Review: Aap Ki Khatir
The review below was NOT written by me.
I had asked my girlfriend if she could do it for me, just as a joke, of course. And guess what, she actually sent me this with the Subject: Sudhish Ki Khatir. As I get to work and type my review, here’s hers.
(How I wish my paper would print this, but for the language!)
Aap Ki khatir is a result of Dharmesh’s sudden urge to try his hand at comedy, coupled with inspiration from the average chick-flick “The Wedding Date”.
This movie is not a let down, it is the exact crap that you expect it to be. The plot is wafer thin, and the slip-shod screenplay makes no effort to save it. While the stray educated person might have an contemptuous attitude towards the jokes in the first half, the average dumb movie goer seems to lap it up.
The shithead sitting next to me guffawed long and hard for every joke. Yes loser, I’m sure your efforts will be well appreciated by the lazy untalented cast and crew. But even the seth audience did not like the steep ride downhill that the second half of the movie made.
The film revolves around Priyanka Chopra, who is returning to London for the wedding of her step sister(Amisha Patel) to an obviously desperate and horny Suniel Shetty. Or is she going there to make her ex-boyfriend jealous by hiring Akshay Khanna to pose as her new boyfriend? I’m sorry, I wasn’t really taking notes while I was undergoing the torture of actually having to watch this wannabe urban( read Hum Tum) meets marriage musical(read any Sooraj Barjatya’s hash).
The rest is a love story with so many angles to it, that it actually becomes a giddy circle of deceit and drama that doesn’t work, because it’s roots are based on predictability. The crescendo to the climax makes you yawn, squirm in your seat and check your watch a million times.
Akshaye Khanna’s sincere delivery of his lines almost wants to make you say that his acting was not bad. Almost. It was bad and overdone.
Amisha Patel’s awkward hamming has been tried to hide under heavy eye make up and distractingly loud clothes. Didn’t work, we noticed both and can’t decide which we hated more.
Priyanka Chopra looked like a cotton candied butterfly, and tried to flit through her scenes with what was supposed to be charming effervescense. The only thought that kept running through our head every second she was on screen was “How on earth did they pick her to act in Don?!”
There’s also a cleavage flaunting sex siren who has displayed the worst stomach (with post-delivery stretch marks!) on celluloid.
Dino Morea’s performance is forgettable. I didn’t think I could be less impressed with Suniel Shetty. I was wrong.
Lillete Dubey is her usual slutty mom self, while Anupam Kher makes an attempt to say his bad lines well.
Himmesh Reshammiya’s music makes you want to make a cat howl into a tin can and compare the two.
The Punjabi Vs. Gujarati wedding gathering reminds you of its far superior execution in Kal Ho Na Ho.
In an attempt to revive the drowsy audience they’ve strategically placed the title in every other line. So much so that the anti-climax revolves around stale puns on it like “Baap Ki Khatir”. Yes, I’ll wait. Puke and come back.
Anyway, Akshay gets Priyanka, Amisha marries Suniel, Dino had had an affair with Amisha and yeah that’s about it,
If you have to watch this movie, don’t. If you don’t have to, don’t bother reading any other reviews. You’ve wasted enough time on it already.
Warning: this review may contain spoilers. 
Review: Vettaiyaadu Vilayaadu
Child’s play
Making a trilogy or coming up with sequels is not just about repeating themes.
It is not about replaying the original plot with new actors, recycling names of characters from the previous films or casting the same actress is a similar role.
Gautham, in spite of adding a serial killer thriller feel to the regular cop flick, ends up repeating quite a bit from what he introduced to us in his first re-invention of the cop flick genre that was earlier limited to ‘Aanest Raj’ and scores of other Captain Vijayakanth avatars: Kaakha Kaakha.
But wait, Vettaiyaadu Vilayaadu is a pretty decent film (compared to the likes of Thimuru and such celebrated crap that comes out of Kodambakkam) but that’s not what you would expect from the guy who made a reasonably well-paced police story ‘Kaakha Kaakha,’ which was memorable for a super tight script, a refreshingly fresh and subtle sensibility, an underplayed romance and a super cool long-haired gangster mouthing profanities.
First, where does Gautham succeed?
a. With Kamal Hassan. Gautham’s done it. We see a much restrained Kamal slipping under the skin of a pretty well-etched out character in Raghavan — the instinctive cop. A man who trusts his instincts so much that he’s willing to gamble his logic and reasoning.
