Banner: Murali Cine Arts
Director: N K Viswanathan
Actors: Namitha, Raja, Nila, Riyaz Khan, Kota Sreenivasa Rao, Yuvarani et al
Music: Ilayaraja (!)

For the Rediff review, go here.

Warning: In my opinion, no review of a movie is complete without some sort of discussion of the whole plot so if you don’t want your suspense wrecked, go no further. You can always read the Rediff version if you don’t want the story given away.

No matter how bizarrely taken, I’ve always been a sucker for ghost/fantasy stories. Fantasy stories based on myths, legends and the puranas have been the mainstay of our cinema for decades; they have an appeal that’s hard to beat.

Even when it first appeared in its candy-coloured version, the original Jaganmohini was a riot of short skirts, crazy dances and bizarre, ghost-filled situations that were more likely to leave you laughing. Who wouldn’t want a dose of sack-cloth covered ghosts who made horrible faces and drove everyone insane? And the makers of the original Telugu version made no bones about what they were trying to do: just good wholesome fun, with a buxom Jayamalini performing nothing short of a striptease, and justifying the skin show with a devout pathini doing her prayers and getting her husband back.  How can you not identify with that?

The modern, Tamil version, Murali Cine Arts’ re-make, Jaganmohini in its re-vitalized, graphic-filled form, directed by N K Viswanathan, is no less in its offering, even though there are a few departures from the original.

Pugazhmani’s dialogues are, surprisingly, a whiff of fresh air in what you otherwise expect to be a stale story – you really don’t expect the tongue-in-cheek one-liners he sometimes throws out. But that’s the star performer – its you-know-who, and in exemplary fashion, of course.

Events kick off with a wedding between Prince Jagadhalapradhaban (Raja) – how many more times will they use that name? – and his cousin, Azhagu Nachiyar (Nila), of Sangu Theevu – when catastrophe strikes in the form of a huge, watery monstrosity taking a womanly shape to destroy it. The sight of a watery Namitha clad in what seems to be a bikini top and barely-there strip of cloth is enough to give you the heebie-jeebies. It’s swiftly pocketed into a kamandalam by the wily Sidhar (Kotta Sreenivasa Rao).

The royal families are duly grateful, and ask his help in getting the wedding through. Needless to say, the bearded man has his own agenda in helping the prince, and in true filmy fashion, talks you through a flashback that involves more princes and fairy-tales: Indrajith (Riyaz Khan), Azaghu’s brother and an inveterate killer, not to mention a thief as well and a completely insane Jaganmohana (Vadivelu), with his cohorts, playing a nadaswaram and cracking lewd jokes. [Seriously - Kudamurutti Kokila? That's too much silliness to swallow.]

More to the point, you have Jaganmohini (Namitha), a young pearl-diver in the small sea-side town of Muthukkaadu, wearing skimpy two-pieces as is her wont, and who dives down into the deep blue sea in colourful costume after costume. How she manages not to jump right out of them is a mystery. She shares a dance with her mother Jyothi Lakshmi [yet another buxom item dancer of earlier decades], who predicts that her daughter will marry a Prince. Naturally.

Back to our intrepid Jagan (so many people are named Jagan, in this movie) again – he almost drowns in his efforts to defeat Prince Indrajith, falls into the sea and washes up, Padagotti fashion, on the shore. Jaganmohini promptly falls in love with him, without knowing who he is [although she's honest enough to mention that she'd like to marry a Prince.].

In typical Namitha tradition, there are plenty of double entendres, duets to Ilayaraja’s lackluster music (he seems to have realized the futility of a project like this), bend-and-snap routines that display her talents to great advantage, until disaster strikes: the Prince gets back home and informs his parents that he’s set his heart on a pearl-diver.

The only good part about the entire screenplay is that Jagan’s father, who smilingly agrees to his son’s errant belief-systems, and promptly decides to get Jaganmohini murdered within a week, aided by his vassal. Now that part was completely and totally rational – its what a king would do, under the circumstance.  It also lets you raise the angst factor: lost love returns as a ghost, willing to rave, rant and generally throw trees at anyone who happens to cross her path.

The pity of a film like Jaganmohini hits you when you realize that these are the kind of movies that are invariably taken in Hollywood, jazzed up with mind-blowing special effects, infused with snazzy characters and sharp dialogues – and which then go on to gross billions. This one has potential: star-crossed lovers, angry ghosts, crazy villains, sword-fights, fist-fights and goddesses that smite you down – and yet, the story sinks like a stone, the special effects wouldn’t fool a two year old and you rely on a Namitha, spilling out of her costume, to save the day.

