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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Anvatt: Elusive Fear

Praveen Lulekar

Some films are just directors’ experiments to explore something new. So the focus is on doing the basics right – appropriate camera angles true to the genre, contextual background music, getting minimal but exact expressions out of the actors etc. With Gajendra Ahire, you always expect something new. If he took you in an abstract zone with Postcard, Anvatt is his experiment about the basics of the supernatural genre.

Unfortunately, he misses out on creating the real drive of such films - scary moments.

Dr. Vinay (Adinath Kothare) and his wife Madhura (Urmila Kanetkar-Kothare) shift to a village in Konkan for a year. They decide to stay in an old vaada or bungalow there. Madhura, an archeologist, starts feeling presence of something unknown. Locals Sada Kamat (Makarand Anaspure) and Baijamma (Vibhavari Deshpande) back Madhura’s experiences with tales of a ghost. Vinay is reluctant to accept it. Whether this is supernatural or anything else is the mystery of the film.   

Supernatural/Mystery Thriller is a genre that has attracted many great directors. The perceived problem they create is to give a logical flow to their story; so even their spirits operate in a certain defined pattern. That is why, Ram Gopal Varma’s Bhoot remains underestimated as compared to Vikram Bhatt’s heroine eating a cat. Ahire’s aim in Anvatt is much complex – to play with the settings of the film.

The film relies on long, quiet sequences with Madhura roaming about – in the little jungle around and in the house. Something is constantly following her in the form of Ahire’s camera. In his trademark style, the director captures the wet, green and mysterious landscapes beautifully. Areas in the house, especially a dark staircase, are where fear resides. These are used optimally. But that doesn’t scare you because the bizarre is always restrained and explained. It is also difficult to remain interested because of the slow pace.

The background score (Amar Mohile) does a terrific job to cover this area. But the songs do not help. Ye re ghanaa... serves as a background but Tarun aahe raatr... is an absolute obstruction. It is placed at an instance when the fear is at a high point and the film gets close to gripping you.

So does that mean this is a bad film? – Difficult to decide. The film would be outright boring for those expecting a chill down their spine every now and then. On the story level, it definitely gets childish while explaining the whole mystery. But for someone like me, who thinks slowly and gets scared easily, this is fairly engaging. Relishing the picturesque locations is in itself a way to see the film.

The Kothare couple does a good job. Adinath is asked to underplay and he does well to raise a rational character. Urmila does the most important job – looking beautiful, which is important even from the story perspective. Her expressions are also well directed – the romantic, confused and scared woman emerges throughout. Anaspure has got the meatiest role. He again shows what he is capable of apart from comedy, but could have slightly dramatized to make it scary. Deshpande does brilliantly to make the proceedings mysterious. Kishore Kadam and Bhargavi Chirmule also appear in interesting cameos.

Go for Anvatt if you can savour all that is allied to fear. Fear itself is elusive in the film.

m4m says: One Time Watch 

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Dr. Prakash Baba Amte: A Representational Biography

Praveen Lulekar

Every generation has its heroes. And each group of followers follows two broad streams – those of revolution and of service. In the post-independence era, we have mostly been influenced by charismatic political leaders that adhered to the aggressive mode. Conservators of the second thought did what their ideology told them – serve the ignored. They never sought limelight and never spoke unless their work demanded them to.

The Amte family has been one such lineage of social servants. Dr. Prakash Baba Amte – The Real Hero is more a tribute, at most a representational biography of one of its member’s work. It honestly and effectively conveys the work of Dr. Prakash Amte and his wife Dr. Mandakini Amte. With more detailing and craft, this would have been a phenomenal film. 

The Amte couple shifted to Hemalkasa village (in Vidarbha, Maharashtra) in 1973 to serve the tribal community there. From building their own mud-house to manufacturing all the amenities for the hospital, they raised the set up on their own in the jungle. There were daunting tasks that were not limited to medical operations – winning the confidence of the tribal community, adjusting with their blind faiths, with Naxalism, fighting with illiteracy and the continuous disappointment by government machinery. They not only overcame this, but also achieved an all-round development of the area through the Lokbiradari Prakalp.