Never mind that one such act leads to the death of a NYPD detective who plays by-the-book, at least the character is consistent. Unlike Anbuchelvan, he talks quite a bit. Raghavan is impulsive to the point of being stupid (I mean which experienced cop would break into the house of one of the suspects without a back-up watching the door?) and lucky (towards the end, the script takes the most convenient route for the confrontation between good and evil). ‘Vettaiyaadu’ surely will be remembered as one of Kamal’s classiest performances.
b. The cinematography. Very few cinematographers have captured New York the way Ravi Varman has. It’s not the picturesque-postcards we saw in KANK and Kal Ho Na Ho. He presents NYC teeming with energy, the hustling-bustling metropolis (guess the hidden camera used sneakily due to lack of permissions actually works to the film’s advantage) with the finest time-lapse and aerial shots of the Manhattan skyline. The stylised shots superbly pieced together by Antony make Vettaiyaadu one of the most technically sound movies made in this part of the world.
c. Credibility of the world it is set in. Be it characters or locations, they seem incredibly authentic. The detailing is pretty good and if at all there is any fault, it is too much of it. A whole lot of those supers telling us what time and date things happen were quite redundant.
d. Jyotika. Yet another fine performance.
Where it doesn’t quite work:
a. What’s with long-haired villains? Serial-killers need a strong enough trigger to become what they have. In Vettaiyaadu, he addresses the need for a reason from childhood but does not flesh it out enough. As a result, we have sketchy villains who’re quite weak. Having juvenile villains does no good to a cop story where the policeman is supposed to be much more experienced than Anbuchelvan. Having ‘Hannibal’ posters in the room does not make them evil. To be truly evil, you need to be smart and cunning. Here, the bad guys are stupid, inconsistent and are probably confused about their sexuality. Even if they aren’t, Raghavan clearly is, when he asks one of them if they are homosexual. Dude, they raped their victims! They’re probably bi-sexual. We do not know. That’s the problem with the villains. We do not know enough about them. They are cardboard cut-outs. The silver lining is Daniel Balaji’s stylised performance bordering on hamming (which should go down well with all those who thought Vikram was brilliant flexing every single muscle on his face in Anniyan), passable for a serial killer. And his friend, lesser the said the better. He could’ve just worn a T-shirt that said ‘I am a Uz boy’ throughout and it would’ve made no difference to the plot.
b. The pace. Bad enough he takes his time to take us into the romantic angle of the middle-aged cop with a suicidal wreck, Gautham also unleashes upon us an item song with an all-seth bunch of dancers and models doing sethji-steps, so much that it looks like a song from some random Hindi flick dubbed in Tamil. There is no place for the intracies of romantic sub-plot or an item song in a serial-killer thriller.
c. Repetition of sub-plots. There is a distinct Kaakha Kaakha hangover throughout. Some of it might be intentional (like the song picturisation and all), but the crucial bits (like the climax — the kidnapping of the love interest) makes you feel cheated. You walked in thinking Gautham is going to tell you a story about a much more challenging, complex case from the police files. Instead, you get a case of two extremely stupid, juvenile serial killers who are no match for a man who was once Anbuchelvan, the young cop who took on the most powerful and dangerous of gangsters almost single-handedly.
d. Fine filmmakers, unfortunately, are not compared with the rest of the mediocre bunch. Their work is compared with their own work from the past.
And when you do that, ‘Vettaiyaadu’ is found wanting. It suggests he’s running out of ideas for character prototypes, sub-plots, character names and song picturisation.
After all, there is a difference between creating a signature and rehashing a few old ideas.
If Ram Gopal Varma made a Satya as the story of a gangster, he followed it up with a macro look of the underworld in Company and a cop’s perspective in ‘Ab Tak Chappan’ (directed by Shimit Amin) and paid his hurried homage to Godfather in ‘Sarkar’. They were all gangster films, not as good as the other but very different. They need to deviate from the central idea at least a little. After ‘Kaakha Kaakha,’ we already know that the loved ones of the police officer are targetted.
Something Gautham should keep in mind while coming up with the third film in the trilogy he was talking about.
Gautham, tell us more. Tell us something you haven’t told us before.
He Says She Says Update
I just found time to post Episodes 21 to 26 now.
Sorry about the delay, guys. It’s been over a year since we started the column but we missed the anniversary.
Episode 27 should be out on Saturday.
Review: Asterix and the Vikings
Genre: Animation
Directors: Stefan Fjeldmark- Jesper Moller
Cast: Paul Giamatti, Brad Garrett, Sean Austin, Evan Rachel Wood
Storyline: Asterix and Obelix are assigned to train the timid metrosexual Justforkix who is soon kidnapped by the dim-witted Vikings.
Bottomline: Credibly incredible 2D animation.
These French are crazy.
They have tastefully recreated the comic-book featuring probably the most credible-looking Gauls, originally created by Rene Goscinny and Albert Uderzo, seen on film, by getting artists to hand-draw the frames in an era of motion-control cameras and 3-D animation.
But Asterix has always been about the old-world charm. And that does surely come out in this delightful recreation of Asterix and the Normans, with the filmmakers taking the liberty to bring about a few major changes in the narrative, probably to deliver Asterix to a new generation of viewers.
In fact, Justforkix, the nephew of Vitalstatistix, could be any modern-day hip-hopping metrosexual teeny-bopper who knows the right moves for the dance floor and the means to get the girls.