Not that she doesn’t try, of course. This film is all about her; the camera traces every movement lovingly, but she really doesn’t have much to do except change costumes every ten minutes and have the crowd hooting. Nila tries very hard to appear involved but when she’s forced to sing devout songs dressed in a skimpy saree, you can see her heart’s not in it. Riyaz Khan looks more like a prince than a wimpy-looking Raja – pity he has so little screen-time. Narasimha Raju, the hero of the original Jaganmohini, makes an appearance here as Prince Jagan’s father.

Kotta Sreenivasa Rao is more a comedian than Vadivelu – he pulls out every syllable of every word for so long that the theatre erupts in laughter.

But the real comedy lies with the special effects – huge spiders, snakes, goddesses who frown and seas that part in such an amateurish fashion that even the kids fidget. The costumers have had a field day as well, using the same jewellery for all the actresses (a red necklace, in particular that keeps shifting from Nila to Yuvarani to Nila), and dazzling fake beads and bracelets that look like props from a stage-set. Namitha, thankfully, has saved them all a good deal of trouble by wearing next-to-nothing, of course.

The locations are the only saving graces in the movie and for that, at least, you’re thankful.

Despite its silly storyline and terrible costumes, Jaganmohini leaves you with a feeling of loss: for the time when such larger-than-life characters, magic and fantasy ruled the screens, taking you to beautiful worlds – and for the time when such movies might return.

Not that that’s going to happen any time soon, if makers are willing to throw away money on stars, which could have been better spent on convincing screenplays.

]]> http://princessodyssey.wordpress.com/2009/10/21/jaganmohini-movie-review/feed/ 0 Pavithra Jaganmohini http://princessodyssey.wordpress.com/2009/10/21/deepavali-blasts/ http://princessodyssey.wordpress.com/2009/10/21/deepavali-blasts/#comments Wed, 21 Oct 2009 02:16:40 +0000 Pavithra Srinivasan http://princessodyssey.wordpress.com/?p=43 ]]>

Yet another festival of the lights vanished. Except that this one was slightly better than most . After a good many years, I had some fun with crackers. They seem to make ‘em in even more bewildering variety than usual, these days. What with Green chillies, Gillies, Jellies and Golies, life seemed strangely uncomplicated, for a while.

The only problem was seeing our street’s dog population scared out of its wits at the thundering noise. Fortunately, most of our doggy residents stay near/in our house, so they were quick enough to wander in at the first sound of crackers. One almost didn’t make it, howling in fear at the 1000-wallas, until I dragged him in with bowl of curd rice. They’re back out now, and perfectly normal.

New dresses, sweets, everything perfect – except for the Deepavali movie releases, of course. I did what any self-respecting movie reviewer would do, all three days of the festival weekend: gorged myself on the new releases. (Thankfully, my parents understand enough to let me waltz to the movies at 6.30 am).

Per usual, there were moments of fun, but mostly, moments of disappointment. I managed to stay true to what I felt, along with the general public’s comments, but still managed to elicit a good many negative comments. [Methinks there are many who don't like actor Suriya, or harbour an inveterate amount of loyalty to one or other of the Big Four. In the same vein, just making a politically-correct movie doesn't make it a good one.]

Of course, if you actually dare to voice those opinions out loud, someone’s going to run through you with a pointy stick.

Here’s posting my (slightly elaborate) reviews of the Deepavali releases. Enjoy.

Banner: Ayngaran International 
Director: Billa-fame Vishnuvardhan
Actors: Arya, Trisha, J D Chakravarthy, Indrajith, Master Rohan and Co 
Music: Yuvan Shankar Raja

For the Rediff review, go here. 

Warning: If you’re one of those people who’ve booked days in advance and are a drooling fan of Arya/Trisha/Vishnuvardhan, don’t go any further – there are serious spoilers ahead. Important plot points may be revealed, and there’s no point bashing your head later. Instead, you can read the Rediff review, which gives away nothing. 

More movies have been destroyed by hype than you ever know – and despite the success of a film like Billa, Ayngaran International’s hugely anticipated Tamil venture, Sarvvam (Everything), directed by Vishnuvardhan falls prey to the bane of excessive expectations, leaving you with a distinct sense of something lacking.  

