[MNIK REVIEW] : My Name is Khaaan't

So after a thousand fears and a million tears Mr. Johar Jr.'s latest flick 'My Name is Khan' (MNIK), not surprisingly, opened to packed houses across the world on Friday. Being the kind who had already been pushed to the edge of desperation to try and prove my point about this being another molehill of cliches (DH Blog 'My Name is 'Clueless'), I decided to take a deep breathe and plunge into this whirlpool of what would undoubtedly be peppered with large chunks of 'glorified Joharism'. And my O my! I could not have, sadly, been more right. Something I was interestingly disappointed with.

There is no denying that this movie stays clear of some of Johar's popular stereotypical inclusions thus far– gays and humor based on them, unedited ranting by the protagonists (usually the female lead), abundant references to familial unity and previously successful SRK movies, a chatty maasi and a disturbing bouquet of song and dance rituals and so forth. Instead, it steps into more global stereotypes of the 'Umreeki' kind. If there ever was a seriously miscued pro-Muslim agenda based movie, then MNIK is it.

But lets start with the basics. Rizvan Khan (SRK with a serious hangover of Hoffman from 'Rainman' but with neither the legendary touch nor the convincing seriousness) is a man suffering from Asperger's Syndrome. (It is curious how after 'Taare Zameen Per' almost everyone wants to herald a 'major message' by using the physically and mentally challenged as a protagonist and an unknown disorder to back it up. It disgusts me that these so called 'master story tellers' cannot narrate the same story with a person who is just a common Jack trying to meet the end of the working day. Weird.) He has a clearly secular mother (Wahab in a decent role) who has taught him that there are just either good or bad people in the world. Something, as we all know, just isn't true but then considering the already complicated personality of Rizvan, Mr. Johar decides to dumb it down to 'his level'. Tragic.

He then arrives in You-Yes-Yeah following his bizarrely irreverent brother (Jimmy Shergill in a role that never quite manages to find ground) to sell cosmetics for his company. So far, interestingly, things chug along evenly. Steady storyboard and all that. Bam! Mandira enters (Kajol in her usual indulgent self as evidenced in her groupie's directorial flicks) and things start getting 'Bollywood-ized'. The cliché rain begins. Rizvan almost instantly breaks into 'Tere Naina Tere Naina' and a few frames later asks her to marry him. She, a divorcee with apparently a seriously troubled past, gives him a mundane task (watch the film for this one) so that she may 'consider' marrying a guy she recently met. Even if I looked past the cinematic liberties here, the fact that she actually agrees to marry him raises serious questions about her character's conviction. A single mother who is just moving to a new place in a country like United States might, umm well, think twice before remarrying and that too with, ahem, a person with a clear form of autism. But not Mandira – no no – she is all for it in a blink. Heck, it is even hinted that they have sex on their first night thanks to 'Intercourse for dummies'. Made me think a lot of Indian men probably need that book too.

Now to the nucleus of this tale – 9/11 and its affects on innocent Muslims in the US. Whats that you say? That was almost a decade ago and people might find this theme a tad overused now? Well not according to Mr.J's yarn since we have random rednecks flipping off shopkeepers just because they wear a white cap, we have unnamed yanks smashing windows of desi motel owners and heck, we even have kids at school smashing that 'Paki' kid since his skin is brown. Yaaawn. How many movies have already dealt with this over the last decade? I lose count now.

And so Mr. Khan embarks on this supposedly iconic journey (much like the 'run' Hanks did in Gump which brought the entire nation to him. Remember that?) to meet the Prez and tell him – 'Mr. President. My name is Khan and I am not a terrorist.' And for what? Just because the love of his life – Mandira – told him to. I wonder what he would have done had she told him to go say 'Stop it man! You are making us all look bad!' to Osama bin Laden?