The film had the challenge to show this huge work that is spread across 40 years. It has chosen to use the flash-back mode to show the events. So the narration is not linear. A long episode about Naxalism is placed in the beginning and the film takes a while to hit the point. It then suddenly switched to the linear mode, where we see the story right from the arrival of the Amte couple in Hemalkasa. So the chapter-wise distribution is thrown away and we get into a narrative mode. Thanks to a smooth screenplay, this hiccup is not noticed. The film’s mood also remains uniformly calm.

The result is that, though a little clumsily, all the aspects of the Amtes’ life get covered. Director Samruddhi Porey chooses to focus on two major aspects – the difficulties in medical treatments and Dr. Prakash’s love for wild animals. Both the things come in aptly elaborative episodes. But when compared to Prakashvaata, Dr. Prakash’s memoir from which the film borrows abundantly, they remain representative. Though there is time constraint, a simpler formula would have been to choose the most intense episodes. The operation of a man attacked by a bear, for example, would have helped the film a lot.

Porey also inserts dramatisation, which seems to be the director’s view of looking at the film medium. Her initial shot of Dr. Prakash walking out of the water along with a superimposed tiger is a clear sign of her fascination for drama. Another example is the episode of Dr. Prakash deciding to wear only an inner vest comes after he sees a child shivering in cold. In the book, this comes as his practical decision so that the tribal people could identify with them. This somewhere harms the character. Dr. Prakash is simple, empathetic and soft, but he is not impractical. One thing the film finely conveys is that he is a man of action.

Porey also misses out on an opportunity to underline the work of the whole family through Dr. Prakash. The book details out the contributions of Dr. Vikas (Dr. Prakash’s elder brother) and Baba Amte in the work at Hemalkasa. There is a beautiful homogeneity, brought about by details, to the book that the film lacks a bit. Porey could have avoided the Naxal episodes and the love-story part to dedicate more time to these details.

Nonetheless, the film is informative and moving as an independent work of art. Nana Patekar and Sonali Kulkarni bring out the characters to life masterfully. Watch it to understand that selflessness is actually a human possibility. Even if following their example would mean a sacrifice we are incapable of, let us be humble towards what we have got.

m4m says: A must watch

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Baji: A forgettable Superhero

Neha Ghatpande

It was nice to sit in a theatre packed to its full capacity to watch a Marathi film. But that was a momentary pleasure. It was extremely disheartening to see the film drive audience to react harshly after a point. Well, Baji, the first Marathi superhero, has not only failed to impress but has also raised questions such as why are we making these kind of films and for whom?

I can go on and on about why Baji is a bad film but I would like to focus more  upon why Bajiremains to be a wasted opportunity. I say this because it had everything- a good budget, great cast and a talented filmmaker. Still, it fails on every ground.

The storyline is simple. It is set in a village named Shrirangpur that has a vigilante, a saviour named Baji. Now, Baji is not one particular person but a tradition of a family that is passed on to further generations. Chidvilas (Shreyas Talpade) a naïve village boy belongs to this family but lacks the instinct of a superhero. He is in love with his childhood friend Gauri (Amruta Khanvilkar). Everything is going hunky dory when suddenly Martand (Jitendra Joshi) realises that there is an ancient treasure buried in the village somewhere. He becomes greedy and starts torturing the villagers and digging up the entire village.

Well, well! Shrirangpur is in trouble and desperately waiting for Baji to come back and save them. If you ask me, I think Baji never arrived!

Three major aspects that mark Baji’s failure are its length - nearly three hours, its atrocious music and seriously bad writing. In an Indian context if you get these three aspects right, your film is a hit. Period!

There are seven songs in the film and it becomes painful to sit through the narrative due to these musical disturbances. The music by Atif Afzal definitely scores a big zero.

Moving on to Dialogues (written by Surhud Godbole) and the Screenplay (Nikhil Mahajan), they are absolutely pointless. It seems Indian filmmakers have this idea that if you throw lines like –‘Joaaplyaashi nadel, to narkat sadel’ – you will become cool and filthy rich. Mind you, it doesn’t work!