Justforkix here has a bird called SMSix and also teaches everyone to party to the “Eye of the Tiger.” When it comes to machismo, however, Justforkix is Chicken Little. He’s afraid of almost everything, he does not want to train and he would be happy just chilling.
Asterix and Obelix are given the task of training wuss boy. They try hard to make him a warrior but the boy is content being Celine Dion on the dance floor. There’s also Abba, the rebel daughter of the chief of the Vikings, Timandahaf, who is like warrior princess Xena. And her Dad would rather see her sit at home instead of stowing away in his ship for adventure.
Opposites, they say, attract. And that’s where the makers sneak in a love story.
The Vikings come across as funny too. Especially, Olaf, the stupid, beefy son of the conniving Cryptograf, who sends his son to kidnap the champion of fear, because the dumbkopfs believe that fear lends you wings (literally) and the Vikings desperately want to learn to fly. Thus, they get hold of Justforkix.
And now it is time for Asterix and his buddy Obelix to travel far and bring back Justforkix. Obelix is easily the funniest and most adorable of the lot. Asterix fans would note that the regular gags of the pirates who end up sinking their own ship and the unflinching resolve of Cacofonix to sing have been retained.
But though most of the ingredients of the comic book have been retained including the authentic feel, the weakest link in the film is Asterix himself. He doesn’t have much to do this time around, except for one smart idea where he asks Obelix to throw him up so that he can see from above the clouds and make their way to find the Vikings.
Watch this to revisit one of your favourite comic books. Homecoming always feels good.
Review: Click
Genre: Comedy
Director: Frank Coraci
Cast: Adam Sandler, Kate
Beckinsale, Christopher Walken, David Hasselhoff.
Storyline: Michael finds a remote to control his life. Until it takes over.
Bottomline: Yet another fun `What-if’ movie.
The guys who wrote Bruce Almighty Steve Koren and Mark O’Keefe, wrote this one too.
That’s also probably why Click is similar in feel and genre to the Jim Carrey flick.
But Click has all the ingredients of an Adam Sandler movie, despite the resemblance to Mr. Destiny, Bedazzled and other similar-themed comedies where the poor hero needs a break and God/Devil/Angel in a human form changes it all.
So there’s Adam playing the down-on-luck guy-next-door yet again, and there’s a character with whom he does not get along (if it was the old man in 50 First Dates, here it’s a kid who is his neighbour), some gross animal humour and of course, his buddy Rob Schneider in yet another cameo, this time as Prince Habibu.
If there was Morgan Freeman playing God in Bruce Almighty, Michael Caine in Mr. Destiny playing Guardian Angel, here it is Christopher Walken playing a mysterious Morty (no prizes for guessing what the name hints at) who gives Michael (Adam Sandler) a remote that will help him control his life at the click of a button, pretty much like how you browse your DVD.
“The Making of Michael” feature on the remote is sure to have even the most bitter critics of the Adam Sandler sensibility break into a smile.
With Kate Beckinsale playing his loving wife and David Hasselhoff as his tough cookie boss, the film has an instantly likeable bunch of actors.
The biggest challenge in a ‘What if’ movie is how the director deals with the predictability in the narrative, given that it is a genre by itself.
Click has a pretty neat pace until the second half of the film where the director decides to let the drama take over to make way for greater feel-good in the climax.
It is here that the under-rated Adam Sandler (also one of the producers of the film) tries to score a few points with the critics, even donning a fat-body suit to showcase his acting prowess.
But for such minor indulgence, Click is likely to live up to its name with the Indian audience considering that we do not get much local fare in the `What-if’ genre.
Episode 26: Who wears the pants?
He says:
What makes for a healthy relationship?
Democracy or dictatorship?
And before you say democracy, you could consider that since there are only two people in a relationship, democracy means anarchy.
Yes, maybe anarchy isn’t really a bad thing. For years, relationships have been run and governed by dictatorship. It’s very unfortunate indeed.
It is very unfortunate that woman has been boss all these years and man was just relegated to the blue-collar jobs: hunting, running around, fetching food and being watch-dog protector of family.
The woman for years has pretended to be the slave when she has actually been running the show: she made sure men fought wars for her, she got the Taj Mahal built, she made sure many men died for the sake of love. And all the while she stayed indoors without any pressures of having to go and fetch bread, butter or newspaper.
Roles were well defined and divorce rates were almost non-existent. The phrase marital discord had not yet been invented.
Today, when man is trying to take control of relationships and the woman is all dressed up for the kill in the corporate world, the home territory is left unguarded, vulnerable to outside threats.
Modern day society has seen divorce rates go up. Suddenly, dysfunctional families find their way into the vocabulary of society and crisis management experts, like lawyers, relationship counsellors and psychiatrists, find that their workload is going along that one-way street called Up.