For one thing, there seem to be strains of the Oscar nominated 21 Grams, strewn heavily over the general storyline – its just that the movie’s first half is overdosed with light-hearted romance, and makes it rather unrecognizable. There’s the heart-transplant thing, love, loss, betrayal, blah, blah. And bizarrely, it’s only the first half that’s actually the best part of the movie. 

Its strange to see Karthik (Arya) bounce onto the screen, clad in Broadway-esque bowler hat, waistcoats and striped suit – but you enjoy the rousing Yuvan Shankar Raja number anyway, despite the fact that it fits in nowhere with the movie. (You even think he’s going to be shown as a model or something – but he’s an architect!). Fortunately, those cats-eyes and stylish moves help him along, accompanied by plenty of whistles and apreciative applause. And soon, it slips into romance mode: Karthik literally bumps into pretty pediatric doctor Sandhya (Trisha) on a go-karting expedition (they go on no other expeditions after that) – and its love at first sight, for him, anyway. She resist the idea, and for good reason, as his “love’ is based entirely on her good looks – he himself confirms it.  For the first time, I actually like Trisha in this one.

Meantime, there’s another storyline – a mentally disturbed Eeswar (J D Chakravarthy), who’s lost his family in a brutal car accident feels, in a twisted fashion, that he has to torment Naushad (Indrajith) and his son Iman (Master Rohan) – as payback for his own son. The problem is – he keeps looking at you expressionlessly so many times that after a point, you can’t really sympathize with the guy. And there are one too many shots of his wife and son getting bashed up. (Dircetor’s logic: We’ve canned them anyway, better use them up for full, brutal value.). There’s supposed to be a touch of insanity in his actions – but he just looks subdued. 

Just the same way, you can’t really sympathize with Karthik either – in fact, you feel some pity for Sandhya who steadfastly resists his romantic gestures. Surprisingly for Trisha’s work, she makes it believable when she does fall for him – and is perhaps the only shining part of the movie itself. The girl’s actually acted her part well.  

Plenty of duets ensue, while the background score is marvelous, proving just how good Yuvan Shankar Raja can be – along with art director Manu Jagadh, who’s done wonders with his sets – the visuals are astonishing! Watch out for that glass box song, and the one filmed in the desert. As for Nirav Shah’s camera work, there’s just one word to describe it: scintillating. Anu Vardan’s costumes are excellent, while Sreekar Prasad’s editing fits the bill. 

Sadly, those are the only things you can watch out for – the screenplay takes a nosedive immediately post the intermission. Just before the interval, little Trisha, biking with her lover, full of plans for the future, has her jugular vein cut off because of a manja-coated kite-string- and is announced dead. Its the only really moving part in the story – but its appeal is more because of its unexpectedness, rather than any sympathy with the character. 

Now here’s where you expect great histrionics from Arya, the bereft lover. And he does try – you’re reminded of the scene in Nammavar, where Nagesh mourns his daughter. But if that was a class act – this was just plain disappointing. Its obvious that Arya simply can’t let go enough to deliver a knock-out performance. You want to expect a Ghajini – the pureness of their love (what purity? In Ghajini, at least, Asin’s character had oodles of goodness, values and a real innocence; Sarvvam’s love is entirely based on physical beauty) should have moved you to tears, but nothing like that happens. 

But the crowning glory comes post intermission. 

Arya grows a beard (sign of his sadness), stands on the edge of the building he’s supposed to be building (he always wears helmets and stands on construction sites) – and wonder of wonders, Trisha’s father actually comforts him, telling him to get on with life! Now, this wouldn’t be a very big deal – had it not been for the fact that Trisha dies because of a silly bike race proposed by Arya, in the first place. 

Were I the father of a daughter who’s had her neck chopped off because of his ridiculous lover’s idiotic idea, I would have simply thrown him off the building site’s topmost floor. 

On the other hand, there would have been no story – so that’s pretty pointless. 

Now we found out how lunatic Eeswar’s story finally – finally! – snaps into Karthik’s life: Sandhya’s heart has been transplanted into Iman’s body – and Eeswar’s trying to kill Iman. Of course! Now that everything been tied up, the romance and comedy accounted for, let’s sit down an interesting cat-and-mouse game.

But wait – where, er, is the story?

