Sherlock

If the commercialism, crudity and the generally botched up characters in Hollywood’s latest Sherlock Holmes movies is putting you off, look no further than 2010′s 3-episode BBC series, aptly titled Sherlock. In an astute mix of the original stories and new writing, the series takes liberties but adheres to the main characters’ details making them easily identifiable and even respectable. Made with the elegance required of its lead character, the series exudes the crew’s love for the character, and the actors’ understanding of theirs. With Season 2 ready for broadcast on 1st Jan 2012 (just 3 episodes again), this is as good a time as any to indulge in this well-made series if you have not watched it already.

Sherlock is set in present day London. Dr John Watson is introduced to Sherlock Holmes, a self-styled Consulting Detective who an officer turns to when he is stuck on a case. Since both were looking for room-mates, Holmes & Watson move into 221N Baker Street together. Dr Watson’s qualification and past experience as an Army Doctor come handy for Sherlock Holmes, who uses heightened observation and deduction skills to identify clues and solve crimes. Together, the duo works to solve cases, establish a reputation with the British police and develop a bond of friendship. But Holmes’ isn’t aware that, matching his skill and fascination with mysteries, he’ll eventually have to face-off with a person who will become his arch-enemy – Moriarty.

The series stars Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock Holmes and Martin Freeman as Dr John Watson. In casting these two actors, the production succeeds in realizing most of what it achieves. Cumberbatch plays the detective as a young and arrogant genius – his youth easily accentuating his arrogance. His lean figure, height and deep voice lend to the personality splendidly, making him an attractive figure, yet one easy for other characters to dislike for his ability to overshadow them. Dr Watson, though mildly annoyed by this at times, admires this about Holmes. As the soft-spoken, passive character playing second fiddle to the lead, Freeman plays the everyman – a character that the audience will identify with. Though his character is not as charismatic as the detective’s, Freeman’s performance is at par to that of Cumberbatch, perfectly balancing the multiple requirements of bringing normalcy and humor to the narrative.

By having the series set in the present day, the production gives the characters and stories the fresh feel that was much needed. It also gives the writers a shot at being creative, something they take full advantage of. The episodes are, therefore, as loyal to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories as they are defiant. Stories are adapted from the classics, so “A Study In Scarlett” becomes “A Study in Pink”, while the other two episodes are a combination of a few of the original stories. Tailored for the present day with vigor, the episodes are full of energy and efficiency, matching Sherlock Holmes’ mind-process. Holmes uses text messages and the internet while Dr Watson is a blogger! Even the magnifying glass used by Sherlock Holmes is a modern contraption, while what he does for the traditional pipe-smoking is to be seen. Going by modern day behavior, the characters even address each other by their first names: John instead of Dr Watson; and Sherlock instead of Holmes (hence the title of the Series).

The biggest advantage to the series, making it one of the most accessible good TV series is its limited 3-episode season, each episode running for 90 minutes. This gives the episodes enough time to invest in the mystery, focus on Holmes’ detective work as well as character development. The stories are neither half-baked, nor do they span multiple episodes with cliff-hangers making the series’ format simply perfect. For those not native to the English language and/or English accent, I highly recommend watching the episodes with subtitles – the pace of Sherlock Holmes’ thought process reflects in his lines, and you may not want to miss the details.

The Messenger

The Messenger treads a noteworthy path. It is a slice-of-life film, focusing on essentially three characters in everyday America, yet is about a lot more than it shows. It brings a global conflict to our doorstep and down to a personal level. Although it is about grief, the movie is not heavy-laden with the emotion itself. This becomes the movie’s biggest accomplishment.

Will Montgomery (Ben Foster) has three months left in active duty after mostly recovering from an injury on-field in Iraq. To complete service, he is assigned to the army’s Casualty Notification Service under seasoned notifier Capt. Tony Stone (Woody Harrelson). Stone follows the rule-book: arrive at the next-of-kin’s as soon as news of the soldier’s death is received; inform the family in a rehearsed precise and concise manner; leave. No compassion or explanation is to be offered. While Montgomery initially follows the rule book, his experiences with heartbroken parents and spouses eventually move him to be benevolent. He eventually befriends a grieving widow, taking it to the point of a budding romantic relationship.