The dialogues are childish; the screenplay is drab and at one point becomes unexplainable. Except the rare comic scenes such as that of Baji explaining a drunkard why he shouldn’t drink. These work thanks to Shreyas’s comic timing. Mahajan has got his characters in place but with the proceedings, they just lose their identity and start reacting unnaturally. Martand’s villainous character turns extremely dark as the film progresses. Grave violence is used to make the narrative impactful but one keeps wondering about how unnecessary it is.

Also, Shreyas plays three characters in this film namely the ancient Baji, the naïve Chidvilas and the lookalike Akash who then becomes Baji. In all of his roles, he plays Chidvilas the best as it demands comic timing, which he is definitely good at. Both Jintendra and Shreyas have worked really hard to get their bodies in shape but the poor writing does not back them. Amruta’s character is frivolous; she somehow manages to fall in love with all three characters played by Shreyas! The series of action sequences fail to engage and become hilarious in the second half. It doesn’t have exceptional cinematography either! Not to mention the absolute absence of editing.

m4m says: watch at your own risk

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Candle March: An Effective Statement

Praveen Lulekar

Last week, we discussed Happy Journey where the sole purpose of the director was story-telling. There were no statements or claims to be made. Candle March is a film that is made with a completely opposite sensibility. It has a social issue at its core and the story is constructed around it. The characters are representatives of an aspect of the issue. It resembles a journalistic project like Investment did. The ultimate objective is to underline harsh realities.

The good news is that Candle March succeeds in making effective statements.  Very few films understand almost all aspects of a social problem. Fewer portray them well. Although on a tad louder note, director Sachin Dev has raised a holistic picture regarding sexual offences against women.

The story revolves around a gang rape case. Sakhi (Sayali Sahastrabuddhe), a college-going girl, is raped by four men and is also attacked with acid after that. The case connects three other women – Anurata (Tejaswini Pandit), who admits Sakhi into the hospital; Shabana (Smita Tambe), whose husband Saadiq (Nilesh Divekar) is one of the culprits and Vidya (Manava Naik), a journalist covering the entire episode. The women are fighting a battle of their own against different kinds of sexual exploitations.

To start with, the film has an extremely tight screenplay (Sachin Darekar). Except a romantic song of Sakhi and her boyfriend, the film moves very crisply. The challenge here was to inculcate different aspects of the problem. The writer and director score very high on the front. Anurata has a disturbing past of being a victim of a sex scandal; Vidya is getting weaker in resisting the sexual advances of her boss and Shabana fights the chauvinism of her husband and that of bar owner, who promises to rescue Saadiq.

All this may sound like too much is stuffed in a single package. The initial phase proves that true. But the screenplay moves on to space things very well. Anurata’s past appears in flashbacks, Vidya’s story becomes almost a parallel track and Shabana’s realisation of Saadiq’s crime is the final nail in the coffin. The intensity which Dev builds upon throughout reaches a high point when Shabana confronts Saadiq; she asks him to ‘touch’ their 7-8 year-old daughter. The scene is extremely well executed and literally gives you a shiver.

Dev overall displays a firm grip on the narrative. He gives the film a loud tone but maintains it throughout. The little tricks he uses in the scene transformation in the initial part are really good. It is an interesting way to show how characters living different lives are connected. And when they actually come face to face, the interactions are riveting. When Shabana tells Anurata that it is difficult for a woman to survive alone, even the latter’s pain is tapped. The women learn from each other and more importantly, rise above such inhibitions.

On the acting front, all the three ladies have done a good job. Credit to the casting for picking the right actors for the right roles. Pandit is the real protagonist of the film. She conveys the quiet, disturbed character with control. Naik also fares well as the ambitious Vidya. Tambe is at her best with the loud-mouth yet suffocated slum-dweller. A special mention for Divekar, who makes Saadiq really hate-worthy.

The end is a little prolonged but that is because Dev wants to make a statement about the laws against sex crimes. Anurata’s final speech also gets long in the process. But it does raise a question unapologetically – does a rape victim have to die for the culprit to be hanged?

M4m says: A Must Watch 

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Vitti Dandu: On a Nationalistic Note...