Clearly, the change in age-old household management conventions and practices has upset the balance between the sexes. In this age of coalition governments, man and woman must sit together and find that line that separates democracy from anarchy.
Duties and responsibilities must be worked out according to strengths and weaknesses of their personalities rather than gender. And, man should be given that opportunity to stay at home and run the show. The wretched women have been doing it too long.
She says:
Political jargon aside, this is about just one issue (and pardon me for using this deplorable phrase) — it’s about who `wears the pants’ in a relationship.
Now the mind of a man sees just black and white, so I suppose it’s just natural for a man to presume that every relationship has one leader and one meek, subjugated dish-washing, dog-walking follower.
And, regardless of what He Says, it’s an established fact that a `man is the master of his house.’ And while the male of the species has always been loopy enough to get cross-eyed and silly with love — remember the morons who waged wars motivated by little besides a nice nose — when it came right down to it, even poor Helen of Troy probably had to keep house, and make sure her dozen maids kept everything tidy so the love of her life could trudge across the kitchen in dirty boots, probably making annoyingly long declarations of passion all the while.
Think buying butter is exhausting? Well, you’re welcome to switch places with the woman who dusts, cooks, washes, cleans and raises your children while you sit in a plush office and ring for your secretary to bring you coffee.
But here’s the catch, all you big-talking, muscle-flexing men. The truth is you’re not really in charge, you never have been.
Because — luckily for us — women are masters of subtle power games. Games you don’t even know you’re involved in, you poor misguided puppet. For women realised long ago that all a man needs is the illusion that he’s in charge.
And that’s easy enough to pull off. A smart woman seats her man at the head of the table, and makes him a cup pf tea. Then, she makes all big decisions herself, and pretends it’s his idea. He’s too busy swaggering to contradict her anyway.
Cook a man a couple of meals, and you can twist them around your little finger. After all, as every intelligent woman knows, men are easier to train than puppies. It’s not democracy. It’s not anarchy. But it works just great. For us.
(A fortnightly column on the battle of the sexes)
Episode 25: Dance like a man
She says:
I’m so tempted to sharpen my stilettos.
I recently started learning the salsa. A breathtakingly beautiful dance form set to addictive Latin music, it is great fun to learn, once you get your mambo in place. Except for one thing. It’s a man’s dance.
My bright-eyed chirpy instructor — Salsa Boy — just loves the fact. Every ten minutes, he stops class to bellow, “Girls, follow your man, because… ” And every single man in class (including the ones with two dangerously left feet) stop treading on our toes to proudly holler, “It’s a man’s dance.” Sometimes, they thump their chests too. Which makes it kind of difficult to do the required high speed twirls. There are also exercises to keep us in place. One particularly unflattering one dictates that the women act like rag dolls, while their partners push and pull them across the floor. While, of course, Salsa Boy and co yell, “Because it’s a man’s dance.”
Thump. Thump.
At which my bratty teenage partner smirks, “Follow me. Coz I’m the MAN.”
I’ve tried pulling rank on him, telling him I’m older and thus wiser, but apparently belonging to the big-headed, big-footed gender makes him King.
Salsa Boy even walks around with a wooden ruler to make sure no woman sneakily tries to call the shots. Yes, I’ve been whacked across my knuckles, but what’s a woman to do?
Sometimes, men just can’t keep up. We’ve made it quite clear that we will not dance to a man’s tunes in the outside world. Why do we still have to do so on the dance floor?
Some quick research reveals it’s not just the Latin Americans who were all about `all hail the male.’ Jive is a man’s dance. So is ballroom dancing. And Wikipedia tells me there’s something called the `Gourd Dance’ performed by some Native American nations, which is “primarily a man’s dance.” (Sounds familiar?) Apparently “women participate by dancing in place behind their male counterparts”
Sheesh!
Clearly, it’s time we storm another bastion. After all, twirls aren’t just for girls.
He says
To the best of my knowledge, barring Kathakali (where men play women too) and the traditional dead body dance (the dance the drunk do on the street during funeral processions in this part of the world, to the native beat of `dandanaka’), most of the other Indian dances have been the bastion of women from the days and nights of Umrao Jaan. I mean, who would today believe that Bharatanatyam was actually something born out of a holy old man called Bharata Muni inspired by Lord Brahma? And the Tandav was supposed to be Lord Shiva’s stress buster. But that was so long ago.
Today, traditional Indian women have completely taken over most dance forms performed on stage. And the modern Indian women have taken over MTV and those Punjabi music videos on `Balle Balle’. One look at Yana Gupta in “Babuji Zara Dheere Chalo” or Aishwarya in “Kajra Re”, and you know who calls the shots in the Indian form: the item girl, of course. Yet, she looks West as far as Latin America, and even pays to learn and follow a man’s footsteps.