The characters of Montgomery and Stone are interestingly different. While Montgomery has seen combat up-close and is even a decorated war-hero, Stone never went to the war zone. Yet, it is Stone who takes on an apathetic mannerism in his somber work, while Montgomery sees a need for compassion. What they do share is loneliness. The Messenger looks at these two people intimately, preferring to explore the sorrow and solitude of these two characters instead of the grieving relatives that they bring tragic news to. Montgomery’s pre-service girlfriend (Jena Malone) did not wait for him, and is getting married. She does not want Montgomery to attend. Stone is a recovering alcoholic. So while Montgomery finds comfort in the company of an army widow (Samantha Morton), Stone finds comfort in the company his new aide. In one powerful scene, Montgomery narrates to Stone the incident that got him his medal. Afterward when left alone in the room, Stone breaks down crying in what becomes the crescendo of a wonderful and heartfelt performance by Harrelson. Samantha Morton’s widow character goes through her period of doubt and uncertainty, unsure of the possibility of a relationship with Montgomery. Ben Foster, in a restrained seething performance himself portrays Montgomery as a suffering hero. By concentrating on such intimate characters, director Moverman enlightens the plight of the veiled victims of war — the survivors, soldiers and civilians alike.

Do not look for melodramatic exposition here, there is none. The Messenger is a war movie that does not show us a war, or its horrors. It instead shows the perceptive effect of death and loss on the loved ones, the detachment that awaits returning soldiers and the sense of worthlessness in soldiers who did not fight. It brings the futility of war to its endpoint.

The Limits of Control

Jim Jarmusch is an original. As critics and audiences celebrate Inglourious Basterds, Limits of Control is the year 2009′s genuine swansong to film culture; most subversively, it is a fuck-you to blockbuster cinema and quirky American indies from a maverick independent filmmaker in complete command of his craft and technique. Limits of Control seeks to study the nature of existence through the eyes of a hero (that rarely speaks), but the film is not taxed with ponderous philosophizing. Although Jarmusch has always been interested in big ideas — ideas about love, sex, death, reality; it is his idiosyncratic approach to these themes that protects and improves him as a innovator of cool and the new in cinema.

Working off an anti-psychological base for the story’s protagonist, called only Lone Man, the film uses a series of aphorisms which serve both as jokes and little haikus. Lone Man’s job is to kill people and he is on an unspecified mission in Spain. He drinks two espressos in separate glasses, does not like mobile phones and, despite the torments of his naked and luscious temptress, he will not have sex while he is working. Lone Man is driven by habits, a personal code and unique understanding of the world; he is the perfection of control, the rational man. This is an archetype that Jarmusch has continually explored in other films, most evidently Ghost Day: Way of the Samurai.

But Limits of Control breaks new ground for Jarmusch because it accords his favorite archetypal hero a major benefit: power over fate. There is a scene in the film when Lone Man meets a beautiful Japanese informant in a train (homage: Hitchcock; look for several more) and she warns him that “there are those that are not among us;” he replies, “I am among no one.” Another crucial scene features Lone Man breaking into a highly secured facility that is being run by the villain, a Donald Rumsfeld-esque boss called American (Bill Murray): no shots are fired, no fights take place, there is no lock-picking…Lone Man just appears in the boss’ bunker. When the exasperated American asks him “how the fuck did you get in?” he is simply told “I used my imagination.” And if you are able to use yours, then the exquisitely crafted Limits of Control can reward you infinitely. Maybe.

Where The Wild Things Are is a disappointment. This let down does not come from the fact that it’s based on a beloved children’s book that I’ve never read, but because it’s from the visionary director of quirky indie classics such as Adaptation and Being John Malkovich, two wonderful films filled with wit, energy and a distinguished zaniness.

The setup here is fairly simplistic, almost pedantic. Lonely Max is upset when his sister’s friends destroy his igloo. He reacts by trashing his sister’s room and much later, when his stressed out mother is spending some time with her boyfriend much to Max’s dismay, has an argument with her and runs away. His escapade takes him to a faraway, remote land, across sprawling seas, inhabited by giant, furry, teddy bear like creatures (the Wild Things of the title) that he befriends and eventually rules over as their king.

