To remind you, Aamir is indeed Aamir Khan, Amjad is definitely Gabbar Singh, and the triple M above is to acknowledge that it was Akshay Manwani’s biographical book on the cinema of Nasir Hussain that got me delving into the period of about 15 years, when I interacted with the Hussain Khans (first five) and the bare Khan (last, but the most imposing personality). Actually, Mansoor did not use his middle name, so he can be called a Khan too! Tahir stands for Nasir’s (younger) brother, Tahir Hussain, Tariq is Aamir’s cousin from his father’s side.

And a just a brief recap, that I was introduced to the cinema of Nasir Hussain, and to Shammi Kapoor, with his (Nasir’s) very first film as director, Tumsa Nahin Dekha, in a screening at Rex cinema Bombay. My brother, late Riaz, sacrificed his ticket for me, though I was 5 years old, and he had taken me along with his friends. The show was sold out, and we fell one ticket short. BhaiSaahab sat out. Inside, a world opened up for me. I enjoyed watching Shammi Kapoor, though I did not know much about a writer-director’s part in creating a film, then known as ‘picture’. How and where I saw Dil Deke Dekho, Jab Pyar Kisise Hota Hai and Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon is not within my memory, but the fact that I enjoyed all three outings is very much there.

PWDLH was released in 1963, when I was about 10-11 years old. Besides the songs of the film, I clearly recall being impressed with the manner in which family friend Ameen Sayani (later to be my Guru) promoted the film in the radio advertisements (remember, no TV, no Internet, no FM radio). In his staccato, drill major style, he went, "Phir Wo-Hi Dil La-ya Hoon!” You just had to pay attention, and almost obey the command, by going and seeing the film. AmeenSaahab and I were to repeat the style and format some 15 years later, while recording radio ads for Nasir Hussain’s Hum Kiseese Kum Naheen, but we will come to that.

The next two films from Nasir Hussain’s stable were a study in contrasts: Teesri Manzil, a musical murder mystery, was directed by Vijay Anand, and Nasir himself wielded the megaphone for a film about labour and class oppression, Baharon Ke Sapne, made in black and white. Both had music by Rahul Dev Burman. Teesri Manzil (1966) established RDB as a commercial composer par excellence while Baharon Ke Sapne saw him tune some outstanding melodies. TM was a box office bonanza, BKS (1967) a complete dud. Nasir Hussain making a tear-jerker in the K.A. Abbas/South India mould, with strikes, starvation and death? Spare us, said the public. I saw both, liked both. If anything, I felt Vijay Anand had a greater command over the screenplay and dialogue, and less use for flippant comedy, than Nasir Hussain. Anand went on to make Jewel Thief and Johnny Mera Naam, two milestones in the suspense thriller genre.

Nasir never worked with Rajesh Khanna, Vijay Anand or Shammi Kapoor again. But he decided that the music for all his films would now be scored by Pancham, and Pancham alone. From 1957 to 1963, he had changed music directors with every film: O.P. Nayyar, Usha Khanna, Shankar-Jaikishan, back to OPN, and now Rahul Dev (Pancham) Burman. The only other main crew member who would not change either was Majrooh Sultanpuri, the lyric-writer. Except for JPKHH and one song in TND, Majrooh had already written all the hitherto songs, come whichever composer may.

1967 marked the end of my schooling and admission to college: Rishi Dayaram and Seth Hassaram College of Arts and Seth Wassiamull Assomull College of Science. The college was located in Bandra, then seen as a suburb of mainland Bombay, and was run by the Hyderabad Sind National Collegiate Board, set-up by refugees from Sind (which went to Pakistan during the partition of the country, 1947). Their flagship college was in the heart of the city, near Churchgate, and was named after another Sindhi donor, Kishinchand Chellaram. Unaware that one has to make a mad rush to enrol into college after school, my family made no dash for it. When my father and I went to K.C., Principal K.M. Kundnani looked at my mark-sheet, and shook his head, “You are too late. We are full. Try National, our Bandra Branch.” Though we lived much closer to K.C. than National, National it was.

Soon I discovered that the 90 minutes it took from my home in Byculla for one-way travel was to be among the lesser challenges I was to face. Colleges those days had active Student Unions/Associations, and activities like performing arts and cricket were run by real mean bullies, who did not think much of roughing up an adversary. In town, I heard that there was a man named Shafi Inamdar, who ruled the dramatics scene. National had its own influential, talented mafia, and theatrical activities were run by two brothers, Imtiaz and Amjad Khan, both sons of yesteryear actor Jayant (Zakaria Khan). They were in their mid to late twenties then, and were to dictate terms for another 2-3 years. If you did not flunk, you would finish college by age 19-21. And Amjad had an IQ to contend with. So, why was he still around? What was he doing in a college where the average age of the students was 19, when he was 26-27?

Amjad Khan had completed college, and enrolled for post-graduate studies, so, technically, he was still a student. The Master of Arts degree was taking several years too long, so, in the meanwhile, Amjad was doing plays, participating in debates, collecting trophies, basking in the glory...while assisting film directors and shooting his first scenes as an adult film actor. I had only heard about these developments and only seen Amjad in his Jeep, carrying ‘lethal’ passengers, and, if  I remember correctly, tipping his hat in a Dean Martin like flair. Yes, he did look like Martin. Having seen the spy thriller, The Silencers (1966), I was struck by the similarity.

Principal Bhojwani, Vice-Principal Bhatia, a professor, a student colleague and the compere

Canteen gossip. Grist to the mill. What was all this to a lower middle class, bespectacled, goody two-shoes boy, who had chosen to study science in the hope that he would be able to cure his suffering mother by becoming a doctor? Okay, so three acting opportunities had knocked and then gone away before I opened the door: Ghunghat Ke Pat Khol (Nimmi, Sunil Dutt, Baby Naaz, Master Siraj) was launched and shelved, family decided that the lead role of the blind boy in Dosti (Rajshri Productions’ second film) would interfere with my studies (silver jubilee, out-of-the-word songs) and producer-director K.B. Lall was taking forever to launch me in his quickie, as the lead actor.

I had contested and lost the election to the post of the Secretary, Literary and Debating Society. Personally handing out small cyclostyled leaflets was not going to win me any votes, some pretty young things said. My canvassing was nominal, considering the circus put on the group that had Amjad’s support. My classmates used election hours t go and watch a film at the nearby Bandra Talkies.

After a highly honourable defeat, I was pleasantly surprised at the respect shown by his ‘gang’ members and the cold stares that greeted me from the higher-ups. No science student had dared to challenge an arts veteran, of no less a calibre Hafiz Baig, who was a terrific speaker and an academic genius. Hafiz did the unimaginable—he extended his hand in friendship. 48 years later, we are still friends. He is the publisher of a website called nrizone, and I am its Consulting Editor.

A bunch of speaking and inter-collegiate trophies, a couple of plays that I acted in/directed, some compèring, some mimicry, and ‘fame’ beckoned. The odd article appeared in the press about me, I wrote the odd article too, on a variety of topics. Attention was coming real fast. Concurrently, there were ebbs too. K.B. Lall passed away. I suffered retinal detachment and lost one whole academic year to health issues. My eyesight seemed to be fading. In a parallel development, Amjad and his troupe disappeared from sight. I did spot them sitting in his Jeep outside, once or twice, not giving it much thought. I was now in my third year of college, and after some serious reverses, I needed to carry on. My ambition, of joining a medical college, had been shattered, but the Bachelor of Science degree would provide some self-respect.