I bet she has not heard of techniques like hijacking and backleading that help show off dance skills and steal the lead from the man. (Chuckle, chuckle)
Dance is either ritualistic (social dance) or for concert (performance). Each dance form has an objective. While concert dances such as Kathakali and Yakshagana tell stories, Bharatanatyam interprets stories and presents them in a lucid form, the social dances like Kummi and Koothu are used to express joy or sorrow. Salsa is a social dance that involves one lifting the other. It showcases chemistry between man and woman.
Hence, if you notice most couples who do the salsa, you will find that men are usually heavier and taller than the women.
So it would be unfair to ask the lady to lift you, unless your partner is Karnam Malleswari.
Besides, how many women like someone who follows? Women find leaders attractive, they always go for someone they can look up to. And, as I read somewhere, it’s not about command and obey. It’s about a partnership between two people who are equal but different. Just like bad workers blame the tools, some dancers just blame the rules.
(A fortnightly column on the battle of the sexes)
Episode 24: Dating and your date of birth
He says:
Why do you think that it is almost a norm that men date women younger than them? Because unlike men, who mature if at all, do it slow and steady, women mature early and grow up. “The older they get, the more messed up they become,” says a friend.
Most girls have their first relationship much earlier than boys have theirs (that’s again because boys date girls younger than them). So while they start off believing in true love, they get jaded and turn cynical and disillusioned pretty soon, most of them finding it hard to let go of their excess baggage.
Boys learn the ropes; take their own time to figure out how relationships work. Every relationship gives them new strength and encouragement. At the end of the fifth one, they know what lines work and what don’t. At the end of the tenth, they know how to make the girl pay on dates. At the end of the twentieth, they have mastered the art of making the girl dump them, so that they don’t have to bear the burden of guilt and the mantle of being the “bad guy”. Therefore, they travel light. The most they need is a hanky to pick up a wreck.
So women, after five relationships, are sick of mushy lines. After ten, they lose faith. After twenty… come on, how often do you hear girls have 20 relationships?
Due to their differing behaviour and attitudes towards relationships, older guys can only date a younger woman. Because what a guy needs is a believer and not a cynic. Which is why most men roam around with puppy dog looks and women have to contend with being labelled the female of the species.
Woof!
She says:
As much as I hate to burst his bubble, I have simply got to point this out. Women don’t date older men because they are “sick of mushy lines.” When was the last time you saw a nubile 20 something being flaunted on the red carpet by a bespectacled, toothless eighty-year-old, and thought “Ah, she must be tired of mushy lines!”
It’s not too difficult to figure out why he’s going out with her. As an accessory, she makes a much better impact than his walking stick, for starters. And, I suppose — for a while at least — she’ll make him feel young again. Until the punishing schedule of dragging his arthritic limbs onto the dance floor every other day begins to get to him. And his therapist.
On her part, it’s probably interesting to date an older man.
He will take her to an exotic restaurant, and order champagne. While a boy her age will take her to greasy dive and order Coke, which he will probably try to spurt out of his nose for entertainment. An older man will impress her by talking about world politics, while the Boy will attempt to do the same by arm wrestling with the waiter. And, yes, the older will deal with excess baggage much more gracefully, making peace with ex-girl friends and wives. While the Boy will seriously consider throwing rotten eggs at an ex-girlfriend’s car, to `get even’.
Maybe, one day, the older man will discover he can’t keep up and needs to be tucked up with his hot water bottle around the same time she gets started clubbing. And she’ll realise she can’t be seen with a man who dances like the Bee Gees, and thinks the salsa is some kind of condiment.
Or maybe not.
Fortunately there are no absolutes in life. Younger women will date older men. Older women will date younger men. People who are exactly the same age will fall madly in love with each other.
In the end, after all, age is just a number.
(A fortnightly column on the battle of the sexes)
Episode 23: Where have all the cowboys gone?
She says:
Where have all the cowboys gone?
The `macho’ man seems to be slowly becoming extinct, as cities get overrun with over-hyped, overdressed metrosexuals. (A clotheshorse wrapped around a dandy fused with a narcissist: Wordspy.) There’s no point blaming David Beckham, the man with painted nails and ponytails. The fact is that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to tell the men from the girls.
I was at a pub with a big gang of friends watching football recently and, in between goals, two guys intensely discussed hair straightening, swapping tips on techniques and stylists. Men strut in and out of beauty parlours, getting pedicures and facials done. They colour, perm, straighten, twist and tease their hair, probably pouting prettily in front of the mirror all the while. At gyms, they narcissistically work on every part of their body, toning here and shaping there. Muddy sports are out, unless they’re being watched on a flat screen television, accompanied by butter-free popcorn and low fat white wine.
And don’t even get me started on their diet. Chocolate chip cookies are a fate worse than cellulose. I actually know a man who called for the chef and made him list out ingredients in a low fat milkshake, adding up the calories till he went white and so weak that he had to be revived with a spray of Evian from his `man bag.’
