Fandry: Expression of Deep Distress

Praveen Lulekar

The first chunk of Yellow is a fine example of what technology can do to story-telling. Craftily edited flashbacks tell you the story of tension mounted in a husband-wife after they discover that their daughter, their only child, is suffering with Down syndrome. Close camera movements, echoing sync-sound and intense portrayal by the actors (Mrunal Kulkarni – Manoj Joshi) make sure that you are interested in the proceedings in the first fifteen minutes. In what follows for the next two hours, Yellow becomes an inspiring tale of Gauri, the special child, and all its characters.

Directed by ace cinematographer Mahesh Limaye, Yellow is a fine example of films that gel technology beautifully with the technique of storytelling.  Yes, it comes out in chunks – the aforementioned context setting, the separation of the couple, the insecurities of the mother and the fight of Gauri to become a national swimming champion. But what works is that they come in a natural flow – thanks to the quirky dialogues, the refreshing taking of scenes and the actors executing it with solid conviction. Like the screenplay, even the characters tend to have monotony - Kulkarni as the vulnerable mother, Joshi as the anguished father, Hrishikesh Joshi as the funny, god-fearing mama (maternal uncle) and Upendra Limaye as the stern swimming coach. But monotony is not always a taboo, especially if you have such skilled actors. They maturely do the job of extracting nuances out of the moulds they are given.

The most touching part is however Gauri Gadgil and Sanjana Rai as the grown-up and the younger Gauri respectively. Rai’s innocence and Gadgil’s perseverance, that are real (the story is inspired from Gadgil’s actual story), stand out making them really special. The writers - Ambar Hadap and Ganesh Pandit, do not want us to sympathise with the character. So they tweak Gauri to make her a brat who, along with her mama, becomes a nuisance for the neighbourhood and in-turn makes us love her for her character. The script also ensures that Yellow does not remain only Gauri’s story. It is as much about her mother, about the coach and also about her father. Limaye makes most of the portions where he is required to break his inhibitions to train a special child.

Yellow is also a sports film. The director ensures that the cinematographer in him plays an important role here. The swimming sequences are exquisitely shot with close shots keeping you hooked with each detail. You will also learn about the Butterfly Stroke and Hypoxia, swimming techniques that are woven intrinsically in the storyline. The commentaries get a tad loud, but they explain the game to an audience quite possibly ignorant of the sport.

Looked from a classic critic’s viewpoint, Yellow might seem like a commercial film that gives you a ‘happy ending’ feeling, which is often elusive in real life. While you get inspired and cheer for Gauri in the end, do not forget the open ends of the story. A special child in Gauri’s school loses his grandmother, his only relative; Gauri’s repenting father never dares to return to his family. We often invoke our so-called social sensitivity by watching a rare Taare Zameen Par. These open ends in Yellow remind us that there are still a lot of open wounds.

 m4m says: A Must Watch

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Dhag: Heart and Honesty

Praveen Lulekar

A story can be narrated in a number of ways. Most familiar among them – implied and direct. What we saw a few weeks ago, in Fandry, was a film that told everything quietly, through its camera angles, the silence between characters and a host of symbolisms. What we see in Dhag is a simplistic narrative that tells everything in detail, explicitly. It is the classic form of story-telling where there is a space for every aspect of the story, in fact, story is its mainstay. As a viewer, the most important factor is that it affects you by hitting at the right places.

Dhag is the story of the Masne family that is, by caste, in-charge of the cremations in the village. Each member stands for an alternate approach of looking towards the paradoxical profession. The head Shirpa (Upendra Limaye) has accepted it but is suffering silently. He has developed his own philosophy of not being scared of death now, but of life. His suppressed agony incarnates full-fledge in his school going son Kishnya (Hansraj Jagtap), who is openly critical of the work. The mother Yashoda (Usha Jadhav) is practical about it – she is too busy in household chores to burn in philosophy, but plans to educate her children and drift away from the profession in future. But unlike the son, she is not in a hurry .Lastly, the pious grandmother (Suhasini  Deshpande) considers the work holy and silences any rebel with the fear of a shaap (curse).