And so during this journey, Khan meets an array of people who apparently don't really have a problem that he is a muslim. The best part of the movie in terms of ridiculousness is when Khan finds himself in a church with a dozen African Americans and tells them ( (in Hindi of course, since it is the second language in all American schools and so everyone there knows it!) that Mandira's son was his 'best friend'. Not one scene existed when the kid seemed remotely interested in what was going on in either his mother's life or with stammering Khan who randomly gifts him shoes for no reason. This is where I lost all possible interest in the rest of it considering the climax became so obvious.

My instincts about this movie being a giant load of cheesy performances and over the top 'Umreeki' reactions were bang on. Not only do we have an American cast just waiting to be salvaged from their racial ignorance by an autistic Indian muslim, but he is also shown as some sort of messiah who becomes an inspiration for other Americans to help their own kind. Any ounce of credibility this story might have managed, gets vaporized at this spot when a crowd lead by his brother and sister-in-law leads a handful of Americans to aid in rescue efforts of a disaster area. The rest of the story is seriously predictable from this point on so I will let you waste your hard earned doe in experiencing this 'magic'.

What aches me most about a movie like MNIK is that Johar decides to voice each and every thought Rizvan gets in his head. This, because he once again assumes his audience are so dumb, that they cant even digest this high school essay of a story. So while we have to put up with SRK's never ending, almost annoying, portrayal of a man with a serious disorder, we also have to contend with Kajol's wide eyed histrionics that oscillate from meaninglessly irrational to just plain absurd. I look around me and find leading websites announcing this as SRK's finest till date and it hurts me. How can they possibly call this a performance that overtakes 'Swades' or 'Chak De'? Is it because this is the first movie where he plays an 'unconventional' hero with a medical condition? Puhleez. Anyone who cites this as the reason isn't qualified to be a reviewer.

Anyway. I was forced to pen my reactions on MNIK only because of the meaningless hype it had created ever since its announcement. If the audience who watches this so called 'movie about peace in Islam' that only highlights racial stereotypes calls it a successful attempt then surely it is a sad day in Indian cinema. I would prefer the movie 'Aamir' ten times more just because it was honest in its statements instead of choosing to design its script based on newspaper articles from a decade ago.

My recommendation – skip MNIK. There are much better films out there that convey the peace of Islam in more mature ways than this.

RATING: 2 out of 5 (1 star to SRK for keeping the hamming to a minimum and 1 star to Johar for spending more than 15 minutes shooting in India.)

Holy Smoke!

My gut notion that the most ridiculous item in the world always makes it to the front pages of Indian newspapers is an aptly placed one. For those who insist on viewing these columns with mislaid jingoism and meaningless rhetoric are welcome to do so. Heck, they do it regardless of the well aimed interventions. But even after thumping each other on the back and giggling feverishly from behind weird clinical masks (thank you Swine Flu!) on the 63rd Independence Day of our blessed nation, we Indians continue to fuel the absurd day in day out with shameless aplomb. 63 years, just imagine, and we are still covering preposterous news pieces on our front pages!

Now, I think of myself as some sort of a Bollywood fan. I say ‘some sort’ since that definition is fast losing meaning. From keeping a regular tab on every release every Friday I think I am becoming somewhat allergic to Hindi movies. Actually it has been over a year since I bought a ticket and walked into the desi cinema here in Copenhagen. Jaya insists that she wants to see a Hindi flick soon so maybe we will go there after all. But until that gun is put to my head I’d like to avoid it with my own mask! Either way, when it comes to Bollywood I don’t really have any demi-Gods to worship since after moving out of the nation and removing my tear soaked ‘love goggles’ for these over hyped brats and ‘cosmetically re-engineered self proclaimed’ queens, I have learnt to call a spade a spade. And so with these buzzers around me, I opened the daily a few days ago. Shock of shocks! The mighty multi-million dollar worth SRK was frisked by American police at some airport in the states and the fellow is going around calling it ‘irrelevant’ and is giving press reports ‘sharing his ordeal’ and giggling like a school girl about the slightest implication that it might be a ploy to get some well timed publicity for his sagging cheeks, I mean career. And to add some ‘context’ to this ‘horrifying tale’, he says he was detained since ‘My Name is Khan’. Hmm…does anyone else smell some good old spicy BS here? Isn’t that the name of the next over rated LEGO play-set that kid Johar is planning to unleash on our sinful souls? Tch tch. Bollywood never had any class after the good old 80s but heck, they are not even creative at making up BS! Jeez. That’s just pathetic.