You’ve got Arya running off to Munnar (and say what you will, its the most beautiful place on earth) to search for Iman, because he’s got Trisha’s heart beating inside him. Fine. You’ve got him trying to find some meaning in life, now that his beloved lives aagin. Well, ok – its not as though she’s come back to him in person, or its her brain that’s been transplanated – its only an organ, devoid of feeling. But we’ll leave that too – he’s a besotted lover, after all. 

What makes no sense is how Arya lands a mansion in Munnar like that – or how he suddenly becomes an action hero who’s Rambo incarnate – or how he actually escapes the debilitating effects of – gasp! – snake poison? Or not approach the local police, since Eeswar has followed them hotfoot? Or stay in a house full of glass windows where anyone can walk in, anytime? Or ignore his profession for weeks on end? And then escape, in filmi fashion, without a scratch on him?

And finally, why, why, why must he bash up the villain into pulp, thereby proving, for the 12767864585987th time that its brawn and not brain that wins? 

So much for a cat-and-mouse game that is more productive of yawns and disbelief at the credulous end, lack of logic, and endless chases.  

Inspired by several Hollywood flicks, Sarvvam should have been a gripping emotional drama with well-placed action – but the second half, with its lackluster performances and logic-less scenes, along with plenty of Arya-worship, tends to be tedious.  

Worth just one watch – and that’s for the stunning visuals, musical score and Trisha’s sequence.  

Banner: Company Productions
Director: R Pandiraj
Actors: Kishore, Dharani, Murugesh, Vega and Co 
Music: James Vasanthan

Children’s movies always fill you with trepidation – especially when they’re meant for children themselves. Practically every movie that’s meant for “children” has horribly etched characters who are so two-dimensional that you’re bored out of your wits. Its as though children are akin to cats and dogs – they’re incapable of swallowing details, need to be spoon-fed, and have to be stuffed full of morals about honest living, studying well, blah-blah-blah.Then there’s the fact that these movies are a “risky” proposition. Simply put, there’s no money in it.  No star value, and certainly no actor with sense will ever act in such a film. Certainly we’d no chance of expecting something along the range of Ice Age here. Forget the technological advancements – where’d you go for a script like that?

But it looks like finally – finally! – that trend’s slowly starting to change. 

Subramaniapuram was a trend-setter – no doubts about that. It now looks like Director Sasikumar seems to be one of those rare souls who not only understands the need for intelligent films – but encourages their production as well. Company Productions’ latest, Pasanga (Kids), directed by debutant Pandiraj is one such venture: almost unadulterated delight.

Pasanga wins because it’s not just a fairy-tale – the children in it are really children, with their own jealousies, problems and unique viewpoints. When Anbukkarasu, a newcomer arrives in the corporation school to start the new year, old-hands Jeeva Nithyanandham, Pakkada and Kutti Mani (Kishore, Murugesh and Co) are understandably incensed – especially because Anbukkarasu is unafraid of them. Their intro scenes are superb – and productive of some good laughs. Actually, that thread of mellow comedy runs through the whole movie – mild, producing a small bubble of mirth underneath.

A petty rivalry soon blows up into epic proportions, as Jeeva’s cousin, Keerthana, likes Anbukkarasu a lot. Anbukkarasu is seemingly a model student – but thankfully, he’s refreshingly down-to-earth and normal. The movie comes with a beautiful love story as well: Anbu’s uncle Meenakshi Sundaram and Jeeva’s sister Kopperundevi (Vega) aka Sevappukkanni (Red Eyes – because she’s a nursery school teacher who always falls asleep in class) fall in love, and a delightful tale ensues. Watch out for the cell-phone tamashas the two engage in.

It’s as though you’ve been let into the corporation school of Viraachalai, in the vicinity of Thirumayam, and allowed to peek into the lives, trials and tribulations: Anbu’s family troubles, because his father won’t take the time to improve their standard of living, his mother Pothumponnu (Enough of Daughters! – a name given to stop the birth of female daughters), Jeeva’s parents, especially his father, who is mature enough not to take out his personal rivalry on his student.

You can hardly believe that this is Pandiraj’s debut movie – there are sly digs at all the present heroes, their tactics, influence – and the intricacies of everyday life in a small town are refreshingly detailed. All the children have done an excellent job – and sometimes you have to wonder if they’re real families, so perfect is the set-up. After Saroja, Vega appears in a sweet role, which does her full justice. Who knew so modern a girl would fit in so well in a semi-rural set-up?