Praveen Lulekar

What was our freedom struggle? Was it a bunch of British-haters fighting to save their culture? Or was it a deep rooted humiliation which infected every individual? Our understanding of India’s fight for independence has been dominated by two key perspectives (amongst several significant others) – that of aggressive nationalism and of the Gandhian spirit of self-respect.

Vitti Dandu is a film soaked in the first view. It begins with using nationalism as a foolish romantic concept and ends up using it as a clearly commercial tactic.

The film starts with probably the most simplistic narrative - Aapan Bharitya far sabhya aahot…Britishanni aaplyala lootla (We Indians are very naïve, the British looted us). We are then transported in time to August 6, 1947 in a village called Morgaon. We see a British-loving old man Daji (Dilip Prabhavalkar) and his grandson Govind (Nishant Bhavsar). The perfectly patriotic villagers see Daji as a ‘converted’. A place for the usual argument is easily created - Daji says, ‘The Britishers brought science, railways to India’; the villagers say, ‘But who invented the zero?’

Till interval point, such arguments take place in various forms. Daji’s side of the story is that he lost his son (Vikas Kadam) to the ‘madness’ of revolution. (And hence, the love for the goraas!!!) Then a cruel British officer (resembling Kancha of Agneepath) lands in Morgaon. Daji realises he is the one who killed his son and gets caught in a dilemma. Meanwhile, Govind, playing vitti-dandu with Daji, accidentally hits the cruel British officer with the vitti. The officer gets killed and things take a bizarre turn.

Every detail of the film takes you further and further away from reality. It begins with the setting. I definitely dozed off in my history lessons, but I know from watching many films that the British were withdrawing from India by August 6, 1947. But the village is still in the mood of revolution. What kind of revolution? It seems a mixed one. The villagers practice with guns and other weapons and finally take out a procession to oppose the British.

The village itself is a pathetic piece of fiction. There are no caste or religion barriers and all we need to solve our problems is freedom. The revolutionaries go to the length of foolishness and the British officers are strong stereotypes. There is make-believe feel which is exposed every now and then. A height is reached with the British officer deciding to hang Daji all by himself. The British were villains, let’s agree, but they had an institution called the court.

The film plunges in Rajnikanth mode in the final act when Govind and his little friends fight with the British with the vitti dandu. The children fly and the vittis make a zip-zap sound as they are thrown to kill the enemy. Not to miss, Daji gives a lesson in peace and prevents Govind (sitting on a British officer’s chest) from killing. The amazement is such that logic refuses to come back to your mind hours after the end titles.

If the technical quality is anything to go by, the makers knew exactly what they were making. This is an overt and unapologetic use of nationalism to gain commercial advantage. You tell a simplified tale, dip your characters in either black or white and mix a good amount of cheap humour and over-the-top action. No, we are not describing Singham here.

What holds the films together is an exceptional performance by Prabhavalkar (do we need to mention that now?), beautiful songs and cliché but defined camera work. Beyond that, the film remains a bad commercial enterprise. It might hit the jackpot, but will add nothing to Marathi cinema.

m4m says: watch at your own risk

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Kaakan: A Drab Saga

Praveen Lulekar

So Kranti Redkar decides to direct a film! We know the lady for the song Kombdi Palaali…(film Jatra). Some people thought her expressions in the song were comic as well as sensual. One of them was probably Mahesh Manjrekar, who went on to cast her in Shikshanachya Aaicha Gho, Fakt Ladh Mhana etc. She is also a regular in Kedar Jadhav films which are getting rarer by the year. Not that the world is fair, but Redkar’s limited acting prowess has got her nowhere.

After a hiatus, now Redkar decides to make a film called Kaakan. Highly fantastic and romantic in nature, it is a misdirected, misconstructed piece which hardly stands as a cohesive film. The proceedings are drab, lengthy and unintentionally funny.

Gopi (Ashutosh Gaikwad), a school-going boy in a Kokan village, discovers friendship in an old rag Kisu (Jitendra Joshi). He finds out that there’s a love story behind the man. Flashback; we have Sudhamati (Urmila Kanetkar) yelling Kisu’s name in slow motion. Turns out the girl is rich and the boy is a poor fisherman (originality!).