A month into the new term, it happened. Some students from the arts section came to my class-room, looking for me. They included the six-footer Hanif Banatwala, from the family that owned a leading brand of surma (medicinal kohl), and a regular at all college events as a mime artiste, the only one in a 3,000 strong institute. I knew him only by sight. The others were boys unknown to me totally. At first, I feared the worst. Such “looking for you” arrivals only meant trouble. Not this time.

They were all smiles. I asked them the reasons for this visitation, and Hanif opened up. “We have a proposal. And please don’t say no.” Fair hearing was in order, so I asked him to elaborate. “You know that Amjad and all his hangers-on have been black-listed and debarred from entering the college premises,  so....” “What? Say that again!” Hanif smiled, “So you don’t even know about it! Well, what I said is true. They have been accused by the new Principal Bhojwani of serious irregularities...” I interjected, “I see. But where do I come into the picture? I have nothing to do with them.” “...which is why we need you. The gang has issued a diktat that no activities of any kind will take place in the college until the ban is lifted. Naturally, most of the students don’t want to rub these guys the wrong way, and no election is possible. But we cannot shut down all activities on account of a few misguided students, can we?” he asserted.

And he had a point. “No, we can’t. So who is going to dare the mighty? I guess you want me to run the Literary and Debating Society!” “We want you to run the Dramatics Society,” declared Hanif. I made him realise the high risk involved, “That’s going to be a tough decision. Those boys might forgive all the others, but they will kill two guys for sure—one who takes on the Dramatics Secretary’s post and the other, who becomes General Secretary. Hanif grinned, “That me. You take Dramatics.” I went into contemplative mode, “And who’ll handle Literary and Debating?” He had already found somebody, “We have a boy called Tariq.” Till that July morning in 1970, I did not know who Tariq was. For the next two years, I would still not know much, except that he was probably related to Nasir Hussain, and lived on Pali Hill, India’s Beverly Hills, so was, most likely, filthy rich.

Three key positions had been filled by nominations, uncontested.

1. General Secretary: Hanif Banatwala

2. Dramatics Society Secretary: Siraj Syed

3. Literary and Debating Society Secretary: Tariq

Hanif could mime, I could write, direct and act in plays, do mimicry and compère and Tariq could....we would soon find out.

Tariq with the floppy hat, I with a transistor radio, and two other friends, at a college picnic

There some serious issues, though. Unlike past years, we would not be allowed to bring any outside talent, except the barest of bare minimum, and the budget would be 10% of the previous years’ budget. Moreover, we would not get any leeway when it came to cutting classes. Most colleges let their non-academic talent miss classes to alarming levels, as was the case at national for years on end. This was the unkindest cut. My college timings were 8.30 am to 4 pm. Add to that three hours of travel time. Could I manage? “I’ll need all your support,” I emphasised. “Of course,” said Hanif. “You can depend on me,” responded Tariq.

“Okay. I am game.”

P.S.: The lead picture is from the short farcical play The Doctoring of the Doctor, adapted from The Mock Doctor (1732, Henry Fielding), by Siraj Syed. I acted in it and directed too, though the way I use the stethoscope shows how little this quack knew about medicine. Hanif Banatwala played the patient, my victim. Back in school, Dushyant Punwani had done the Hanif role. He went on to become a top paediatrician, while The Mock Doctor is a real patient now.

Siraj Syed reviews Allied: Two Allies, Both Spies, One Cries, One Dies

There are a few things to like about Allied. Then there are a few things you don’t like so much. At the end f the report card, you might end up with as many –ves as you mark +ves, which doesn’t get you anywhere, really. Brad Pitt’s third war movie in a row and Marion Cotillard’s sequence of big projects promises you CasaBlanca, but gives you Morocco instead. Almost everything in the film is conceived and executed as a binary, perhaps to justify its real premise, “Make love, not war”—Steven Knight, who wrote the film. Love and war are binaries too.

In 1942 during World War II, Royal Canadian Air Force intelligence officer Max Vatan, under the Allied command, travels to Casablanca in French Morocco to assassinate the German ambassador in CasaBlanca. He is partnered with a French Resistance fighter named Marianne Beausejour, who had escaped from France after her resistance group was compromised and killed. The two pose as a married couple, and, against all professional codes, grow close, despite agreeing that in their line of work, feelings can get people killed. Marianne, who is trusted by the Germans, secures Max an invitation to the party where they plan to conduct the assassination. The mission goes well, and they both escape. Max asks Marianne to come with him to London, and be his wife. The two get married, settle down in Hampstead, and have a baby girl, who they name Anna.

A year later, Max learns from the Special Operations Executive that Marianne is suspected of being a German spy, having adopted her identity after the real Marianne was killed in France. In order to test their suspicions, SOEs run a 'blue dye' operation: Max is ordered to write down a piece of false intelligence at home, where Marianne can find it. If the information is picked up from intercepted German transmissions, Max must personally execute her, or be hanged for treason.

Is it a true story, or is it? Don’t waste your time trying to crack this one. Even f it is true, it is third hand, and there is no way anyone can verify it this way or the other. In August 2015, Steven Knight comes with good, if not outstanding credentials--Hundred-Foot Journey, directed by Lasse Hallström, based on the book of the same name by Richard C. Morais, starring Helen Mirren; Seventh Son, an adventure story starring Jeff Bridges, Julianne Moore, Djimon Hounsou, Kit Harington and Jason Scott Lee; Pawn Sacrifice, a biopic on the chess champion Bobby Fischer, with Tobey Maguire playing Fischer in the film.

This is what he told a publication:  “I was twenty-one years old and bumming around America with my girl-friend, after finishing college. We were in Texas, and her auntie, who we were staying with for a while, told me this story of her brother, who was an SOE (Special Operations Executive) agent behind enemy lines who fell in love with what he believed to be a French Resistance agent, a former school-teacher. She became pregnant, he brought her home against normal procedure, and one year later he reported to work one morning, to be told by a superior officer that they knew she was working for the Germans and that he had to go home and shoot her. And he did.”

Steven gives nods to CasaBlanca and Graham Greene, much more to GG than I found anywhere, in the narrative, which pitches marriage against patriotic duty. It is a much more existential question with Greene than it is with Knight, who treads on moral territory and the value of individual life over the madness called war. Incidentally, Max is shown reading a Greene novel in one of the shots.

“Show me your chickens, Max,” is a line that puts the seal on the CasaBlanca homage, as if the entire first half being set in the city was not enough. Remember Hummingbird? That was a film that Knight wrote and directed, and guess what is the identification sign in the hotel resto-bar that leads Vatan to Marianne? Hummingbird! I could never get the name Vatan while watching the film, but one thing is for sure—it is not Arabic/Persian/Urdu/Hindi word Vatan; rather, it is of Greek/Romanian origin, coming from Vatanadis.