The screenplay moves steadily, filled with enough pep and enthusiasm to sustain the viewer. Newcomer Crawford’s artwork, and Yoga Bhaskar’s editing are near-perfect. James Vasanthan’s background scores wins a lot more than the songs themselves in this feel-good movie that touches all the right spots. Get your kids and have a blast at Pasanga. The last half hour might be cinematic – but the rest of it is too good to miss.

For the Rediff review, go here.

Banner: BIG Pictures
Director: Vikram K Kumar
Actors: R Madhavan, Neetu Chandra, Saranya and a host of ghosts 
Music: Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy/Tubbi-Parik

How rarely do you get to see a movie that’s not just logical and has good performances, but comes with a deliciously intriguing thriller whodunit tag as well? But that’s exactly what you get in Big Picture’s maiden venture Yaavarum Nalam (Everyone’s OK), directed by debutant Vikram K Kumar, and starring chocolate boy R Madhavan – and in an intriguigingly spooky package as well.

Hard-earned experience has taught the average Tamil movie-goer that thrillers and whodunits aren’t really the forte of our film-makers ; the instinct to stuff the screenplay with unwanted songs, comedy tracks and half-baked non-logic is too much – and its often the film’s undoing. Vikram Kumar, however, has proven that new or no, he’s certainly got the goods.

As all good thrillers do, this one too begins with a happy family: Manohar (R Madhavan) and Manoj (Hari Nair) are loyal affectionate brothers, each married – Manoj has two children (Abhijith and Supriyaa). Manohar’s charming, salwar-clad, make-up wearing wife is Priya (Neethu Chandra, debuting in Tamil), while their mother (Saranya) loves watching cable TV and all the TV serials that march through its channels. Much laughter and camaraderie ensue as the family fits in, and little things like the milk curdling when Manohar wants tea, or the lift not working when he wants to get into it don’t really matter. Added to the mix are a blind neighbour and his dog as well (Dhritiman Chatterjee) – who appear at suitably blood-curdling moments. And then there’s Manohar’s friend the sub-Inspector Shiva (Ravi Babu) and Dr Balu (Sachin Khedeker) who pull the story along, as well.

Matters get more complicated when a new TV serial appears every afternoon at exactly 13.00 hours on Eye TV, and bizarre events start a roller-coaster ride that somehow end up influencing real life – and only Manohar, somehow, seems to be aware of them. Tied up into it all is a thirty-year old murder mystery – a chilling incident that still has after-effects.

A lot of people wondered why it was only Madhavan who could connect the bizarreness of everything – I propose that he’s specially attuned to the paranormal (witness the milk-curdling and the lift not working) which is why he could sense that something was seriously off. Also, several of the TV epsiodes aren’t watched by the rest of teh women – only Maddy watche sthe connecting episode, not to mention the climax.  Maybe a shot to show his astuteness would have worked – but that might also have gone against the whole screenplay. 

You have to hand it to the director Vikram K Kumar – these are the real thrills, the spook-specials that you yearn to see on the screen, but somehow never do. Instead of relying on blood, gore and white-sari ghosts, he’s drummed up effectively spine-chilling horror – the kind Hollywood is used to, but which is still new here. The charm is that he’s added enough Tamil elements to it and dialogues, courtesy Neelu Ayyappan make the transition without jarring you. Wonder of wonders, he’s actually tied up loose ends! If there’s a faint whiff of Hindi here and there, and the setting distinctly up-market, you learn to ignore it, as you do one or two other, minor glitches.

It’s the story that’s king here and even the players themselves fall into the secondary category – Madhavan is at his usual, suave best, excelling when he’s confronted with a strange set of incidents he cannot explain. But it’s Ravi Babu who sometimes takes the cake as the puzzled SI. The rest just fit it seamlessly; Saranya and Neethu Chandra look like they’re having fun, even if they’re roles are minor.

Tubbi-Parik have gone to town over the back ground score which is neither too quiet, nor too loud and hits exactly the right note. Sreekar Prasad’s editing keeps up the ail-biting tone that’s a must for this genre, while art-director Chetan Pathak has brought a posh, yet middle class apartment to life. Shankar Ehsaan Loy’s music, thankfully, is restricted to one crowd-pleaser during the movie and the hit song relegated to the titles.

If the director is king, then cinematographer P C Sreeram is undoubtedly the prince of the proceedings. His camera captures perfectly every troubled, nuance, showcasing old and new distinctly, and takes on a life of its own.