To compensate for Sudha’s lost Kaakan – a bangle, Kisu mortgages his house and land (for Rs. 1500!) and ‘goes to the city’ to buy a new one (because that’s what all village people have to do for accomplishing any menial task!). As he comes back, Sudha is married. Hearing the story, a teary eyed Gopi decides to ‘go to the city’ and give Sudha the Kaakan that has been with Kisu for 32 long years!

It would have still been bearable if it all ended here. But Redkar plans to explore many angles of her parallel universe which she thinks is reality. My jokes were exhausted after a new story starts when Gopi reaches ‘the city’. He finds a friend in chaiwallah Wasim (Akash Banerjee – a really good actor). Gopi needs to earn Rs. 500 to bribe an MTNL employee (the corruption angle) and attain Sudhamti’s address. So he starts working with Wasim (whose parents are dead in a bomb blast and sister sold as a housemaid for Rs. 15,000! – social angle.) and live with him in a pipe.

Gopi and Wasim have a boss named Anna who constantly says that a Tata Ace is going to revive his business. Later, as Gopi and Wasim are to celebrate the address retrieval of Sudhamati, a pizza delivery boy comes there and says they are present wherever ‘khushiyaa’ are present. Now that’s where you see Redkar’s real creativity! (the commercial angle)

If you’re thinking now Gopi will go to Sudha, present her the Kaakan and all this will finally end, a part of the saga is still left. The older Sudha’s husband (Ashok Shinde) is an ignorant man who is not aware of his wife’s pain and needs (the feminist angle). Sudha (who has turned tan with age!) runs an NGO type thing which does shawl distribution type activities (again, the social angle).

 Okay, I’m tired now. Gopi meets Sudha. Sudha goes to the village. Makes Kisu push the Kaakan in her hand and the man finally dies (who has been vomiting blood because of acidity!).

The only reason I’m adding a serious conclusion is all this needs to stop. Yes, people have creative liberty and if they have the funds, they should go ahead and make films. But please do not make a joke of this art. From what I’ve seen and observed in films, any story can be made believable if a director has the will to go into the details. Redkar not only lacks a cinematic sense but also wastes good actors. There’s no character to the older Kisu and the younger one seems confused. The child artists come off really bad (always a director’s fault) and Kanetkar tries hard but Sudha fluctuates too much to be raised as a single person.

No government, no policy can help Marathi films if this is what we choose to produce and show the audience. Kaakan and many others are a really gloomy aspect of our industry!

m4m says: Watch at your own Risk

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Rama Madhav: Romancing History

Praveen Lulekar

Period Films, with all its sub-categories, is probably the most difficult genre of films. Take any episode of any great dynasty, and you will see a complex labyrinth of sub-plots. When narrated as stories, the writer has to choose one prime theme and surround it with the happenings around. Marathi novels have chosen this central factor to be either a hero or a love story, be it Panipat, Shrimaan Yogi, Raau or Swami. Indian films, from Mughal-e-Azam to Jodha Akbar, have chosen love stories to be this point of attention.

The problem with Rama Madhav is that this love story itself proves to be a threat to the otherwise interesting proceedings. The film falls and rises out of the one great risk such films carry – romanticising.

The film covers the chapter of Madhavrao, the fourth Peshwa in the history of the dynasty. Peshwa was the post of prime-minister in the Maratha kingdom. It begins around 1760 when the third battle of Panipat was due. Nanasaheb (Ravindra Mankani) was the Peshwa and Gopikabai (Mrinal Kulkarni), his wife. The battle was lost under the brave Sadashivrao (Amol Kolhe) and Nanasaheb dies of shock. Raghunathrao (Prasad Oak) is now hopeful for the post. Nanasaheb’s son Madhavrao (Alok Rajwade) is instead chosen, upsetting the aspirant. Madhavrao’s love with Rama (Shruti Kalsekar and Parna Pethe), blooms on this background.