The movie is too complex for children – each of the Wild things are either meant to be representative of Max’s diverse personality and psyche, from the always playful, temperamental Carol to the attention seeking, lonely Alexander, or members of his family. This fact will certainly be lost on the children in attendance making them scratch their heads, and in all likelihood, quickly lose interest. For adults, other than those who have possibly read the book, I can’t seem to find any compelling reason to actually sit through the film. There is very little drama that unfolds. The entire film essentially presents the tired adage of ‘boys will be boys’ in filmic form but with very little to hang on to. The bipolar script oscillates between moody sadness or, at times, viscerally fearful (a frantic forest chase might be too frightening for the little ones), but it’s all very little to really hold your attention onto for too long. This is a neurotic fairy tale for the modern, post angst, dysfunctional family and it made me crave for the more simplistic innocence of films such as Coraline.

To give credit where credit is due, the creature effects, marvellously rendered on screen using a mix of CGI and the unmistakable puppetry of Jim Henson’s creature shop are top notch. Every Wild Thing has a uniquely identifiable personality, from their gait to the fabulous voice work by the actors under costume (James Gandolfini, Chris Cooper and Forest Whitaker being the most instantly recognizable). The pensive, dreamy aura throughout the film also owes a lot to the folksy, mystical musical sound of Karen O (of the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs) and together this gives the film a unique atmosphere. Still, at the end, you are left asking if not only was the film worth watching, but whether it deserved to be made in the first place, considering the source material was essentially a picture book with very little in the way of actual dialogues. By that measure the adaptation is also more visual, but perhaps too stretched out to justify its own existence.

With a misleading narrative, The Informant! serves up a seriocomic, tragic look at one man’s endeavour to bring down the organization he suspected of price fixing. Mark Whitacre, skilfully played with tongue in cheek absurdity by Matt Damon, was a self delusional, self contradicting, wealth obsessed, executive at Archer Daniels Midland, a large agricultural products enterprise that was involved in the international price-fixing of lysine, an important component of the agriculture business. The film is less an exposé on criminal practices at the workplace and more a satire of both the paranoia genre of the 70’s and countless legal thrillers.

With Steven Soderbergh’s quite, unassuming presence behind the scenes as director and cinematographer, The Informant! is neither sensationalized nor grounded entirely in reality (though it is based on a true story). The first person internal monologues, where Whitacre talks to himself throughout the film about his mundane observations and reflections on life, may make you chuckle at first but you sense, hidden beneath, an undercurrent of contemporary corporate menace and a fight against personal demons, which slowly reveals itself by the third act. The film falters in sustaining viewer interest during this last leg however, because it becomes less interested in keeping up with its fly on the wall approach and delves deeper into the legal battle between Whitacre, ADM and the FBI, for whom Whitacre turned whistle blower. As the film dabbles in details it becomes difficult to keep up with who’s suing who for what. Because this is not meant to be a thriller in the conventional sense (ala The Insider), the silly ludicrousness that worked in favour of the film starts to make all the more sense by this point, where it almost feels necessary.

While this is nothing more than Soderbergh’s return to his Erin Brockovich style of storytelling, it is inventive because he mixes this up with the whimsy he perfected so well in his Ocean’s trilogy bringing the film into the Coen Brother’s territory. You get the distinct feeling that everyone is having far too much fun, especially Damon, who’s wink wink, nudge nudge mannerism carries the entire film on his plump, slouched shoulders (the actor gained considerable weight for the role). Though slight entertainment, The Informant! nevertheless continues Soderbergh’s distinctly different, iconoclastic approach to filmmaking.

There is a distinct difference in how Romantic-Comedies are interpreted by filmmakers and audiences in Hollywood and Bollywood. While American movies tend to be Romantic movies with a measure of comedy thrown in, contemporary Bollywood makes them primarily as musical comedies with a love-story theme. While Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani is firmly set in present-day Bollywood mannerism, Rajkumar Santoshi’s inspiration is classical Bollywood. This lends the film a distinct adorable flavor that many modern comedies lack.