Since 1972, movies made by Robert Zemeckis might be rewritten at an early stage, as was the case here, though the basic premise was not touched. Zemeckis himself has this to say, on his way of working, “They (my films) change in the editing room, but I don’t rearrange the story. I’m a very meticulous film-maker. I shoot exactly what I need. I don’t shoot a bunch of stuff and then try to build the movie afterward. I don’t want to shoot any more than I absolutely have to.” That approach got us Romancing the Stone, Back to the Future, Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Forrest Gump. Allied too is not over-directed. But over-written, it is. You are told almost everything, literally, and then shown the same, visually.

Zemeckis takes the roll back to shooting styles of the 40s too literally, both in shot-taking and cinematography. For a man who pioneered Special Effects and Visual Effects, he has employed them minimally in this film, but interestingly, in scenes like a deck of cards being shuffled in the card-sharper technique. Both Zemeckis and Knight are guilty of being impressed with Inglourious Basterds and carrying the hangover to two full scenes—one in which Pitt murders a Christoph Waltz inspired German and another, a ding-dong battle of wits in the German Consulate. When it comes to recreating and grafting a Mata Hari (WWI exotic dancer/spy) on to a WWII episode, they don’t have to look beyond Greta Garbo, Marlene Dietrich and Fassbinder’s Lili Marleen (1981). If Cotillard can’t pull it off in 2016, who can? With Pitt, Zemeckis knocks off several years (he’s 53) from his face, making it look more like a mask than a real countenance.

Brad Pitt deserves some sympathy. Why air-drop an air-force officer to kill a diplomat in a foreign country with a machine gun? Why put him through the cute but indulgent routine of roof-top rendezvous and the nuances of Parisienne French vis-à-vis French spoken in the Quebec province of Canada? Whatever happened to his family and his back-story? Why the only thing he has for a family is a sister who is, most of the time, seducing her girl-friend cello player? Why let Cotillard drive him into the desert and seduce him in the middle of a sand-storm? On second thought, maybe the sympathy is mis-placed, because Pitt is a producer of the film, and Zemeckis is no spring chicken. Maybe both got their bearings a little askew. At 41, Marion Cotillard, the French singer/actress (Taxi, La vie en rose, Inception, Contagion, Assassin’s Creed) gives hints of pretension, while the dialogue first asserts and then reasserts that she ‘makes it because she fakes it realistically! Her French is, as should be, Ooh là là! Her physics and chemistry with Pitt? High marks in physics. Chemistry? She sat out.

Jared Harris as Frank Heslop (The Curious case of Benjamin Button, Sherlock Holmes, Lincoln, The Man from U.N.C.L.E.) is a bit over the top. Matthew Goode as Guy Sangster (The Imitation Game, Stoker, Watchmen) comes across more scary than pitiable. Lizzy Caplan, as Bridget Vatan (The Interview, The Night Before, Now You See Me 2), has a uni-dimensional role. Anton Lesser as Emmanuel Lombard is talented, with little opportunity to show it. August Diehl as the Ambassador’s aide Hobar (Inglourious Basterds, Salt, The Counterfeiters) enjoys the formulaic phosphate.

Marion Bailey (Meantime, All or Nothing, Vera Drake, Mr. Turner), as Mrs. Sinclair, is competent, though we guess her secret a little before it is revealed. Simon McBurney as S.O.E. Official (Harry Potter, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Mission Impossible, The Conjuring 2) does the routine with élan. Daniel Betts as George Kavanagh, the young pilot, is the bundle of nerves he is supposed to be. Thierry Frémont (Djihad, The Round Up, Djinns), as Paul Delamare, impresses in a stock role, with the unusual twist that goes with it.

Music by Alan Silvestri is appealing. Cinematography Don Burgess is guilty of letting cut-outs and back-ground painting of sets seep through. Some exteriors and facades in CasaBlanca look fake, as does the crashed plane. (Scenes set in Casablanca were shot in Gran Canaria, Canary Islands). Edited by Mick Audsley and Jeremiah O' Driscoll at an uneven pace, the film fluctuates between a World War II spy adventure and a doomed romance. After all, when a child is born during an air-raid (very fluid camera-work), can the contrast be more earth shattering?

India’s Central Board of Film Certification has imposed several drastic cuts on the film in return for granting it the U/A certificate, which allows those above 18 to see the film, if accompanied by adults. As a result, you will see more sand in Operation Desert Storm than skin. On a scale of * to *****, the film deserved more than what it gets. You can see the pitfalls it has run into...from the True Story to a Screenplay to Marketable Action and Tears rewrite to a Star Cast Heavy Narrative, to an Unsure, Thinly but Widely Spread, Tentative Tale. Most viewers might find the compositions archaic and the VFX primitive. Judge it objectively, and you might come away with more than you expected.

Rating: ** ½    

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jlp94-C31cY

Siraj Syed reviews Passengers: Window seat at the journey of a life-time

They’ve got it right. Not perfect, but right. Mind-boggling special effects and a mind-toggling emotional narrative. It’s an elusive, coveted recipé, and for once, somebody nailed it. Use state-of-the-art VFX, but blend them with an equally compelling story-line, sometimes shaken, sometimes stirred, and then pray you hit bull’s eye. Passengers is a journey that starts in outer space, but gets you to Homestead 2, a planet far, far away, after 120 years, in a state of wondrous amazement. And never mind that the two protagonist passengers, out of the load of 5,000 plus, and the Deck Officer with a heart of gold, do not make it.

Yes, it is the predictable blue-grey 3D for most of the film, but some optimistic colourful moments are interspersed, via a tree, a flower, tongue-tickling snacks and coffee. Full of profound moralising, Passenger conceals and submerges its sub-text so well that you begin sympathising with so many ‘fellow travellers’ who got it all wrong since 2001: A Space Odyssey, Alien, Star Wars and Star Trek. Substantially original, Passengers is a bowing of the head to the other space-ships that traversed roads less travelled, and uses as few as five characters to manoeuvre along its charted path. One of those five is...you guessed it...a robot. “Android,” insists Arthur, insisting on being technically correct. And one other is a hologram of a woman from the company that operates the spaceships.

The star-shipAvalon is transporting over 5,000 colonists to the planet Homestead II, a journey that takes 120 years, by commercial space travel operator. The colonists and the entire crew are in hibernation pods, to prevent aging and death during the journey. An asteroid crashes into the craft, and, as a result, a technical malfunction awakens one passenger, mechanical engineer Jim Preston (Chris Pratt), 90 years early. After a year of isolation, with automated food and entertainment systems at his disposal, but no company except Arthur (Michael Sheen), an android bartender, Jim grows despondent, to the point of nearly jumping out of an airlock. One day, Jim notices beautiful Aurora Lane (Jennifer Lawrence) hibernating in one of the pods. Her video profile reveals a humorous personality and that she is a writer.

Jim struggles over the morality of manually reviving Aurora for companionship, but eventually does. He lets her believe that her early awakening was a hibernation pod malfunction, like his. Aurora, devastated that she may grow old and die before the ship reaches Homestead II, attempts a fruitless effort at re-entering hibernation, just as Jim once tried, and failed to. Finally, she comes to accept her situation and begins writing a book about her experiences.