For true-blue mystery and spook-lovers, here’s the movie you’ve been waiting for, complete with heart-thudding thrills that’s actually logical. A must-watch.

My Note: I watched Yaavarum Nalam twice more – in the theatre. And I loved the experience both times. its deliciously cool to watch a spooky thriller with hundreds of others, to guess their reactions – almost as though I myself were the one to have made the movie.

For the review on Rediff.com, go here.

Marudhamalai: Of constables, cons and corny scenes

Banner: Aascar Ravichandran
Director: Suraaj
Actors: Arjun, Nila, Vadivelu and others 
Music: D Iman 

What do you get when you throw a few scenes each from Saamy and Mudhalvan, create a few more sequences inspired by yesteryear blockbusters, add Action King Arjun, beautifully choreographed stunt scenes and a heroine in a blink-and-you-miss act? You end up with Oscar Ravichandran’s Marudhamalai, of course.

Counting on the paisa-vasool policy of earlier films, Arjun and Director Suraaj enter the Kollywood arena with yet another potboiler: an upright young Police constable single-handedly wipes out ruling goondas and rowdies, armed with a bare minimum of weaponry, but more lethal fists.

Marudhamalai (Arjun), the son of simple, honest parents (played by Nasser and Kalairani), yearns to join the police force. Passing the required tests, he does so, and his first posting is to Nachiyarpuram, a stronghold of Maasilamani, alias Maasi (Lal), who holds the area within his iron grip, ably assisted by a band of musclemen placed both high and low – and has ensured that the election process has come to a standstill, for the past 16 years.

The first half of the film sees Arjun donning the comic mantle together with Vadivelu, who plays his superior officer, Encounter Ekambaram – a role which Vadivelu performs with ease. His expressions, dialogues and antics make sure that the theatre rolls in mirth whenever he appears. Nila makes a brief appearance as well, as Arjun’s love interest. Matters are going along swimmingly, with Arjun and Vadivelu stirring up life at the Police Station, when Election Commissioner Suryanarayanan IAS (Raghuvaran) appears on the scene, demanding to know the whys and wherefores of the political ruin of Nachiyarpuram. A rabid round of meetings follow; Election Commissioner and Maasi meet; duly challenge each other, and mayhem ensues, with Arjun’s father first threatening Maasi who messes up the elections, Maasi’s dusting up of him – which brings an irate Arjun to the scene. A marvelous bout of fisticuffs ensues – resulting in Maasi’s first taste of opposition.

From hereon, matters take a predictable turn, with stylish stunts executed by a sweaty, trim Arjun (who is now promoted as an Inspector, and gives out his cell number so the public can call in times of distress), dozens of rowdies and a Maasi who’s locked up in jail and bellows at frequent intervals. It is a credit to Lal that he can infuse some energy into such a role. Actors such as Shanmugarajan are wasted – but provide Arjun with an opportunity to exhibit not just brawn, but some brain as well. Raghuvaran makes some impact as well, if you can ignore his finger-wagging – a pity that he appears in just a brief way in the latter half. He’d have made a kick-ass hero.

Arjun snatches some time in the middle to romance Nila – the sequence where she displays her ‘tiny wishes’ produces some laughter, but all the times where she tumbles on top of him doesn’t – dances a little with Sharan Preethi to D Iman’s numbers, full of noise and thundering beats. Maruthamalai Mamaniye Murugaiya is a saving grace, though, with its lilting melody. Meantime, in a climax that reminds you powerfully of the one in Saamy, Arjun packs off the evil-doers in a spectacular fashion, rousing the whole country to applause.

It’s the Action King’s movie all the way. Block out the noise, yells, screams, villains and slinky heroine, and you retain an impression of a slick Arjun who can deliver punches with ease, who speaks and dances moderately well, and can arrange his facial features enough to suit the (meager) emotions required of him. Aside from his obvious fixation with the movies mentioned in the first line, he actually makes the action look good –during some fleeting moments. The rest is a yawn inducing exercise that might test the patience of a saint.

If you’re hell-bent on watching it – get large ear-plugs.

Star rating: 2

Speed Review: Zealous constable Arjun takes on menacing uber-rowdy Maasi and single-handedly vanquishes him with fancy moves.

My Note: Okay, I’m kicking off with the first review I wrote for Rediff. Why am I posting all this, you ask? because I need a record of what I actually wrote in my space, of course. I remember that I went with my mum for this one – and actually fell asleep during some parts. Both of us. 