I even have a friend who follows fashion with such a passion he actually made his cousin go back inside and get out of her platform sandals because he was horrified at the thought of being seen with a woman wearing last season’s shoes.
And talking of fashion, what’s with them masquerading about in all our colours? Pinks, bright greens and aquamarine. Whatever happened to the time when men didn’t even know what `aquamarine’ meant? What next? Pink lace-trimmed folders at the office? Leave granted by the office for bad hair days? Having to knock out women who whistle at your boyfriend?
From the looks of it, soon country crooner Paula Cole won’t be the only one singing, “Where is my John Wayne? Where is my Marlboro man? Where is my lonely ranger? Where is my happy ending?”
He says:
Maybe women hang out with gay men because they feel safe. Maybe that’s why they believe that cowboys do not exist. But wait, going by Brokeback Mountain, maybe even the cowboys were never straight.
Cowboy: A hired man, especially in the western United States, who tends cattle and performs many of his duties on horseback. (Dictionary.com)
Firstly, we do not live in the western United States. Our cowboys have always worn pink and yellow. Ask the cows about a certain Mr. Ramarajan.
The Marlboro man found himself dead and left behind a valuable lesson: Cigarette smoking is injurious to health. Man, being the more intelligent of the species, decided that smoking did not make him macho.
Macho: Used of men; markedly masculine in appearance or manner.
(Dictionary.com)
Men have not started getting silicon implants (transvestites excluded), but maybe they are grooming themselves a little more seriously. But then, so have women. Just because they did it first does not mean that they can patent the hairless body as `feminine.’
Because, going by the same logic, many women are tomboys. They wear shirts and pants, some of them smoke, drink beer and some, even womanise.
Yes, what is wrong with keeping track of fashion? Maybe once upon a time, denims, hats and biker beards used to be fashionable, now it’s all about whatever makes you look good. Which also determines what men eat.
That’s exactly what her problem is: Men look so good these days that she has too much competition to snag him over. Add jealousy to that insecurity and you find a woman wishing for a man who is his simple basic self. You get Paula Cole.
Besides, if hairy men in faded jeans and duller chappals are what you are looking for, maybe you should get out of the `effeminate’ circuit and check out the boys at the bus stop. The good old macho man is still alive if you care to look beyond Page 3-types. He still burps, scratches, smells, smokes, drinks and does all those disgusting macho things you hate about him.
Think again. You’re safer with wuss company. What are you complaining about?
(A fortnightly column on the battle of the sexes)
Episode 22: Why she won’t introduce her friends
He says:
Noticed how women you date don’t always introduce you to their friends? Certainly, not in the first few weeks. More so when the friends are pretty.
It’s a strange divide-and-rule policy born out of insecurity. Having common friends means her friends will always get two versions of any incident — her version and the truth (Your version, dummy). So why would she want to put herself in a spot?
When she is still dating you, she will have to answer questions like: “What did you guys do?” “Can he drop me home?” “Why don’t you bring him along to the party?” and of course, then they have to deal with comments about you: “Oh, he’s so cute.” “He does the sweetest things. Wish my boyfriend did that for me.” “He smells so good.”
The first thing you need to know about women is that they are jealous of each other. Haven’t you seen how they check out what other women are wearing at the party or even if it’s just the coffee shop. Though they might shower each other with compliments, both women know what the other is really thinking. If that applies for clothes, you could imagine how much more they would be jealous about boyfriends. They are paranoid about the friend stealing the boyfriend, a possibility born only by the death of trust in the relationship.
Besides, if at all she stops dating you, then she has to explain and blame it on you. It is rather difficult to paint you as the bad guy if the friend also knows you well.
And imagine the possibility of her friend continuing to be friends with you.
Given the already established premise that women are jealous creatures, it will cause her immense pain and heartburn if you start dating the friend.
Not only will that be her worst nightmare come true, it will also mean she loses her friend and that might endanger friendships within their circle.
Men have no such qualms. They know there are 1.3 trillion fish in the ocean. They are just looking for one. On their plate.
P.S: Sorry Nemo.
She says:
Sit down. Think carefully. Remember Standard II Geography? What did your textbooks say? Somewhere in the fog of French fries and football, this might emerge: `The earth revolves around the sun.’ NOT you.
When will men realise that everything is not about them?
If a girlfriend doesn’t introduce you to her friends it’s not because she stares at the mirror in anguish every morning, wondering which one you’ll pick over her. No woman’s going to date a man with a mind like a fish, anyway. (Sorry Nemo.)
Because if you’re going to change your mind every time you take a turn around the pond, you’re better off dating your computer. Maybe you can find a virtual girl, who’ll change her hair colour every week and introduce you to all her virtual friends.