Passengers was written by Jon Spaihts (The Darkest Hour, Prometheus, Doctor Strange) in 2007, but production began only in 2015. It is worth commending that the film has something for all age levels. There is technology overload for the geeks, love and sex in outer space to appeal to the romantics and the voyeurs, and a serious dissertation on the socio-psychological dilemma of colonisation and capitalism, catering to the 40+ age-group. Besides the obvious comparisons, thought to be one with Solaris too, which deals with illusions and dreams in outer space. Some of the lines might make you cringe when you hear them; a split second later, you will realise that a robot would not be expected to talk in any other, intelligent conversational, manner. Lines for the human characters are far more engaging and in-character.

Morten Tyldum (Fallen Angels, Headhunters, The Imitation Game) had expressed his desire to direct a space action thriller, but with a big-hearted guy at the centre. There is adventure of the nail-biting kind, but little action. Nevertheless, Tyldum is on home-ground. Either he is a wizard when it comes to shooting just what he needs and no more, or he has a wizard of an editor in the shape of Maryann Brandon, who has spliced the shots to near absolute perfection. Scenes assemble so smoothly that you feel a film was already complete and the exercise since then has been of breaking it into jigsaw puzzle pieces and re-assembling it seamlessly. Hardly ever does the hoarse lisp of Lawrence or the beefy, smithy frame of Pratt appear incongruent. There are some indulgences, though, like the repeated swimming pool scenes, and the Deck officer does not come across as somebody who knows too much about Information Technology and space travel machines. (All nudity and sex has been delight...ooops, deleted. Well, almost all.

Jennifer Lawrence (X Men, American Hustle, Hunger Games) is convincing, even if we allow for the stereo-typing of the written character. She is sexy too, prone to swaying her hips and taking the bull by its horns. Chris Pratt (Zero Dark Thirty, Guardians of the Galaxy, The Magnificent Seven)’s luck holds. There used to be a tag line at Metro Goldwyn Mayer (MGM)’s Metro cinema in Mumbai: Big Ones Come to Metro. Pratt is like a magnet for the last few years, attracting the big, MEGA projects. He has a vulnerable, lovelorn side to him too, which is well-exploited in Passengers.

Can you non-act and get short-listed for an acting award? Maybe, just maybe, the robotic Michael Sheen (Frost/Nixon, The Queen, The Damned United) a Welsh actor, might be in the reckoning. Laurence Fishburne (Apocalypse Now, The Color Purple, Man of Steel, Batman v/s Superman) as Gus Mancuso, the chief deck officer, is almost let-down by his lost and groping routine. Soon enough, this is explained as an illness; what’s more, a fatal illness, at that. Andy García as Captain Norris has a walk-on part...walk-on Homestead 2, 120 years away. Aurora Perrineau as Celeste is the hologram, or Hullogram, considering she appears only when people wake-up and greets them.

Music by Thomas Newman is eerily soothing and cinematography by Rodrigo Prieto is futuristic and dreamy.

See it. The re-run is not likely for another 120 years.

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BWWWQzTpN

Rating: *** ½  

Siraj Syed reviews Haraamkhor: Harmful to the core

Haraamkhor: A derisive term, having its roots in Persian (Farsi) and widely used in present-day Urdu and Hindi. Haraamkhor literally means one who feeds on ill-begotten food, haraam meaning immoral, or not kosher, the antonym of halaal, right and approved. Khor refers to eater, or consumer, from the Persian verb khordan, to eat. Some prefer to spell the word beginning with a qh, to distinguish from the kh sound, which is less guttural and not found in Hindi. It is an uncommon title, often translated as bastard, and one thing is for sure—it is not a word that anybody would like to utter in a civil conversation.

In the film, the title is meant to symbolise the main male character, a school teacher who targets and seduces teenage girls, in a rural rudimentary school. Among serious pointers that this is a well-intentioned dramatisation of real situations in India’s semi-urbanised villages, the film goes on to make a royal mess of highlighting a rampant social evil: male keepers and protectors intruding upon and preying on the vulnerable females of the species. That it uses two highly talented actors to dramatise its narrative is both commendable and lamentable. Commendable because they save the film from sinking deep into an abyss; lamentable because they are themselves thrown into this abyss, and have to use all their swimming skills to remain afloat.

Ten weeks ago, I was regretting having missed this film at the Mumbai Film Festival and a week ago, I was glad that the festival spin-off, a Film Club of which I am a member, was holding a screening, at the PVR Icon cinema in suburban Andheri, on 10^th January, ahead of its release. The scheduled 9.30 pm screening began over 30 minutes late, and after it ended, at about 11.30 pm, I just did not have the wherewithal to stay back for the Q and A, which was to follow. Perhaps I saved Shlok Sharma (writer-director) some blushes. The film was banned by the Central Board of Film Certification, India’s ‘Censor’ Board, since the plot revolved around an illicit relationship between a school teacher and his teenage student.

Two weeks ago, the Appellate Tribunal passed a judgement on Haraamkhor by not only clearing the film for release, but also by giving it a U/A (children allowed in cinema-halls, if accompanied by an adult) certificate. In their words, the film was "furthering a social message and warning the girls to be aware of their rights.” In April last year, an FIR (police complaint, called First Information Report) was registered against director Shlok Sharma, on a plaint filed by Bal-Bharati, Maharashtra State’s school text-book bureau, objecting to striking similarities between its logo and promotion scenes from Haraamkhor. See for yourself

The film was shot in just 16 days, in a small village in Gujarat. It had its first two screenings at the 15th annual New York Indian Film Festival (NYIFF), and the Indian Film Festival of Los Angeles (IFFLA). Nawazuddin Siddiqui received the Best Actor award at NYIFF.

Shlok Sharma (actor, assistant director-turned-director) enters the big, bad world of feature films, with Haraamkhor. Make that small bad world. He better get a decent production going, if he needs to salvage some respect. Credentials include the three-minute Hidden Cricket (2013), shot in just three days in Sion, Antop Hill (Mumbai) and Pune, and the 19-minute Sujata (2013), which is a part of Anurag Kashyap’s five-film package, SHORTS. According to info at hand, Haraamkhor has made to a theatrical release two-and-a-half years after completion. Why am I not surprised?

Subject taboo? You must be kidding. Suggested sex and genitalia fixation? Tell me another! Disappointing performances? On the contrary! Stilted dialogue? Partly! Jerky camera? Often. And the camera is not the only entity that is jerky! Disjointed, confused narrative? Most certainly! Continuity that is conspicuous by its absence? You said it. Shots that are four frames long alternating with shots that linger endlessly? I told you! A serious attempt to condone and even accept a teacher seducing his students on a regular, continuous basis? Yes, and never mind the captions declaring the  ‘nobility of cause’ and the Indian Penal Code sections that prescribe serious punishment for sex with minors.

Nawazuddin Siddiqui (Gangs of Wasseypur, Bajrangi Bhaijaan, The Lunch-Box) as Shyam/Kallu, the Teacher makes an inexplicably valiant attempt to get under the skin of the character, and, by all indications, even improvises several lines of dialogue. All he needed was to say, “I’m leaving,” and then exeunt, along with the others. Shweta Tripathi as Sandhya (Sujata, Masaan, Love Shots) manages to look much younger than her age, but the abs are distinctly visible. She is never overawed in the presence of Nawaz. Sadly, he’s hurtling towards the nadir of great actors less than a decade before nearing the zenith, and she would do well to take a right turn pretty soon, lest he get left behind.