The beauty of the story is that none of the view is ‘the’ truth. Everyone is correct with respect to their age and beliefs, but that puts them in contradiction with each other. What emerges prominently among these tussles is that between the father and the son. It is portrayed brilliantly with the son’s outbursts and the father’s silence. The writers (Shivaji Patil, Nitin Dixit) show maturity when they do not make the boy’s anguish arbitrary. It is backed by events, and the dialogues capture a child’s mentality perfectly when he repeats those very words which were used to abuse him. Dialogues also play a role in the thematic integrity when even the proverbs are relevant to the profession. Tula mautilaa bolawala hota, tu baravyala yetoes (I had called you for the cremation, you’re coming on the twelfth ritual day), Yashoda says to her son when he is late to get the milk.

The irony of earning a living off the dead is the central thought of the story. It protrudes time and again through the content – a song kunaache saran, kunaache maran,kunachi bhakar,  for example, is written exceptionally well (lyrics – Shiv Kadam). The background music (Sunil Kaushik) might be over the top for lovers of subtlety. But the overall mood of the film allows a space for it.

The treatment also hides the technical rawness for a first time watcher. The camera work, to say the least, is basic. But there is logic in it to raise the complete picture inclusive of the surroundings. Actors interacting in the background while blurred hens eat grains in the fore gives you feel of the village life. There are no fancy scene transitions; gloomy lighting might also be a problem to a casual viewer.

The heart and the honesty of the film is its strength. It is brought out precisely by the actors. Limaye, in particular, has lived the character through mannerisms more than anything else. You will remember each of them for their ease. Child artist Jagtap also deserves a special mention for his consistent and memorable character. It is through him that we see and feel the film. Dhag is story-telling that we have grown up watching. Don’t miss this!     

m4m says: A Must Watch

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Coffee Ani Barach Kahi: Simplicity and Charm

Praveen Lulekar

Finally they get it right! Marathi films have been struggling with this so-called genre of romantic films for almost two years now. They tried the costumes of the 70s, cheesy dialogues, slowmo songs, long pallus, transparent shirts, bizarre interpretations of the complexities of youth …nothing worked. The primary and the most prominent reason was that they were aping. Duniyadari, Pyarwali Love Story, Ishq Wala Love, Bavare Prem He, Mitwa…all lacked a soul. They were mixing and matching the same old elements.

Coffee Ani Barach Kahi comes with a refreshing originality. It is a non-fussy, non-flowery tale of love which would make you smile through its simple observations and delicate punches. It understands youth with its messiness and confusion. Most importantly, it does not glorify this. Just smiles wryly at it!

Jaai (Prarthana Behre) is one day, rather awkwardly, told by her parents that a boy will be coming to ‘see’ her for marriage prospects. In a cafe, Nishad (Vaibbhav Tattwawdi) is waiting for her with red roses and a rehearsed proposal. Enter Anish (Bhushan Pradhan) and he senses the anguish in Jaai. Once he asks ‘who’s the guy?’, Jaai narrates to him a cliché but very warm love story.

The crux of the story is in its characters. Jaai is a typical dreamy girl who is probably in love with the concept of love. She expects grand proposals, romantic dates and all the strings attached. Nishaad, on the other hand, is an introvert, shy guy. He is too subtle for all these things. Both know they love each other. But who will say it first, remains the purpose of the story.

All this might sound very pink. Fortunately, it is not. Jaai is self-aware and knows her romantic ideas are rather stupid. She is in the baffling state of being where you know your problems but just unable to overcome them. Behre portrays the character with a lot of spontaneity. Her awkward shyness with Nishaad, her frankness with Anish...she imbibes all of it naturally in the character.