Women don’t skip introductions because they’re insecure. Yes. Of course we check out other women in the room and their arm candy, but that’s more out of curiosity than anything else. While stealing a friend’s boyfriend might not be too difficult (following the `Men are like sheep’ theory) it’s really bad manners. And it also smacks of desperation. Besides, who wants to be seen as the wicked vamp (usually plagued with a bad stylist and hideously bright lipstick) anyway?
And trust me, women definitely don’t keep their boyfriends hidden because they’re afraid their friends will inflate their nostrils, sniff the air like Dobermans and collapse in a pool of mush cooing “Ooh. He smells so good!” After which, I suppose you men presume, they’ll fall upon you with cries of joy like a pack of wolves.
The truth is, maybe you weren’t introduced because she was too busy to get her friends together to meet you. Or maybe she’s ashamed of you. (Still walking about with lunch on your tie?). Or maybe you’re just the flavour of the month, and she doesn’t want to bother with an introduction that’ll be longer than your relationship.
But more likely than not, it’s probably because she wants to get to know you better before she lets you into her circle of trust. And that’s reasonable enough, isn’t it?
(A fortnightly column on the battle of the sexes)
Episode 21: Looks like the topic wont go away
She says:
I was recently knocking back cappuccinos and biscotti with a couple of male friends when the subject of ‘who’s hot and who’s not’ came up — as it inevitably does in any male-dominated conversation lasting more than five minutes.
Why do men worry constantly about the number of ‘good-looking’ women they know, counting and recounting them on their fingers and toes, as if some woman-famine is on its way? And this is regardless of whether they are married, dating, single or desperate.
If you tell a guy that a female friend is coming to town, he will react like a puppy at mealtime: his eyes brighten, ears perk up and an idiotic dreamy expression takes over his face. “So, what does she look like? Pretty?”
That’s always the first question. It’s quite incredible actually, you could be talking to a Siberian Eskimo and telling him your new dog sled trainer is on her way, and he’d mutter through frostbitten lips, “Is she pretty?” Or maybe you tell your hippie friend that you found a new artists who paints scarves, and he’ll say, “Dude, is she, like, a looker?”
Your friend could be a NASA scientist, or an uber-cool tribal artist. She could be a fascinating writer/ stand-up comedian/ hypnotist/ scuba diver, but if her braces aren’t off, or her nose is one inch past regulation point, none of the guys really want to meet her. Because, let’s face it, almost all men are ‘looksist.’ (i.e. A condition where you discriminate between people on the basis of how they look.)
They want to date conventionally beautiful women, so that other men envy them. They also want to hang out with good looking women, so — well — other men envy them.
So, when I ignored the question, and just said “she’s really nice,” both of them immediately guffawed, “so she looks like the backyard of a bus, huh?” And that’s another man thing. You either have to be pretty, or nice. You can never be both, if you’re female.
Women, on the other hand, don’t really look for good lookers. Yes, they’re probably fussy about the men they date, but when it comes to male friends, women don’t care how they look as long as they’re fun to be with. In fact they prefer low-maintenance rugged men. After all, who wants to share their hair gel and lip salve all the time?
He says:
Right at the beginning of the series, in the second episode, I had said: “Would you like to be seen kissing someone toad ugly? Yes? My number is….”
It’s been over 36 weeks, my phone hasn’t rung yet.
I had also said that men find most women hot, whether they are dark (Halle Berry), not all that well-toned (Shakeela), not conventionally beautiful (Mallika Sherawat), short (Rani Mukherjee) and even if they are not skimpily clad (Nandita Das) and their definitions of what’s hot are pretty broad and all-accommodating.
Now think about all the words women say while describing the prototypes they want to meet: “Perfect Gentleman,” “Tall, Dark, Handsome,” “Prince Charming,” “Mr.Right”.
Gentleman = Some guy who’s nice to them, plays with pups, wears a Raymonds suit, picks them up, opens doors, takes them for expensive dinners, opens doors and even pays. Very simple needs.
Tall, Dark, Handsome = Women don’t go for looks indeed. Tall, Dark, Handsome is the description of his inner beauty, Shallow Hal style, no?
Prince Charming = Yes, royalty is incidental. And charm too. That’s why Snow White didn’t pick one of the seven dwarfs to fall in love with and just waited for someone appropriate to show up to kiss her.
Mr.Right = Who could be some guy-next-door who’s just flunked another paper and stalks the girl he loves, right? He’s the guy who is always right when she’s wrong, of course.
Yes, there are also those simple women who settle for the regular, intelligent, witty guy with a sense of humour. Such men are so common-place after all.
Now, if you are a woman, put yourself into his shoes.
Are you going to hope meeting someone new with a big shopping list and checkboxes that go: Pretty, Witty, Intelligent, Sense of Humour, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Princess Fiona?
No you don’t.
You simply decide that most women are hot at some level or the other or at least assume so, because it makes you happy to believe you are going to meet someone pleasant, irrespective of whether you ever get to date them or not.
Men being the simple guys they are, just ask the same simple question before meeting any girl also because he wants to know what one girl thinks of the other.