Trimala Adhikari as Sunita is predictive yet appealing. Mohammed Samad, as Mintu, and Irfan Khan (Jr.), as his inseparable buddy, Kamal, are initiated into vulgarity and voyeurism at an early age. Sandhya’s father is played by someone who reminds us so much of Bharat Kapoor of yore. And his mistress/second wife, despite a portly presence, could be a Gujarati actress who makes a very complex role kind of an everyday effort. If her dialogue delivery can improve, she’ll go quite far. No details of the other members of the cast could be obtained.

Shlok Sharma has said that the title was registered even before shooting and that it was never going to be changed. Unfortunate. We could begin there. Does that mean that in its present state the film will not win awards in India, or more awards abroad? Rating? Shows how much some good performances can airlift a deflated balloon.

Rating: * ½

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZ92M1BImnQ

Erosactivity gets into top gear, announces 50 films, 40+ directors on board

The next financial year for their India econ0my is 01 April 2017-31 March 2018, and at 50 productions in the pipeline, they will have almost every week at the box office covered. It’s a multilingual black-board, and includes wiz-kid Aanand L Rai and their joint production entity, Colour Yellow Production, Viki Rajani's NextGen Films, and Trinity Pictures, Eros’ in-house franchise label.

Commenting on the company’s strong pipeline, Sunil Lulla, Managing Director, Eros International Media Ltd, said, “We are delighted to collaborate with some of the best creative forces in the business and build a strong portfolio of films. We continue to see great opportunity in nurturing talent, creating IP in-house and remain focused on delivering our promise to provide wholesome entertainment to audiences with a right mix of popular and content driven cinema”.

Following the critical and commercial successes of Raanjhanaa, Tanu Weds Manu Returns, Nil Battey Sannata and Happy Bhag Jayegi, Eros continues its association with Aanand L Rai and will roll out eight more titles with Colour Yellow, which include Rai’s directorial venture, starring Shah Rukh Khan, a quirky romantic comedy, Shubh Mangal Saavdhaan by south director RS Prasanna, and two other films Mukkebaz and Manmarziyaan will be helmed by Anurag Kashyap and Rahul Sankalya's Nimmo.

Post the success of Happy Bhag Jayegi, director Mudassar Aziz will reunite on a film he will direct along with another interesting collaboration with Navdeep Singh (of NH10 and Manorama Six Feet Under fame) for a project that is currently in the scripting stage. Additionally, a Malayalam film, Moothon starring Nivin Pauly, that Rai will be co-producing with Ajay Rai and Alan McAlex, to be directed by Geetu Mohandas, whose last film Liar's Dice was India’s official entry at the 87th Academy Awards, is also in the pipeline from the banner. Speaking on the association, Aanand L Rai said, “Eros and Colour Yellow share an amazing synergy which reflects in the kind of films we make together, showcasing Indian ethos that touch hearts. What makes this association special is how, as partners, the teams bond and celebrate each project together”.

Eros' new slate also boasts of five films in association with Viki Rajani's NextGen Films, namely the blockbuster actor-director duo—Tiger Shroff and Sabbir Khan’s action-packed musical, Munna Michael, Sushant Singh Rajput’s space odyssey, Chandamama Door Ke, directed by Sanjay Puran Singh, and directors Rahul Dholakia and Sabbir Khan’s next projects, along with another project, titled Make in India, to be announced soon. Director Rahul Dholakia adds, “Eros and NextGen are very established film companies. Looking forward to partnering with them in my next venture”.

Trinity Pictures, the company’s visionary venture, its in-house franchise label has five franchises across new and diverse genres lined up in the next couple of years— a spy-superhero film, Sniff directed by Amole Gupte, a live action bilingual (Hindi and Tamil) elephant film to be directed by multiple award-winning Tamil director, Prabhu Solomon, ace director Krish’s buddy cop film, which will be shot in Hindi and Tamil simultaneously, featuring popular lead actors from both South and Bollywood and two Indo-China co-productions, a first for any Indian studio—Kabir Khan’s travel drama and Siddharth Anand’s cross-cultural romantic comedy.

“It’s exciting to jointly develop the Indo-China project with Eros and I hope we create new milestones together. This project will reach out to a much wider audience, new geographies and territories opening up the fastest growing film market of the world, China”, added director Kabir Khan. Eros will release the much-awaited third instalment of the popular Sarkar franchise, Ram Gopal Varma’s Sarkar 3 and Vikram Motwane’s vigilante drama, Bhavesh Joshi, with Phantom Films this year. With a focus on creating fresh concepts in new spaces, Eros is working with a pool of talented and established directors on board, including Homi Adajania and Sriram Raghavan (Badlapur 2), in association with producer Dinesh Vijan, of Maddock Films, Sujay Ghosh (Reunion), Raj & DK (Farzi) among others. Sequel to hit political thriller drama Nayak - Nayak 2 penned by K.V. Vijayendra Prasad of Baahubali & Bajrangi Bhaijaan fame, will also go on floor this year.

The Indian studio also continues to expand its regional presence this year with more than 25 releases across Bengali, Marathi, Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam and Punjabi. Following their double success together with Bengali films Belaseshe and Praktan, Eros will release director duo Shiboprasad Mukherjee and Nandita Roy’s Posto this year. Also on the anvil is director Moinak Bhowmik’s Bibaho Diaries, Double Feluda director Sandip Ray’s next, two projects by Sujoy Ghosh, Kamleshwar Mukherjee’s Goodnight City and a project each by directors Ranjan Ghosh, Raja Chandra and Rabi Kinagi.

The company has also greenlit two Telugu projects by ace directors Chandu Mondeti (of Premam fame) and Maruti in association with IDream’s production division. Also, slated to release are four Marathi films - Baghtos Kay Mujra Kar by Hemant Dhome which makes a strong statement on the current state of Shivaji’s forts across Maharashtra, sequel to the hit Coffee Ani Barach Kahi by Prakash Kunte and another two films in association with Everest Entertainment. Eros’ Tamil slate will offer a range of titles by established directors as well as new talent which include Ramu Chellapa’s Enkitta Mothathe, Suresh Sangiah’s Oru Kidayin Karunai Manu, Manikandan’s Kadasi Vivasayi, Bharath Krishna’s Nervazhi and another project with director Venkat Prabhu.

Post the release of the legendary tales of Char Sahibzaade and Banda Singh Bahadur, the company has also announced Punjabi films--3D animation Guru Tegh Bahadur and Jaita, to be directed by Harry Baweja. Following the success of its Malayalam releases like Happy Wedding, IDI etc., Eros continues to make successful inroad into Malayalam cinema with multiple releases coming up including C/o Saira Banu (former actress, happens to the name of India’s greatest actor, Dili Kumar, now 94), starring Manju Warrier, Amala Akineni, directed by Antony Sony Sebastian; Ranjan Pramod’s Rakshadhikari Baiju Oppu with Biju Menon and Aju Varghese as leads; Sunday Holiday directed by Jis Joy starring Asif Ali, Sreenivasan, Lal Jose and Asha Sharath and another film to be directed by Thomas Sebastian.