Director Mrinal Kulkarni has definitely got a sense of story-telling. Though focussed on the lead pair, the film covers all the politics happening around. The first half is consumed by the synopsis given above; the screenplay is engaging here. Even the scenes of child Rama (Kalsekar) and Madhav understanding each other do not obstruct the flow. Where it hurts is obvious – the war scenes. Kulkarni has intelligently shot these in extreme close-ups but Panipat’s was a huge battle. It cannot be shown with Sadashivrao fighting two enemy soldiers. Action direction falters overall; Madhavrao’s little bravery display scene is also poorly constructed.

Romanticism is served is digestible doses in this prtion. There are children singing and dancing in the village and everyone in the royal family saying how cute little Rama is. But the politics keeps you interested. The set of Shaniwarwada is richly constructed but the finishing seems to be a little modern. The surroundings of the palace are also not shown, which makes it a limited experience.

The second half is where Kulkarni completely dons the pink glasses. We have a bad habit of glorifying the past. Kulkarni keeps it in check; probably because it is designed and needed for a commercial appeal. But Rama and Madhav go far too many times on the seventh floor of the Shaniwarwada and play too much with the binoculars.

Rajwade and Pethe do a terrific job to make it believable. Rajwade, especially, raises a pitch perfect character that covers a range from amateur enthusiast to an idealistic leader to a terminally ill lover. Pethe, on the other hand, has a difficult job as Rama’s character is not well defined. She is mostly childish and has a flare for dedicated love. Pethe does a really good job giving all this meaning. She picks up the character where Kalsekar leaves it and adds her own skill to it. The duo has also done an extremely god job striking a chemistry.

But the love story is the Achilles’ heel of the film. It slows it down and takes away the focus from what could have been a real punch – the enmity between Raghunathrao and Madhavrao. It gets limited to the former doing some black magic tricks on the latter. The makers (purposely) leave it ambiguous if it was this that inflicted cancer in Madhavrao. And romanticising reaches new heights when Rama decides to die with Madhav by being a Sati.

Is this the only way we can look at history? Could we have multiple protagonists or a feministic approach or graphic wars or anything that breaks the cliché? That does not serve a commercial film’s purpose but Pethe and Rajwade might think of something for their experimental theatre. It is definitely better than romanticising Sati.

m4m says: One Time Watch.

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Elizabeth Ekadashi: Where Science Meets Devotion

Praveen Luekar

Je jaeel, te parat yeil…gurutvakarshan hawa… (What goes, comes back…if there’s gravity)

Paresh Mokashi’s Elizabeth Ekadashi is where Newton meets Dnyaneshwar and Tukaram. It is a film through which, we can probably discuss the whole stream of sensible cinema in Marathi – its beauty and its fallacies. This is after all, our bid to stand on a global stage.  But let’s not burden Elizabeth Ekadashi with such pressures right away.

As a singular film, this is a delight to watch. It tells a beautiful personal story in the larger context of devotion and science. And all this, with excellent technical skills and some bold statements along the way.

Dnyanesh (Shrirang Mahajan) is a school-boy in love with Elizabeth – a bicycle his late father has made. His mother (Nandita Dhuri) plans to sell Elizabeth as the financial condition of the family is deteriorating and the bank has seized its only source to income – a sewing machine. To save Elizabeth, Dnyanesh and his sister Zendu (Sayali Bhandarkavathekar) open a shop in the wari, a pilgrimage in Pandharpur. This becomes a fun little game as the mother does not know about the shop. Things however take graver turn and get complicated.

The first credits go to the writing, a beautiful story by Madhugandha Kulkarni and economical screenplay by Mokashi. There are plot-points that keep the proceedings real and give it individuality. Dnyanesh’s decision to open the shop, for example, is not because he is responsible, but because Elizabeth is so dear to him. It has a personal motive. This also raises characters in the process. Writing also scores in the dialogues’ area where there was a tough task of combining devotion with modern and scientific thought.

This concrete base-work is matched by excellent camera work (Amol Gole) and editing (Abhijeet Deshpande). The whole cinematic treatment has a freshness that can be felt from the word go. The opening scene has top-angle long shot of the alley in which the family lives. This follows a moving, energetic sequence where many activities happening during the wari days are shown from the backend – the money from the donation box being sorted, the prasad being prepared, the temple being cleaned and so on.

