic brilliance, Kumar Sangakkara’s assured artistry or Muttiah Muralitharan’s mind-numbing consistency? Purely in statistical terms Sangakkara was beyond all competition, but I think I’ll go with Kallis because of the quality of opposition he faced while making all those hundreds and the grittiness of his response to being omitted from the 20-20 squad.
Match of the year: A tough contest between the Australia-South Africa group clash at the 50-50 World Cup, the Sri Lanka-South Africa thriller at the same tournament and the two Indo-Pak battles at the 20-20 World Cup. The Indo-Pak matches - both of them - get my vote for the sheer novelty and thrill quotient of 20-20 matches.
Tragedy of the year: No disrespect to Bob Woolmer, but the pathetic organization of the 50-over World Cup was the unqualified disaster of the year. The forlorn crowds and lack of competition at the event made most cricket aficionados shake their heads and wonder whether this was the worst World Cup ever, only for the ICC to seal the debate by declaring that contrary to popular belief, the tournament was a resounding success. Reality check, anyone?
Goof-up of the year: Without a doubt the cringe-worthy farce at the end of the World Cup final. Seriously, what was Aleem Dar thinking? Honorable mentions to the Jamaican police for their cheap mystery novel antics after Bob Woolmer’s tragic death and Pakistan’s captain Shoaib Malik who was daft enough to be ignorant of the bowl-out rule at the 20-20 World Cup and dafter still to actually express his ignorance to the world.
Guffaw-worthy moment of the year: The winner here is Shane Warne’s George W. Bush-worthy gaffe, wherein he accidentally sent a dirty SMS to his wife which, quite remarkably, was addressed to someone else. Honestly, that guy’s got one thick head. It’s a miracle he actually knew which side of the pitch to bowl to, with a brain like that.
Colourful character of the year: Santhakumaran Sreesanth, how ridiculous art thou? The bat-swinging in Andre Nel’s face (Nel, incidentally, was another strong candidate for this award) last year was adorable, but Sreesanth's incredibly wayward bowling on the England tour, his riveting altercations with Andrew Symonds, his moments of infamy like the one where he tried to unsportingly run Symonds out and his astoundingly intelligent interviews have made him one of the most polarizing cricketers in the world, and also THE cricketing character of the year. Move over Shane Warne, your successor is here.
Debutant of the year: Mitchell Johnson may not have had quite such an eventful Test debut, but he’s shaping up to be a darn good bowler in all forms of the game and there was no other significant debut all year, so an automatic choice, really.
Let-down of the year: Brian Lara’s failures in the ICL, the rebel 20-20 league floated by Kapil Dev and Co may not have tarnished his legacy all that much, considering the very small number of people who took the ICL seriously, but his decidedly sub-par performances were still quite depressing. After all the hoopla surrounding the ICL’s very expensive signing of the legendary Trinidadian, Lara disappointed spectacularly, barely reaching double figures in any innings. A joke went around that Lara’s runs were some of the most expensive in history, what with his paltry 31 runs through the tournament fetching him a reported 1 million dollars. I’m sure Lara wouldn’t be amused.
Quote of the year: The quote I have selected is not particularly witty or humourous, but its emotional appeal, specially for Indian cricket fans, make it one of the most memorable quotes of the decade. Here's Mahendra Singh Dhoni on seeing the tumultuous response given to his World Cup-winning team in Mumbai:
"We are told that Mumbai is a city which is always on the move. See, me and my boys have brought the entire city to a standstill today."
I. CRICKET:
Team of the year: Perhaps the most yawn-inducing category. Was there even a hint of a challenge to Australia’s supremacy in any form of cricket that lasted longer than 4 hours? I don’t know why opposing teams even bother to turn up against Ricky Ponting’s demons.
Player of the year: An infinitely more difficult category than the first. Do I give the nod to Jacques Kallis’s metronomic brilliance, Kumar Sangakkara’s assured artistry or Muttiah Muralitharan’s mind-numbing consistency? Purely in statistical terms Sangakkara was beyond all competition, but I think I’ll go with Kallis because of the quality of opposition he faced while making all those hundreds and the grittiness of his response to being omitted from the 20-20 squad.
Match of the year: A tough contest between the Australia-South Africa group clash at the 50-50 World Cup, the Sri Lanka-South Africa thriller at the same tournament and the two Indo-Pak battles at the 20-20 World Cup. The Indo-Pak matches - both of them - get my vote for the sheer novelty and thrill quotient of 20-20 matches.
Tragedy of the year: No disrespect to Bob Woolmer, but the pathetic organization of the 50-over World Cup was the unqualified disaster of the year. The forlorn crowds and lack of competition at the event made most cricket aficionados shake their heads and wonder whether this was the worst World Cup ever, only for the ICC to seal the debate by declaring that contrary to popular belief, the tournament was a resounding success. Reality check, anyone?
Goof-up of the year: Without a doubt the cringe-worthy farce at the end of the World Cup final. Seriously, what was Aleem Dar thinking? Honorable mentions to the Jamaican police for their cheap mystery novel antics after Bob Woolmer’s tragic death and Pakistan’s captain Shoaib Malik who was daft enough to be ignorant of the bowl-out rule at the 20-20 World Cup and dafter still to actually express his ignorance to the world.
Guffaw-worthy moment of the year: The winner here is Shane Warne’s George W. Bush-worthy gaffe, wherein he accidentally sent a dirty SMS to his wife which, quite remarkably, was addressed to someone else. Honestly, that guy’s got one thick head. It’s a miracle he actually knew which side of the pitch to bowl to, with a brain like that.
Colourful character of the year: Santhakumaran Sreesanth, how ridiculous art thou? The bat-swinging in Andre Nel’s face (Nel, incidentally, was another strong candidate for this award) last year was adorable, but Sreesanth's incredibly wayward bowling on the England tour, his riveting altercations with Andrew Symonds, his moments of infamy like the one where he tried to unsportingly run Symonds out and his astoundingly intelligent interviews have made him one of the most polarizing cricketers in the world, and also THE cricketing character of the year. Move over Shane Warne, your successor is here.
Debutant of the year: Mitchell Johnson may not have had quite such an eventful Test debut, but he’s shaping up to be a darn good bowler in all forms of the game and there was no other significant debut all year, so an automatic choice, really.
Let-down of the year: Brian Lara’s failures in the ICL, the rebel 20-20 league floated by Kapil Dev and Co may not have tarnished his legacy all that much, considering the very small number of people who took the ICL seriously, but his decidedly sub-par performances were still quite depressing. After all the hoopla surrounding the ICL’s very expensive signing of the legendary Trinidadian, Lara disappointed spectacularly, barely reaching double figures in any innings. A joke went around that Lara’s runs were some of the most expensive in history, what with his paltry 31 runs through the tournament fetching him a reported 1 million dollars. I’m sure Lara wouldn’t be amused.
Quote of the year: The quote I have selected is not particularly witty or humourous, but its emotional appeal, specially for Indian cricket fans, make it one of the most memorable quotes of the decade. Here's Mahendra Singh Dhoni on seeing the tumultuous response given to his World Cup-winning team in Mumbai:
"We are told that Mumbai is a city which is always on the move. See, me and my boys have brought the entire city to a standstill today."
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