This year will also see Eros’ debut into Kannada cinema, with the release of Aake, in association with K S Dreams and Nakshatra Productions, directed by K M Chaitanya and starring Chiranjeevi Sarja and Sharmila Mandre. Speaking on his association with Eros, leading Bengali director Shiboprasad Mukherjee said, “It’s been great to partner with Eros who recognize the importance and potential of regional cinema, opening newer markets in India and overseas”. Jyoti Deshpande, Group CEO, Eros International commented “With this film slate, Eros demonstrates two fundamental strengths, firstly its firm footing on a dominant market leadership position built on the pillar of a wide, diverse portfolio of films and secondly its ability to foresee market trends and adapt swiftly to step up its own production and co-production model over the content acquisition model.

While the demonetization in India was a temporary cloud over the business affecting footfalls in the short run, we see great opportunities including a cashless economy driving accelerated adoption of  ErosNow₁, one of the leading OTT services in India with over 2 million paying subscribers and over 55 million users worldwide. A compelling film slate with winning budgets and not just winning scripts, backed with a well-oiled global distribution network that consistently opens new markets for Bollywood coupled with strong presales and a game-changing early mover ErosNow(1) digital strategy, positions Eros uniquely to capitalize on the rapidly growing Indian entertainment sector.”

About Eros International Media Ltd Eros International Media Ltd. (BSE Script Code: 533261; NSE Script Code: EROSMEDIA) is a leading global company in the Indian film entertainment industry that acquires, co-produces and distributes Indian films across all available formats such as cinema, television and digital new media. Eros International is part of Eros International Plc, which became the first Indian media Company to raise capital and be listed on the New York Stock Exchange. Eros International has experience of over three decades in establishing a global platform for Indian cinema. The company has a competitive advantage through its extensive and growing movie library comprising of over 2,000 films, which include Hindi, Tamil, and other regional language films for home entertainment distribution. Eros International has built a dynamic business model by combining the release of new

Eros International is a pioneer and innovator in Indian film entertainment. Over the past 39 years, the Eros Group has acquired, co-produced and distributed some of the most recognized and successful Indian films across theatrical, television and other formats. It has an extensive and growing movie library comprising of over 2,000 films, including recent and classic titles that span different genres, budgets and languages, and have built a dynamic business model by combining the release of new films every year with the exploitation of their film library.

India’s theatrical market comprises of both multiplex and single screen theatres, which are 100% digitally equipped. Eros distributes its content in all the 14 circuits either through their internal distribution offices (Mumbai, Delhi, East Punjab, Mysore, Kerala, West Bengal and Bihar) or through sub-distributors. Eros International Plc. which has offices in Dubai, Singapore, the U.S., the U.K., Australia and Fiji and through sub-distributors.

Founded and controlled by the Lulla family, Eros has been behind major productions. Recent titles include blockbusters like Bajrangi Bhaijaan asnd Bajirao Mastaani.

Aamir, Nasir, Tahir, Tariq, Mansoor, Amjad: Movies, Masti, Modernity, Flashback 2

To remind you, Aamir is indeed Aamir Khan, Amjad is definitely Gabbar Singh, and the triple M above is to acknowledge that it was Akshay Manwani’s biographical book on the cinema of Nasir Hussain that got me delving into the period of about 15 years, when I interacted with the Hussain Khans (first five) and the bare Khan (last, but the most imposing personality). Actually, Mansoor did not use his middle name, so he can be called a ‘Khan’ too! Tahir stands for Nasir’s (younger) brother, Tahir Hussain.

Nasir Hussain (1931-2002) was already a in my favourites list much before I met him. Now, the story of my interactions with him is picked-up from the last para in my first instalment: “I’ll need all your support,” I emphasised. “Of course,” said Hanif. “You can depend on me,” responded Tariq. “Okay. I am game.” And the game began.

We called for auditions. Nobody turned-up. I got threatened and often felt that I was being followed all the way home, by one of the brawny Khan coterie. So be it. I wrote two plays, got my father to write the intro to the more serious one. Directed both. Was forced to cast Hanif as my father in the serious play (serious matter) and a henpecked husband in the other (that was okay). Hanif did mime too. I compèred the show, sang in chorus, played the lead in both plays and generally cobbled together a 150-minute event out of nowhere.

A visit to the local Police Station ensured that the abuses and threats hurled by anti-social elements did not become really bad. Two plain-clothes policemen sat in audience. Some booing was inevitable, and duly ignored. Just before the serious play, one of the actors disappeared. I went out, from the back-door, looking for him, without realising that I had forgotten to wear my glasses after make-up, myopia being a disability that I had acquired just a year ago. The actor was not traceable, but I was quivering as I made my way from the opposite door. Who were those 2-3 goons, loitering near the main door, who seemed to react with a burst of glee to my appearance, emerging as I did, out of nowhere? I needed to stay focussed, so I banished the bad thoughts, and hastened to the green-room. The actor was there. A huge sigh of relief.

Towards the climax of my serious play, I got carried away. Playing a politician’s son, badly mauled in a communal riot engineered by his own father, I made my fall to the fall too realistic, too hypotenused, 90 degrees to 180, for comfort, and got knocked out almost senseless. When I came to, the show was over. On the way home, I spotted Tariq just outside the hall entrance,

“Where were you? I was looking all over....”

“Indeed. So, this how you repay me?” he smiled.

“For what...?” I asked feebly, too dazed to get into a real argument.

“I might have just saved your life!”

“How? When?”

“An hour ago...when you made the mistake of coming out of the Hekandbai Hall, to look for somebody.”

“Yes, I wasn’t wearing my glasses...”

“You wouldn’t have recognised Rocky anyhow!”

“Rocky? Rocky who?”

“The guy who was waiting to teach you a real lesson, for daring to go against the bosses, and organising this Independence Day programme.”

“But there were policemen in the hall.”

“He was outside. You passed him. You saw him. He saw you. He followed you for a while...”

“Where were you all this time?”

“Behind him. I was afraid this could happen. He’s a bootlegger (brewing alcohol and selling liquor without a licence, both were cognisable offences in 1970) and carries a knife.”

“Are you telling me that he would have...!”

“Could have. But I tapped his shoulder from behind, and surprised him. He knows me. He knows I am NasirSaahab’s nephew. All of Pali Hill knows us. I caught him, almost in the act, and told him this was our programme. He dare not do anything here. In fact, he took me out for tea at Pamposh, while you were performing.”

“My God. You saved my life! Things were bad, you know, but I had never imagined I could be roughed up.”

“Part of the game,” retorted Tariq. “We must all play our parts....and to think that you would not give me even a small role in either of the plays, despite all my requests!”

“Look, Tariq, you have been a real good friend and true to your word. We are working with a bunch of first-timers. I had to cast Hanif, because he cast himself. I wasn’t too sure about your acting skills, and could not take the risk of endangering a play, what with all the unsavoury elements gunning for us. You are Nasir Hussain’s nephew, and maybe he will cast you in his own films?”