For the review published on Rediff, go here. 

I’ve decided that I’m going to upload my Rediff reviews here – the unabridged versions which are hopefully more humorous and fulfilling and make more sense

Part of the time I spend online is devoted to reading totally random stuff. Of course, I can always tell myself that I’m doing this to keep abreast of world news, while picking up ideas for the  next article (which is quite true in some cases) – but I do a lot of random reading which doesn’t translate into anything but general amusemnt. Or horrified amusement. The latest kick happened while browsing through pro-ana websites and blogs.

Anyone who’s seen me knows that I’m about as far off from anorexia as the proverbial chalk is from cheese – but that still doesn’t keep me peeking into what their lifestyle is like. I stay away from sites that advocate diets – guilt conscience, anyone? – but ana sites are intriguing. Still, finding hardcore ana sites were a difficult thing for me; I kept ending up with self-righteous, “Starving yorself is wrong” sites. (And they’re right, right?)

And then I stumbled upon this rather beautiful blog. Beautiful, not because of what the writer’s trying to do – but because she is one of those genuinely gifted writers who can just find the right words at the right time. 

And make Anorexia sound like God’s greatest gift to mankind, or some such thing. Here’s what she says to a comment that accuses her of setting bad examples:

While I recognize that for many many women anorexia is actually a piteous, uncontrollable disease, I openly admit that mine is a choice. I starve myself on purpose, in an effort to lose weight, in an effort to hurt myself, and sometimes to hurt those around me. This choice did not originate without its environmental stimulus. I am a full-time actress and model in television, films, and theatre. It’s my career, and it has been for over 10 years. No, I’m not an A-lister, but neither am I so unknown that I don’t take great pains to maintain my anonymity as I blog about it.

Ever since the United States was created to escape the sovereign supremacy of a monarchy, American pop-culture has cultivated its own brand of “royalty.” The masses of natural-born followers still desire model leaders and icons after which to pattern themselves. In modern times, those of us whose vocation requires us to be on display for a living have the additional responsibility of carrying that image off the screen and onto the sidewalk. We are held to these royal standards by the general American public: you the reader, the viewer, the dollar-toting “fan.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what sells. Beauty is admirable – humans are hard-wired that way. And in the US, “beautiful” is worth money. So yes, in a way, this is my job. I know the pain of losing a job to the girl who is five pounds thinner. Even if she’s five pounds “too thin”, she’s still thinner than me; therefore, she gets the job. In many cases, even if her talent SUCKS but her body makes tongues wag, SHE GETS THE JOB.

In show business, there is NO SUCH THING AS ‘TOO THIN.’ As long as I can work, no one actually cares how much I am or am not eating. As long as I look beautiful, I get paid. And until the world-at-large decides to stop voluntarily paying for the privilege of watching beautiful people work and play, I will continue to follow the rules set forth by generations of people who’ve come before me. I will do whatever it takes to do my job to the best of my ability.

Surely you also have a job about which you are so passionate?

All hard work comes with sacrifices. This is the life I chose, and that chose me. It’s not a selfish desire. I don’t do it to spite the unfortunate women of other countries who wish they had my opportunities. I do it to satisfy the curiosity of millions of people just like YOU who harbor that inner desire to live vicariously through the life of someone you admire.

She almost makes me want to say “Hallelujah!” and join the ana-brigade (except that I love food too much to do that). What saddened me, however, was how much of what she said actually was true as far as the entertainment industry goes. The thinner you are, the more work you get (Kareena Kapoor’s size zero, anyone?), the more people talk, the more you get paid. It really is a vicious circle. And its not just the entertainment sector – it works for other areas as well. 

But the methods she uses to, er, stay in shape. Gods. Laxatives five times a day, saltwater flushes and fasting three straight days are nothing to her. This, despite the fact that she’s a full time professional, having to work hours each day – all in the public glare.

My mind is messed up when I don’t eat three proper meals – how come she’s so lucid with nothing but water, water pills and diluted cranberry juice in her sytem?

The real clincher is that she sounds so normal – like all the starving girls out there are doing the right thing – you, the normal person are the insane one. She’s this karma veerar kind of person who is on the straight and flawless path. And you almost find yourself nodding at all the things she prescribes for herself (like doing 8 miles in the gym, then having grey-outs, which are almost-fainting fits because you don’t really faint, you just come close to and then nibbling on celery sticks). I almost found myself wishing I could become one of her loving anas and have her give me a virtual hug in encouragement.