Prem Shankar Sharma (Ranbir Kapoor) is the president of Happy Club, a rag-tag association formed by a handful of unemployed youngsters that operates out of a coffin shop. While they mostly indulge in harmless mischief, they occasionally help unite separated lovers. When Jenny (Katrina Kaif) and her family move into their small town, Prem falls in love, Jenny is sent to Goa, Rahul (Upen Patel) defies his father (Govind Namdeo) who just wants to win the elections and Sajid Don (Zakir Hussain) just wants some money, and probably respect.

Rajkumar Santoshi is well-known for his excellence in action and drama (Ghayal, Chinagate, Khakhee, Damini). The one goof-ball comedy he did make, the iconic Andaz Apna Apna, gave us an idea of the kind of humor he is capable of executing. Ajab Prem Ki Ghazab Kahani is populated with equally wacky moments of fun that make the movie an effective comedy. Nevertheless, Santoshi lays the comedy on a simple-love story. In the tradition of romantic comedies from the 60s, ala Tere Ghar Ke Samne, Pyar Kiye Ja and Kashmir Ki Kali, the story spends several emotional moments with the leads that adds depth to the movie, giving it a charming resonance. However, with his last few movies not cashing in at the box-office, Santoshi (perhaps at the behest of his producers) undoes some of the good work by going for commercialism. Thus, the movie falters in pacing. There are instances when the obvious is overplayed – spending too much time either in exposition or in observance, including two cliché scenes that remain a la mode in Bollywood.

A big triumph of the movie is its lead actor Ranbir Kapoor. This stalwart prodigy from the Kapoor clan brings in the charisma of a star, combines it with a wonderful chemistry with leading lady Katrina Kaif, and packs it up with fantastic comic timing. Like his grandfather, father and their brothers, Ranbir Kapoor has his own charming style that makes him instantly likeable. Paired opposite him, Katrina Kaif finally delivers what can be called a performance. Santoshi maneuvers her vulnerable beauty, guiding her with a deft hand through a role that she makes her own. Darshan Jariwala, the erstwhile Gujrati theatre actor turns in a fine comic performance as Prem’s father, reminiscent of the two fathers from Andaz Apna Apna. Pritam’s triumphant soundtrack, especially “Tera Hone Laga Hoon”, enhances the required musical quota to an enjoyable indulgence.

After a dozen movies, eight of which have won him numerous awards, Santoshi has given us a movie that aims to serve the single purpose to entertain. That it mostly does so, and with his known ludicrous style, is a welcome achievement. That it misses out in some ways is unfortunate. Although not touching the ridiculous height of Andaz Apna Apna, it is nevertheless a worthy companion for the “Rajkumar Santoshi Comedy” label.

Wake Up Sid
Ayan Mukerji | India | 2009
138 min

Wake Up Sid, the latest movie from Karan Johar‘s camp by yet another debutant director, has been strongly marketed as a movie for the present day youth, the slacker generation that refuses to grow up. Unfortunately, the director comes from the same culture as his target audience, and lacks the maturity and wisdom that this movie requires in its telling. This failure turns a fantastic opportunity into a dismal melodrama heavily layered in saccharine, making it a movie that is more a generation’s dream than a wakeup call.

Sid (Ranbir Kapoor) is a shallow rich kid, living on the surface of an easy life, fare from any form of responsibility and reality. He lives his life of cartoons, friends, parties and gadgets. Even when reality does hit him, he refuses to face his failings, choosing arrogant denial over humility. But when separated from his luxuries, he discovers his shortcomings. But does he learn the lessons of responsible living?

In this two-act story, first time director Ayan Mukherji sets up the premise quite well. Probably belonging to the same stratum of life, he understands the nuances of privileged upper class living and the dilemma that its youth is ignorant to. He fails miserably though in the second act, which becomes a fantasy of easy opportunities and even easier fulfillments. Satisfying Karan Johar’s staple offerings of heavy-handed sentimentality as well as a paradise-like pseudo-reality, Wake Up Sid is a shallow product in the guise of smart contemporary filmmaking. It may be pleasant and easy to admire on the surface, but a bit of consideration uncovers how flimsy and filmy it is.