Irrespective of her answer, he would anyway go ahead and make his moves if she gives him enough attention.
If she’s not his types, he’ll just wait for the next friend to arrive.
Men, live in hope, but on Planet Earth. Women live in Wonderland and in trashy romance novels.
Also, why invent a new word when you can simply say men are lookers? He he!
Review: Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna
(Since the published version appeared today with major cuts, here’s the writer’s cut)
Slow Poison
Cast: Shah Rukh Khan, Rani Mukerji, Abhishek Bachchan, Preity Zinta, Amitabh Bachchan
Director: Karan Johar
Storyline: Dev and Maya fall in love. But wait, they are married. Not to each other.
Bottomline: Karan tries to sugarcoat a bitter-pill, manufactures slow poison.
Shyam Benegal, during the International Film Festival of India last year, observed that Indian filmmakers start out with something that caught their attention from Hollywood, and in the process of setting it in the Indian context, end up making something that has no resemblance whatsoever to the original.
KANK has a few resemblances though. If `Closer’ is about two American women in London, KANK is about two Indian women in New York. KANK too begins with a literally accidental meeting and gets into the thick of drama when an angry husband asks his wife if she slept with her secret lover.
Anna: “Don’t do this.” But for these two scenes that give you a deja vu of Mike Nichols’ Closer (starring Jude Law, Julia Roberts, Natalie Portman and Clive Owen) and the premise of two couples whose lives get inter-twined, the rest of KANK is a fairly original screenplay, which sees Johar take a couple of steps away from his first two melodramatic (yet effective) outings. The sensibility in this is more restrained (it’s ‘Kal Ho Na Ho’ more than ‘Kuch Kuch Hota Hai,’) as we see Johar attempting a more mature representation of adults and relationships. Though he manages to achieve that well in the key confrontation scenes, you never get a ‘Closer,’ realistic look at the complexity of relationships.
The trappings of the Karan Johar candy-floss fantasy genre give little room for real characters and realistic situations.
The chance encounters between the characters are so many that you will wonder if all of New York City bumps into the other, and in pairs. The predictable stock of much mush, corn and contrived situations trademarked by the Johars and Chopras makes it all the more difficult to digest.. <!– D(["mb"," \nSample: Rhea tells Maya: "Dev ko vaapas karo" (when she\'s just referring to a\nphotograph of Dev that Maya is taking with her). \nPreity Zinta as Rhea and Abhishek Bachchan as Rishi are backed by well-etched\nout roles, come out of the film with their heads held high. While Preity\nbreathes life even into what could have been a tough stereotype, Abhishek\nBachchan in the best-written role in the film steals every frame, along with\nhis player-father Sam (Amitabh Bachchan) introduced into the film purely for\ncomic relief and the mandatory patriarchal advice. \n\n\n
Shah Rukh Khan looks appropriately tired mouthing similar\nlines to similar characters in similar movies. But this time, his tired,\ncynical look is probably intentional as the King Khan plays Dev, a bad loser in\nlove with a self-centred school-teacher Maya (Rani Mukerji) \n\n\n
\n\n\n
American society is known to be more progressive and yet the\nHollywood take on the same subject chose to take a more punitive angle on\ninfidelity. \n\n\n
The director ends up sanctioning infidelity just because\nShah Rukh Khan and Rani Mukherjee cannot be shown as the villains of the piece.",1] ); //–>Sample: Rhea tells Maya: “Dev ko vaapas karo” (when she’s just referring to a photograph of Dev that Maya is taking with her). Preity Zinta as Rhea and Abhishek Bachchan as Rishi are backed by well-etched out roles, come out of the film with their heads held high. While Preity breathes life even into what could have been a tough stereotype, Abhishek Bachchan in the best-written role in the film steals every frame, along with his player-father Sam (Amitabh Bachchan) introduced into the film purely for comic relief and the mandatory patriarchal advice.
Larry: “Just answer the question! Is he good?”
Anna: “Yes.”
Larry: “Better than me?”
\nThe tagline for Closer goes: If you believe in love at first sight, you never\nstop looking.
\nCloser is a microscopic examination of the complexity of relationships and infidelity,\nbut with a righteous sense of morality. It underscores the importance of\ncommitment and addresses that in the conversation when Dan confesses to Alice.
\nDan: "I fell in love with her, Alice."
\nAlive: "Oh, as if you had no choice? There\'s a moment, there\'s always a moment,\n\'I can do this, I can give into this, or I can resist it\', and I don\'t know\nwhen your moment was, but I yet there was one."
\nIn KANK, though the lines paint them as selfishly human, the visuals and the\nscore project them as poor innocent people who had no choice but to fall in\nlove. The cinematic grammar including the star iconography associated with\nKaran Johar\'s brand of cinema ensure that this bitter-pill of a love story is\ndistastefully sugar-coated.