But then, I love Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut too much. And she’d probably have a fit just listening to the words.

Admitted, I haven’t been much of a gardening fan through the years. It’s my mum who ought to take the credit for being a thorough green-nut. But there was a reason for my aforementioned apathy: we lived in crowded Nungambakkam, surrounded by moss-covered cement floors and quarrelling people, which made it difficult to have even a couple of potted plants – the effort was simply too much.

Once we moved to Valasaravakkam, however, things would be slightly easier, or so we thought. There was a tiny strip of sandy space beside our house, which set my mother scrabbling for her gardening tools at once – and I wasrn oped in as well. I kept moping that this was damn hard work, cutting and heaping and clearing the ground – but what do you know? I actually began to develop a taste for it. Soon we were clearing the space like mad, and planting all sorts of things: jasmine, hyacinths, roses and button roses …

Until Her highness M arrived to the flat right behind us. The ground is common property, and she decided that she would excercise her rights at once. The whole day was spent tramping all ove rthe garden space, and dropping hints about the over-powering weeds, and getting someone to clear the space and cover it in cement. Provided we supplied her with money, of course (wasn’t this a common area?)

She’s keen to use our side of the garden, despite having space of her own, to dump building tiles, talk on her cell-phone, and get her child to trample the plants. But here’s the irony: she won’t even clear the weeds growing on her side of the gate, because it belongs to the flat above, and they would have to pay to clear it. For freaking God’s sake …!

Why would people want to destroy other people’s innocent pastimes? This female makes me want to tear her papart. Talk about tasteless, selfish, self-centred behaviour. Grrr!

September 9 2003: This week happened to be a bonanza of sorts.

I sat up suddenly, on the morning of the 9th of September- it was the 104th birthday of one of my favourite authors- Kalki. (Strange picture forming in my mind- what would Kalki have said if ‘d accosted him with ‘Happy Birthday! You’re 104 today!’ ? Probably ‘Good grief! Who wants to be 104?’) On the other hand, he might have written around 20 more wonderful novels – the completion of which task now falls, sadly, on my exalted self.

K had a great sense of humour, apparently – which became more and more evident as I rushed through his works- all the headlines he’d ever written during his time in ‘Ananda Vikatan’, his satires, his reviews…his friendships, his wrenching away from AV to form a magazine called ‘Kalki’…

This man is awesome.

What if I held an interview with him??

All right. Imagination knows no restraint. (And you, my dear reader, are doomed).

Me: Good morning, Mr. Kalki. And how are you today?

Kalki: As well as can be, I suppose. My wretched Asthma will give me no respite, however. But that’s of no account. I’m lucky, in a way.

Me(surprised): How’s that?

K: Because Rajaji, my mentor, has it too. its evident that this disease affects only the…er…’biggies’ as you people call them. Hence proved that I’m a ‘biggie’ too.

Me: Weird theory…

K: You ought to have known that I’m quite weird. No one else would have chosen to write novels like ‘Ponniyin Selvan’ or ‘Sivagamiyin Sabadham’, in my time, you know. I quite remember Rasigamani counselling me not to start Kalki, as well. It would be a disaster, I was warned.

Me: But you were a trend-setter! You started the fad.

K(brightening): Is that how they think of me now? That’s encouraging. In my time, it was more like ‘this man has gone to jail thrice. And he’s a fly on Rajaji’s tail. Ugh.’

Me: The best things are appreciated only in their absence.

K: You can say that again. Take a look at the greats of yesteryear now. They were ignored during their lifetime- and now everyone is yelling themselves hoarse, screaming their praises.

Me (alarmed at K’s irritation): Er…um…you know, your proficiency in languages is remarkable.

K (grinning): In spite of my not completing school, eh? Accomplishments have nothing to do with attending classes, you know. I’m pretty fluent in English, Hindi, I’m conversant with Telugu and Sanskrit too. In fact, I quite like languages…but this is going far afield. Say… all this is a blog, right?

Me: Um…yes.

K: And aren’t they supposed to be short, precise and all that?

Me: Uh…normally…yeah.

K: In that case, you’ve made me- a person who’s known for precision- yak about a lot of things.

Me: Well…

K: Forget it. We”ll talk later.

K: In MY blog.

****End of Interview****

Now look what you’ve made me do. I start out reminiscing and end up interviewing.

Huh