The under-spoken Nishaad is trapped in his quiet nature and a need to express. His emotional problems are underlined by the fact that he does not have a mother. But this is never told yelling from the roof top. The character does not beg for pity. Tattwawdi emerges with absolute grip on the character. He finally gets a place where his talent is actually explored.

Nishaad is balanced by two wonderful supporting characters. His father (Avinash Narkar) and the coffee shop owner (Sandesh Kulkarni) are people to whom he opens up. Both the actors do a fantastic job. Kulkarni, especially, seems to be carrying the director Prakash Kunte’s own perspective. He is simultaneously sarcastic as well as sympathetic about the whole situation. All the other actors – Vidyadhar Joshi, Ashwini Ekbote, Suyash Tilak, Ila Bhatey – pitch in with good performances.

 The film can probably also be seen in the light of ‘what it could have been’ (critics!!). Many will see Jaai as a typecast girl. Her practical sister Abha’s (Neha Mahajan) character is supposed to balance that out. But the latter is not well-defined. Mahajan plays it with an air of mystery rather than clarity. Jaai’s naive nature also spurs from the fact that she’s tad younger than Nishaad. She’s referred to as the ‘new recruit’ while Nishaad is the Team Leader in an IT company. This is intended but does not come through.

Yet, the film charms with its soft taking. The story structure and narration are very simple and keep you engaged. This is complemented by timely background music. Also, the film successfully captures nuances of urban life. The kandepohe, the futile discussions on Iraq and Syria, the effortful ‘liberalism’ of the girls’ parents...everything will tickle you. This is a film you will relate to. It entertains through a story, not rhyming dialogues and item numbers.

m4m says: One time Watch

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Duniyadari: A Mix of Flavours

Praveen Lulekar

Many of us learn the way of the world…the Duniyadari in that age of romanticism, transition and spontaneity. The shell we lived in all these years is broken, the board exams are history and we are exposed t a new world – college. But college is just a platform. The real teacher is a (failed!) love affair. Eminent writer Suhas Shirvalkar’s novel captured all these emotions back in the ‘80s with a deep understanding of the human nature. Sanjay Jadhav’s film misses the essence by overooking the strength of any good novel – detailing.

Shreyas Talwalkar (Swwapnil Joshi) enters Pune’s SP College and becomes a member of the rowdy Katta Gang after a filmy raadaa. An introvert by nature, Shreyas is an odd man among these taporis. The character comes with a weight of unhappy parents and finds himself breaking free in the company of Digya (Ankush Chaudhari). Not only are the scenes capturing this transformation clumsy, but Joshi’s character graph also slips slightly in this process. Dialogues like ‘Pehli Cigarette, Pehla Mitra’ extract claps but the relief of Shreyas, venting out his hesitations with the smoke, is never felt. His complicated backdrop is conveyed in an over the top scene with the unnecessarily arrogant Varsha Usgaonkar (as Shreyas’ mother) playing Piano while her husband (Uday Tikekar) is scolding their son.

It is difficult to pin-point the culprit here. It is a combination of average screen-writing and un-detailed direction. Luckily Jadhav is the man involved in both. The approach he takes for the film is that of a masala of the ‘80s where his lead men are Jigri friends that swear over their friendship every now and then and his lead couple’s kiss is shown by the lady’s hands holding the man’s hair tightly. Costumes are the only element that convey the period and even that gets too organised on occasions. The second lead lady (Urmila Kanetkar) always has a flower pinned at her ear and its petals refuse to flutter. Shreyas is always wearing a sleeve-less sweater and Digya’s appearance is modelled after Sholay’s Bachchcan for the whole film.

The most pleasant surprise of the film is Sai Tamhankar. The character, among changing sub-plots arranged lousily, comes out with immaculate consistency. Her dialogues like ‘tula cadbury haatat astana hi biscuit sodwat nahi’ speak more about Shreyas’ character than Shreyas himself. Though with effort, Tamahnkar effectively portrays an extremely complex character. Jitendra Joshi does his job effortlessly in the negative character of Sai. His tongue moistening his lips captures his evil moods precisely. His cynical act also comes with a definite control. The film is for and of Swwapnil Joshi. But in an attempt to make him an Anand, the writers have missed the nuances of his character.