“Well, it’s too late to talk about missed opportunities,” he smiled sardonically. “Maybe next time!”

I never gave Tariq an opportunity to act in any of the college events. But I remain indebted to him forever, for his act of faith. I wasn’t really serious when I said that maybe NasirSaahab would give him a role in a ‘home production’. But he did. Those were the days of Pyar Ka Mausam and Caravan. And Yaadon Ki Baaraat was being planned by N.H. Films. Yaadon Ki Baaraat, which would introduce me to a gentleman called Vijay Arora, to the dazzling world of film choreography, and to a reincarnated Tariq Hussain Khan, son of the sister of Tahir Hussain (who produced Caravan) and Nasir Hussain, and cousin of Mansoor Khan and Aamir Khan.

‘Kya husn ne samjhaa hae, Kya ishq ney jaanaa hae,

Ham qhaak-nasheenon kee, Thokar men zamaanaa hae.’—Jigar Moradabadi

Flashback 3 coming-up.

It begins with two friends at a dining table, trying to fix a day for their drinks and dinner to celebrate one of them getting married. They cannot find any convenient date, because, due to sheer bad luck, there is a string of ‘Dry Days’ looming ahead. Dry Days are so named, in India, not because there is no rainfall on these days (there could be plenty of rain on a Dry Day) but because the Indian government bans the sale and consumption of alcohol on national and religious holidays, and during the elections.

Obviously, this stems from the logic that drinking alcohol on such days is likely to cause offence, show disrespect, prevent the making of sane decisions, or some, or all, of the above. The maker of the film, on the other hand, thinks that these bans are insane, as do many of his fellow Indians, and that is why he made the film. He also roundly condemns the licence and ban regime, which, hilariously, extends to screwdrivers in the film.

Screwdriver is a popular alcoholic cocktail, like Bloody Mary, and that is from where the title was likely poured out. But no, Mumbai-based Vikkramm Chandirramani has not made an ode to the spiritual uplifter. Rather, his Screwdriver is, literally, the thing that tightens, and also loosens, screws—of the ‘nut screws washers and bolts’ kind.

You might recall the old headline, often touted as one of the most curt, yet effective, and hilarious headlines, to grace a newspaper. I suspect the story is apocryphal, but never mind: After an incident (in the US of A, where else) in which a madman raped two female laundry workers and fled, one newspaper reported the incident as 'Nut screws washers and bolts!' Here, a screwdriver wielding serial-killer attracts the wrath of the political establishment, with the humble screwdriver being firstly banned and then heavily regulated, and even licensed.

Vikkramm is the son of journalist turned author/Feng Shui consultant Mohan Deep (MD), who confines his moniker to first name terms, and only a select few know that he is a Chandiramani. I have not seen anything made by Vikrramm before Screwdriver, and even this review is almost a year overdue. So my apologies.  Just over 13 minutes long, the film uses farce and black humour, besides the unavoidable double entendre and linguistic nuances. Characters are a blend of the man next-door and the stock caricature, as is the acting. Dialogue is a trifle contrived and the angles needed better matching for the editing table. Good and clever use is made of scarce resources. Using the push frame as the recurring editing crutch makes the film a little predictable. Taking on all possible duties, in addition to script and direction, Vikkramm bites off just a little more than he can chew. And we can only guess what or who Quest Mercury, read in the first frame, is.

Murder is not the theme of the film, but Vikkramm treats it too lightly, for no logical reason, and pushes it to the back-burner. At one point, he suggests suspense, but then just glides along. Looks tend to waver in direction, on some occasions. Actors are confident, nevertheless. There is no clarity on the location of the story, and the ambiguity works for the film. It is entertaining and funny, preaching and lampooning, in the same breath, especially the nerve-wracking red-tape and monitoring procedures laid down about acquiring and using a screwdriver. Going by an acronym used in the film on a couple of occasion, SUCKS, such short films need to reach the right audience, at the right times, and then ride their LUCKKS (the extra K is a là Vikkramm, numerology not being too far away from Feng Shui).

Disambiguation: The Screwdriver is the second animated cartoon short subject in the Woody Woodpecker series, released theatrically in1941, by Universal.

The Anu Malik clone is Dr. Rajesh Nahar, while his one scene screen-mate’s name is Asfar Adil. Routine to above par support comes from Preety Arora, Monika Sharma, Introducing Jagwir Walia, Rahul Singh and Abhishek Singh, Ravi Khengle, Rajendra Prasad, Sudhakar, Bharti Kumaria, Khagesh Vaidya, Deepak Daryani and Pramodini Jarad.

Screwdriver is a good first, low resource film. Some simulated, concealed off-camera movements, like the one when the protagonist is finally re-fixing his motor-cycle’s gear-lever, are well-though out. The suggested off-screen rampage, when the TV crew is filming, appears less convincing. The climax too is a bit of a let-down and appears to e a compromise against time and resources. Amateurish, yet promising, Screwdriver shows that the director has a lot more to learn about the nuts and bolts of the craft. For his, beginners’ level, he won’t disappoint many.

VC: (MD’s Venture Capital?) Before coming into films, Vikkramm started an internet company. Spent a couple of years learning the ropes of film-making, including directing and editing, by reading books, and watching videos and films. Got formally trained as an actor at Roshan Taneja Acting School, finalised Dr. Rajesh Nahar for the lead, having seen his work and knowing his flair for comedy. Cast Preety Arora opposite him because she was the quintessential Punjabi woman he was looking for. Favourites are Notting Hill, Forrest Gump, Castaway, Cinderella Man, Falling in Love, Raj Kapoor’s early films and even Roger Corman.

Rating: ** ½

Promo: https://youtu.be/ilU_TqoVghs

Siraj Syed reviews The Founder: Hey Mac, watch out for that Burger!

Your McDonald’s burger is not going to be same again. Neither are the fries, or the softees.

This is a biopic (read ‘Based on a true story') about the Kroc behind the arches, an American salesman known to the world as Raymond A. Kroc, who consolidated and expanded the two-store enterprise to, nearly, what it is today. Not the founder of the pioneering and iconic fast-food chain, he was more or less solely responsible for making it a house-hold name. Kroc once described McDonald’s as a church that is open not only on Sundays, but seven days a week.

Love him or hate him, but see him in the nearest cinema hall. John Lee Hancock could do better, but not too much better with docu-feature that not once lets you miss the sex and violence and comics super-heroes and video games and trans-universal mass destruction and space sojourns and WWI/WWII/Middle-East and mythological war-sagas. Having said that, avoid it like any high calorie junk-food that you ought to be staying away from, in case “I hate documentaries, fictionalised or dramatised, period."

In 1954, Ray Kroc (Michael Keaton) is a struggling travelling salesman for Prince Castle brand milk-shake makers. He has a neutrally supportive wife (Laura Dern) and has amassed enough money to live a comfortable, if simple, life, but constantly craves more. His frustrations are un-ambitious restaurant owners and incompetent service at drive-ins. After receiving word that a small diner is ordering an unusually large number of milk-shake makers from his company, Ray decides to go visit the enterprise in question. What he finds is a highly popular diner by the name of McDonald's.