Fine. For the sake of pure jingoism, let us assume our pal SRK is burping out the truth from behind designer goggles and effeminate seeming scarves. Even so, given the celeb-derriere kissing that 'fans' that our countrymen are everyone is showcasing this ‘story’ and saying US needs to go easy in their checking policies. I felt like roaring in laughter when I read this piece. Are these guys for real? Who on Earth is this SRK and why the hell should that policeman at the US airport care who he is? There was also another report right about the same time that the legendary Bob Dylan was whisked away by two cops for not having an ID card on him. Did you read that news anywhere? I guess not since in the American viewpoint, everyone is the same in the eyes of the law and no one gets extra press. Not even Dylan! What I don't get is why these irrelevant (Ah! Irrelevant – the only word SRK used that had any worth in his mirage of page 3 vocabulary) desi celebs be seen as absolutely harmless creatures overseas? Heck, according to me they are the most harmful ones given the amount of broad day looting they do of our precious money with their gibberish performances and clichéd cesspools of song and dance routines in the name of ‘entertainment’ each week! If anything they need to pay us, the customers, tax for putting us through the torture they call 'blockbusters'.

Ah well. Call it the perfect coincidence which was so well laced with the Holy Smoke of this fellow being a Muslim or the fact that he plays one in his next movie (for a change!) and just ‘happens to have a last name’ that matches his real one. Whatever the case, the desi notion that anything Bollywood is beyond horse dung is absolutely ludicrous. I always read news items about major Hollywood glitterati being fined or getting imprisoned or some such for straight forward things like traffic violations and drunk driving! And then we have clowns like SRK who prance around like sissies calling US ‘unrealistic’! What a joke! One can't blame him either since Sanjay Dutt for all the hooplah that was made about his involvement in the Bombay blasts still roams free with his new 'khaadi' linen. So little surprise then that these people feel they are beyond the law in and out their sad little nation.

When I began following SRK’s career I had a lot of respect for this guy for being the only authentic self made superstar after Big B and maybe Rajesh Khanna. But in the past decade (and after having joined his ‘Holy Hands’ with Farah Khan and that Johar fellow and others in that circus tent) he has seriously lost all major regard I once had for that young, charming, hard working and passionate performer who grew out of the middle class and made a name for himself. Nowadays he comes off as just another overfed celeb who is cashing in on our nation’s hopelessly star struck public who are nothing more than drones when it comes to these jokers.

Alright, I am done with this absurd item. Let me stop now before I start throwing up like one of this fellow’s millions of misguided fans. And as far as those fellows who stopped SRK and questioned him are concerned – Well done guys! I honestly hope you nail every Indian celeb who crosses your borders without regret since we will never dare to do so ourselves. We are too busy constructing temples and crashing coconuts for these chaps here! What to do? We have two centuries of white stained guilt to wash away no?

Sigh.

Misplaced Arrogance : The SRK-KKR saga

A giggle happy crowd mills around a deep ditch. People from all races, creeds, origins and intellectual levels nudge each other, in an almost perverse sense of guilty pleasure, and coax each other to fling another one. Another well aimed stone that will sail across the grim air and land on the bleeding head of the injured one. The one who does not look up anymore to blow kisses from behind dimpled cheeks or wave generously from behind a curtain of expensive cigarette smoke. No. His still and downcast body only shivers occasionally in the heat of the impact each misshaped stone makes against it. But for a brief capsule in time. And then it is over. The perversity has ended, the injured still lies where he is and the crowd disperses guffawing at one another only to return at another ditch, a day later, and fling a few more.