What works throughout is the beautiful story by Shirvalkar that keeps you engaged with intelligent twists. The irrational behaviour of lovers, the meaningless pursuits of college youth have the gravity of consequences that truly teach Duniyadari to its characters. It is Sandeep Kulkarni’s two-scene cameo that has that feel. Some crafty editing also lends its weight when all the ladies flash in front of Shreyas’ eyes after hearing his mother’s story. The rest of the film brings about the colours, the hair-styles, the bell-bottoms, the Royal Enfields on screen, but not the feel. A college group would definitely enjoy it, but a fan of the novel – doubtful.

m4m: Watch at your own risk     

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Astu: The Ephemeral Identity

Praveen Lulekar

Where does art meet reality? Where do the ends of our lives meet? Is there an ultimate truth? How deeply is individual identity weaved in the larger nothingness?

Astu is not a lesson in philosophy. It is a story that emerges from everyday reality, with all its minutes. It becomes a microcosm of our existence and transcends to become nothing...or everything – a sublime coherence with the universe.

Chakrapani Shastri (Dr. Mohan Agashe), a retired professor of oriental studies, is ailing with the Alzheimer’s disease. His daughter Ira (Irawati Harshe) loses him one day on a crowded street in Pune. Professor Shastri follows an elephant with a child’s curiosity. His family – Ira’s husband Madhav (Milind Soman) and another daughter Rahi (Devika Daftardar) search for him throughout the day, along with Ira. Flashbacks take us into the thicker plot of their lives.

The synopsis doesn’t say enough about the film, even the whole review won’t. Professor Shastri’s recitations from Sanskrit epics will probably do it. Explaining the Zen philosophy at one point he says – ‘Existence is only about the present. Probably there is such a possibility...when every thought retires, there is tranquillity.’ Explaining the larger thought of the film, a song says – ‘Who Am I? Where do I come from? ... I am universe, I am God. So be it...’

Sumitra Bhave and Sunil Sukathankar have their own brand of films. There is an honest submission to reality. Their characters, locations, situations – everything rise out of acute observations. And hence, there is identification with every detail. This reality meets art when there is transcendence.

With Astu, they are narrating a simple story of a man with Alzheimer’s. On a practical level, there are many perspectives to the story. An emotional, worldly Ira is the parallel protagonist who wants to take care of her father. There are limitations to this as she also carries the responsibilities of her family. Harshe, with miniscule diction problems, does an absolutely wonderful job. She reacts to every situation humanly – panics when Professor Shastri forgets his relation with Ira’s teenage daughter but stands adamant against admitting him in an asylum.

The viewpoints of the other two females – Raahi and Channama, the elephant owner’s wife (Amruta Subhash) are diametrically opposite. Raahi is a rationalist who believes her father is as good as dead since he is no longer the same person. To Channama, the professor is a holy man. He has forgotten the cosmetic and become her child. ‘He has become God,’ she says simply.

Beyond all this, the film is a peep into the longevity of identity. The director duo looks at the disease as a symbol of man becoming child again, his integration with the universe. Dr. Agashe captures every bit of this detail in the way he looks at an ant or in the indulgence when he recites verses from the Meghdoot or Mahabharat. His heartfelt call of Aai... would melt any warm feminine heart. Subhash’s expressions capture the essence of this melancholy every time.

 Bhave and Sukathankar tread on the thin line of romanticising the disease in the process of drawing philosophy out of it. But they never miss any harsh consequence of it. I could go on about how beautifully they use camera, how only natural sounds serve as background music...but Astu is beyond all that. It is an experience that makes you converse with yourself!

 m4m says: A must watch 

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