The whole part has the power to take you into the city and the atmosphere. Editing also plays a crucial role here as the director is allowed to languish when required and snapped timely. It keeps the pace intact. Background music (Narendra Bhide) does the same with apt and limited use.

Where the film is found wanting is the naturalness of its character. The actors are either over-prepared or under-prepared. Mokashi gives his child-artists a lot of punch-lines which defy their age. That Mahajan needs to summarise the philosophy of the film is understood, but he delivers even simple dialogues in a ‘learnt by-heart’ manner. Bhandarkavathekar is more natural in comparison. Nevertheless, the children, including Dnyanesh’s friends, give their best.

Child protagonists and poverty as theme are increasingly becoming traits of our sensible cinema. While these are important issues, beautifully depicted by films and are integral part of the narrative in Elizabeth Ekadashi also, we probably need to address a larger spectrum of subjects concerning our society. There is also a problem of making an all-round film; Elizabeth Ekadashi, for example, gets artificial in patches. There are many scenes where the screenplay can be felt; there is a ‘made up’ feeling which takes away its naturalness.

Elizabeth Ekadashi makes bold statement about the prospering prostitution in the days of wari and sees devotion in many lights. It has a social context of the anti-superstition bill (though usd to little effect). And ss mentioned, its technical excellence upholds the film. What lacks is a finish – that final stroke where the experience would be more subtle, and hence complete.

m4m says: A Must Watch

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In Search of Nishikant Kamat

Praveen Lulekar

 Dear Nishikant Kamat,

The world might have gone to theatres to see Riteish Vilasrao Deshmukh, but I swear to any damn thing that it was for you that I saw Lai Bhaari. And not as a pseudo-intellectual reviewer, but as an ardent fan of your work. Not that I was expecting a Dombivali Fast, but I had seen Force and had loved it. But you had other plans, like the Viththal in your film had for its characters. Well, welcome back to Marathi and also, possibly to the hundred crore club.

Why I choose this dramatic form of monologue? Probably because I have etched in my memory, Madhav Apte’s application to god - ‘I, undersigned, Madhav Apte...’ and also because Lai Bhaari has string of addresses to Viththal that have resemblance to ‘Aaj khush toh bohot hoge tum...’ We appreciate your intelligence to have gathered all such elements that make a perfectly commercial film, or entertainer, as they call it.

There’s a maa, bichhde huye bhaai, devotion, fate, revenge and of course, one man who solves it all. What’s more appreciated is that they receive a touch of your own class. You cast an amazingly realistic Tanvi Azmi as the maa, compensate the absence of style in Deshmukh with character and repeat Force’s trick of a strong villain in Sharad Kelkar. There are subtle cleavages, racy action and quirky dialogues. For pseudo-intellects, there are little clues that make a game out of the story. In short, you succeed in engaging.

The greatest commercial, sorry, entertaining factor is the story. I guess South Indian filmmakers should prepare a proper module of this. Double roles, massive twists and cynical baddies; but you are bent to insert a story value in all these. The first half becomes flat in the process. We all waited for Mauli and you kept showing us his ineffective twin Prince. Sanjay Khapre’s comic intervening and Aditi Pohankar’s flowing zulfein and her tight formals entertained us, but that’s not really the point right? You cannot imagine how relieved we were when Mauli came at the interval point.

Thank god that you did not use the flashy cinematography of those films! That’s where your genius lies after all. The title sequence of the waari absolutely mesmerised us. I think aerial shots are your speciality. The one with the pilgrims travelling through the ghaat is exquisite! You strike logical frames throughout the film to make it beautiful. But it was sad to see you waste screen time in all those songs. And those superstar appearances – oh yes, they are necessary to generate the hoots.

I have grown mature enough to realise that a film should be seen in its genre. That was my first lesson in review-writing. Lai Bhaari, as said, is the perfectly commercial genre, but it’s not the Nishikant Kamat genre.  Nine years ago, you changed the flow, the thought, the texture of Marathi cinema through Dombivali Fast. Even Lai Bhaari might do that, but in the completely opposite direction.

P.S. – Sorry, forgot to mention the talented Radhika Apte. Yes, even she is there. As the heroine.

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