In a predictable casting that does half the job for him, Ranbir Kapoor, as the eponymous Sid, is the only reason that this movie is not a complete failure. Although a simple performance, he fittingly represents a section of the urban youth culture. He manages to make Sid identifiable and, therefore, somewhat likeable despite his flaws. Konkona Sen Sharma, on the other hand, replays an oft repeated performance that has now become her identified slot. Unfortunately, this merely reduces her credibility as an actor, something she should have been conscious of a few movies ago. Rahul Khanna, though, is already a lost cause. He has now made a career out of doing cameos as a loser, one who never gets the girl, that it’s now become a cliché.

With a dismal soundtrack, mostly poor performances and a naive story, it’s a wonder Wake Up Sid is not called Sid’s Dream. For now, Akshaye Khanna (from Dil Chahta Hai) continues to hold claim to the more memorable character named Sid.

Wanted

Well before the release of Wanted, the movie’s strong and evenly loud promotions made it abundantly clear what to expect from it — action bent towards exaggeration and characters that are wild caricatures. In this, the movie does not disappoint. For those averse to its lead star, Salman Khan, or “Bollywood Masala” movies, Wanted can be punishing. Fans can rejoice though, as Salman Khan possibly delivers the most heroic performance of his career yet, molded firmly within escapist cinema.

The story is next to negligible. Radhe (Salman Khan), a hitman-for-hire, quickly makes a name and rises through the gang-ranks of underworld Mumbai. When a war erupts between rival gangs, Radhe drops loyalties and walks his own path – one that leaves behind a trail of blood, bodies and bullets.

Wanted marks actor-choreographer-director Prabhu Deva’s directorial venture into Bollywood. For this, he chose to remake his own Tamil-language superhit movie, Pokkiri. In doing so, he brought with him a tried and tested script and all the machinations of a mainstream production that had previously worked. Adapting it to the sensibilities of North-Indian cinema’s audience could not have been too difficult — Wanted plays through and through like a contemporary formula movie. It has the required quota of star-power, song-and-dance sequences that have been shot overseas, the right amount and range of humor (subtle to crass), a glamorous female lead, and very importantly, an interesting villain. Not much time is wasted in melodrama or establishing back-stories. Instead, Prabhu Deva gives a scene-to-scene movie that is only interested with moving forward. His intentions with the movie are made ample clear within the first few scenes – Salman Khan’s Radhe faces a score of goons in a warehouse. As he single-handedly bashes them up while the head-goon scampers like a mouse, Prabhu Deva uses freeze-frame, wire-stunts and CGI to make the violence deliberately unrealistic and cinematic, and in some occasions, humorous. The rules of the movie have been set – align your beliefs, or you might just as well walk out.

The staying power is primarily what Salman Khan brings to the movie. Arguably, the biggest “star” in Bollywood today, he carries the movie on his well-built shoulders on the basis of his charm and charisma – something he exudes in this movie without his regular garb of designer labels or spit-shine grooming. In his trademark style, Salman Khan delivers one-liners that pack as much a punch as his physical comedy. Wanted is also Salman Khan’s first action movie in over a decade, yet he eases into the role quite well, credit for which should also be shared with Prabhu Deva and his co-star, south indian veteran Prakash Raj. Portraying the main villain, National-award winner Prakash Raj’s spectacular Bollywood major-role debut as the colorful and quirky Ghani Bhai comes as a splash of cold water on the score of bland villains that Bollywood mostly burdens us with. Ghani Bhai is, as he calls himself, an “International Don” and lives as one who likes a good laugh. This doesn’t make him any less fearsome, just one who is wonderfully entertaining to watch. Prakash Raj uses wacky and exaggerated expressions for his villainous role, further steeping the movie into escapist entertainment.

Being possibly the most well-known dancer in India, Prabhu Deva does not disappoint his fans or the expectations his name sets by populating the movie with enough fast-choreographed numbers to whet anybody’s appetite. He also makes a cameo (to loud applause) along with Govinda and Anil Kapoor in a song early on in the movie, as they accompany Salman Khan and numerous back-up dancers for an elaborate routine. As a director, he enriches the movie with ample varied flavors to appeal to the Indian movie audience. In doing so, he invariably alienates those looking for sophisticated or meaningful cinema. But to be fair to Prabhu Deva and his movie, he’s not looking to please them anyway.