The reason I chose to portray the situation the much esteemed “King Khan” finds himself in today was because I cannot help but be part of that crowd. Sure, I may choose not to strike his head with a mass of verbose intellect but then there I am. Still standing with the rest and looking down upon a man who, for some reason, actually had my respect for his cocky self-confidence for quite a while. Be it from the eager-to-please-the-masses days of “Deewana” or the eager-to-scratch-his-creative-conscience ensemble of “Swades”. Yes, I was there for most of them. Whenever he would make a witty remark in a press conference or giggle, albeit shallowly, at a movie’s premiere, I always felt he had his head on his shoulders. After all being “someone” in the B-City isn’t easy without a Godfather or two, now is it? That said I have always admired people who have cut through the BS and made it big on their own. And yes, that aspect of it might make me slightly inclined to label him “King” since we have a lot of genuine kingmakers in India and not as many genuine kings anymore. So here was, a king in both the figurative and literal sense. Fair enough.

And then came the Indian Premiere League’s second offering. I had not followed the first one since I wasn’t really sure I wanted to see traditionally famous rivals pat each other’s backs on getting another fellow countryman out. Say, for instance, Shoaib Akhtar getting Sachin out and getting appreciative hugs from Ganguly. Sorry, despite the basic nuances of team spirit and camaraderie on the field this essence of sweetness between two teams whose matches shut down an entire nation just didn’t go down my old school honed system. And so I didn’t want to be witness of such, for the lack of another expression, absurd friendliness. But that somehow changed this year. Maybe it was because our famous rivals were not part of it, I don’t know for sure. But I decided to follow IPL 2. Sure, I didn’t have any “favorites” but given that my personal connections now span across three cities – Bangalore (where I am from), Mumbai (where my fiancé is from) and Chennai (where my future in-laws’ are from) – it became quite pertinent that I keep a tab on these three teams.

Now let us stitch this into context. Given the eye blinding glitz and jaw dropping oomph that IPL provides, it was only a matter of time before cricket started sliding into the backseat. Sure, we do see some insanely wonderful shots all over the park, but more often that not it lacks technique. Wham! And the ball sails into the stands. Wham! And the ball goes between the stumps. Hence the meaningless factor of aforementioned “Wham!” Nevertheless, I still watch it. But what has happened now is I also watch matches that have the Kolkatta Knight Riders (or is it just Knight Riders now?). Reason? Well, just because I think with every defeat they are pounded with (and boy are they being pounded good!) something convinces me that justice is still part of today’s world. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have cared less for KKR hadn’t SRK given his infamous “go get your own team if you want” snip at Sunil Gavaskar. Sure, Sunny is no saint. I have seen him walk out of matches because he didn’t think he was out even if the umpire did. But notwithstanding that outrageous past he has, the last person to tell him what to do when it comes to cricket would be SRK.

I never understood this – how can someone who has never played even one international cricket (and this applies to everyone standing above the ditch awaiting their turn to fling one in) have any idea what it is like to win/lose an international game? How does that even work? Even when I read Herculean blogs about people recommending strategies and writing convincingly about what the captain ought to have done…I can’t help but nod my head in disbelief. How can any of us know what managing an international team (with players stuffed with egos larger than their mansions) can be like? Hence, even if it means one has come up in the B-city on his own and has more money than all of middle class India, he still needs to zip it. It is like a man opining about a woman’s menstruation cycle or childbirth. Sorry dude…just doesn’t count.

So here I am. No stone in hand yet glad that SRK’s much needed reality check is finally happening. I know it is probably inhumane to side someone’s downfall, but sometimes even “Kings” need to get down to our humble levels and feel the same heat as we do day in day out. Only then, maybe then, they can actually remind themselves about how honest and straightforward they used to be some years ago. For that, I can be part of any crowd over any ditch any day.



..ShaKri..