This film should not be taken seriously. How could it be taken seriously when its director is Quentin Tarantino whose reputation as a post-modern filmmaker or ‘film DJ’ is now fully entrenched in the public consciousness? Inglourious Basterds is the sixth film from this American auteur and it is polarizing: some think it is his best film after Pulp Fiction, while others declare it to be his worst — the bestowing of such labels is normal routine when discussing Tarantino who, undoubtedly, relishes fervent debate in his name. And to define this filmmaker’s movies as self-reflexive and indulgent would also be missing the point because it is Tarantino’s intention to be self-reflexive and indulgent. He loves cinema but clearly loves the attention he gets even more. (See? After six sentences we have yet to talk about the movie itself — QT, you’re a fox, yo!)

Inglourious Basterds opens with the title card “Once Upon a Time,” signaling a fantasy (every Tarantino film can be said to be a fantasy, title card or none.) The story takes place in France in the early 40s, during WW2, as Hitler commissions Nazis to seek out Jews and inflict, what’s the word, genocide on them. The man in charge of the job is Gestapo Col. Hans Landa, played by Christopher Waltz who is extremely delightful. With Waltz playing the devil (or his minion, Hitler being the undisputable Satan personified), Tarantino is able to showcase his formidable talent at writing dialog, creating entire scenes out of mere conversations about milk, cheese, rats or Jews as rats. But remember, folks: Tarantino is a film DJ, so it only fair that Waltz’s Col. Landa is not an original creation — look at Inspecteur Jean Lavardin in Chabrol’s Cop Au Vin or the Superintendant in Melville’s Le Samourai to understand his origins. Tarantino has watched many movies and he has paid attention to them. The average movie viewer will be none the wiser; still, wasn’t it Jim Jarmusch who said “Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere”?

Inglourious Basterds has structural problems, but it is a perfectly amusing little romp in visual eye-candy: Tarantino turns the wheels of mise-en-scene, effortlessly moving the camera to breathe life into what is essentially “chapters” of people talking each other to death. And this being a ‘Quentin Tarantino film,’ there is also an eclectic international celebrity cast which includes Brad Pitt as Lt. Aldo Raine, the hillbilly leader of a group of Jewish-American soldiers called the Basterds whose mission is to kill and scalp Nazis. Pitt, who is not a great actor, is actually surprisingly effective as a caricature and provides genuine laughs.

When all is said and done at the end of Inglourious Basterds, world history will be rewritten in the halls of a burning cinema, as Tarantino channels his inner voice into Pitt’s Lt. Aldo Raine who proudly proclaims to the audience, “This might just be my masterpiece.” After such shameless grandstanding, does our opinion of Mr. Tarantino or his new movie even matter?

For those familiar with Franz Kafka’s disturbing and ironic book Metamorphosis, District 9 — with its cheap literary homage and ridiculously overstated Apartheid metaphor — will come as a bad joke. Like the poor hero of Metamorphosis, the protagonist in District 9 also slowly turns into a cockroach although the film is quick to dismiss a direct comparison by saying he is a “prawn.” (Hey, if it looks like a cockroach, it must be a cockroach.) But any kinship (implied or otherwise) with Kafka’s literary masterpiece must come to an embarrassing end with Wikus Van De Merwe, the film’s hero, who is a blathering self-serving buffoon that the sophisticated viewer will not be able to tolerate, let alone pity. Such is the film’s dire need for catharsis that when Wikus’ transformation into a “prawn” is complete, director Neill Blomkamp has to literally employ imagery of the florid kind; and those easily persuaded are the same ones calling this closing shot “heartbreaking; moved me to tears.”

District 9 is about aliens trapped in the squalor of refugee camps in Johannesburg. Ignored by society they become miscreants (why? naturally of course!), and a South African government agency decides to move to them to even worse accommodations (why? because, pay attention now: people, even the blacks who were oppressed by the whites, are racist — see! what originality! what a complex moral paradox! what a masterpiece!).

Wikus is the man entrusted to boot the aliens out of the eponymous District 9, but tragedy befalls him when he is infected and starts to physically become one of them! Now Wikus will learn to live like the aliens and understand their suffering. And since this is a thinly disguised Hollywood blockbuster, of course Wikus will go through denial before becoming the aliens’ unlikely ally and leader, blasting away human heads into flying bits of meat. Rejoice, prawn, for thy savior is born!