Ray is immediately struck by the fast service, the high-quality food, the novelty of disposable packaging (versus cutlery) and the family-focused customers who regularly consume the food. Ray meets with the two brothers who own and operate the diner: the older and unassuming Maurice 'Mac' McDonald, and the intuitive and inventive, Richard "Dick" McDonald.

Ray is given a tour of the kitchens, and, immediately, is struck by the strong work ethic displayed by the employees. Dick explains the high-quality food and lightning-fast service are the backbones of their diner. Ray takes the brothers out to dinner and discovers the fascinating origin story of McDonald's. The brothers relate how they grew up poor, had dreams of going to Hollywood, were struck by the Depression, started their own hot dog stand, and, gradually expanded the traditional business model to create a highly productive diner that caters to the needs of the consumer, at a low cost, without sacrificing quality.

Sensing a long-awaited opportunity, Ray excitedly tells the brothers the following day that franchising the store is a must. Dick calmly explains that the brothers had attempted this very thing some time before but the enterprise quickly collapsed due to an inability to maintain strict quality control. Disheartened by the brothers' refusal to franchise, Ray leaves but takes note of a painting of a neon-lit McDonald's adorned with two bright yellow spherical shapes. Dick reveals this painting was to be the basis of the franchise stores and although one was constructed, the plan was abandoned. He also explains that the yellow shapes are the "golden arches", part of the exterior store-design of McDonalds.

Written by Robert ‘Rob’ D. Siegel (The Onion Movie, The Wrestler, Turbo), who apparently had to add some links and tone down other stuff rather mercilessly, The Founder has been further sanitised by the Indian Central Board of Film Certification: no f--- words, not even five-letter b- words  any -itch way. Amazingly, the religious tropes are all there to see and discover, but they never once come in the way of your enjoyment of the movie, whether Kroc is finding commonality between the church and the McDonalds arches or when he is addressing groups of religious/cult denominations as diverse as Freemasons and Jews. He stops short of turning the Mc brothers into caricatures, a writing decision that might have emanated from their real-life- personas.

There are a dozen morals to be learnt from the tale, the most radical of them being that enterprise and fierce ethics do not go together, as personified by the original McDonald brothers, followed by "Nothing in the world is more common than unsuccessful men with talent,"--Ray Kroc, quoting his self-help book iconic author, Dr. Norman Vincent Peale. Look carefully, and you might even find the pronouncements hollow and misleading, populist preachy.

[Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, 1898–1993, was a Christian church minister and author of The Power of Positive Thinking. His quotes include: “Expect the best and get it; Believe in yourself and in everything you do; Develop the power to reach your goals; Break the worry habit and achieve a relaxed life; Improve your personal and professional relationships; Assume control over your circumstances.”]

John Lee Hancock (Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil-writer, Saving Mr. Banks, The Alamo, Snow White and the Huntsman) comes close to perfection as he does pretty much all a director could do to interpret a ‘factual’ story, contemporary in nature and household in reach. Partly, it is an extension or ‘reverse angle take’ on of Saving Mr. Banks, which was about the author of Mary Poppins and Walt Disney’s strategy of getting her to part with the film rights of her literary, children’s work. Disney and Kroc were friends too, dating back to World war I.          

Michael John Douglas ‘Keaton' (66, Batman, Birdman, Jackie Brown), starts the Tom Hanks rejected role as Ray Kroc, aged 52, in 1954. He probably looks a little older, what with the weather-beaten wrinkles and sagging skin. So what? It’s a great opportunity to essay the part of a man who represented the now chronic American social conflict of ‘greed’ v/s ‘good’, family and ethical values v/s personal success and riches. Come to think of it, it might have been a bigger challenge at hand for Hanks to come across as anything but a greyish shade of pale. Keaton, for his part, makes even the dark grey a natural trait, and yet too human to arouse disdain. Acting honours could come aknocking.

Nick Offerman as Richard "Dick" McDonald (Treasure Island, Danny Collins, Welcome Happiness) and John Carroll Lynch as Maurice "Mac" McDonald (Fargo, Crazy Stupid Love, Jackie) get too close to Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy to do justice to their own, individualities. Unaware of what the guys themselves were like and how much of their screen images are the result of interpretations at the writing and direction stages, one can go with the accusation that the comparison is odious.

Some quality support comes from Linda Cardellini as Joan Smith, Patrick Wilson as Rollie Smith, B.J. Novak as Harry J. Sonneborn, Laura Dern as Ethel Fleming, Ric Reitz as Will Davis, Justin Randell Brooke as Fred Turner, Wilbur Fitzgerald as Jerry Cullen and Kate Kneeland as June Martino. Music by Carter Burwell is just the thing to wash down the burgers and fries with.

Theatrics being not an essential component of this slice/bun of life saga, home audiences will enjoy it too. The main course, of course, is that man Keaton. Or, living the filmed legend, that Burger, Kroc.

Rating: ****

Trailer: http://www.traileraddict.com/the-founder/trailer

Ray Kroc

Ray Kroc was born in Oak Park, Illinois, in 1902. He worked as a salesman for 17 years after World War I, before becoming involved with McDonald’s in the mid-1950s. Kroc purchased the restaurant company in 1961, implementing automation and strict preparation standards that helped make McDonald’s the world’s largest restaurant franchise, before his death in 1984, at the age of 81.

Under Kroc’s ownership, McDonald’s retained some of its original character, while incorporating new elements. Kroc kept the assembly line approach to hamburger preparation that the McDonald brothers pioneered in the 1940s. Kroc’s key contributions to the restaurant were automation, standardisation and discipline. Franchise owners, carefully chosen for their ambition and drive, went through a training course at “Hamburger University” in Elk Grove, Illinois. There, they earned certificates in “Hamburgerology, with a minor in French fries.”

By the time of Ray Kroc’s death, McDonald’s had 7,500 locations in 31 countries and was worth $8 billion. His personal fortune was estimated at $500 million. Ray Kroc died on January 14, 1984. The Founder has been released 33 years after his death.

Siraj Syed reviews Lies We Tell, and finds Truths We Must Face

Described by the producers as a moral thriller, Lies We Tell is a bitter-sweet, noir, British story, with several Pakistani characters at its core. It is directed by Mitu Misra, a Bradford-raised immigrant Indian industrialist, with no previous contact with film-making, and produced by Bradford International Film Associates Ltd., being their first feature. The film delivers sterling performances, a compelling music score and top-grade cinematography by Santosh Sivan. Brooding, moody and fluid, LWT requires a little patience, but the fruits are a delicious blend of bitter and sweet.

When his billionaire boss, Demi Lampros (odd name, that), dies, Donald, a Yorkshire down-to-earth driver, separated from his wife, is tasked with destroying evidence of the existence of his ‘other woman’, the hauntingly beautiful mistress: Amber. This was a wish that his master willed, and Donald cannot think of letting his considerate employer down. Despite trying to keep Amber at arm’s length, Donald has to collude with her, to delete a sexy video that would implicate his boss, and mean certain death for Amber, at the hands of her family. He embarks on a journey that leads him face-to-face with Amber’s notorious gangster cousin, Khalid, who is just a year older than her.

Donald discovers that Amber was forced to marry Khalid when they were both around sixteen, and after being raped by him, she risked hell, by lying, to get an Islamic divorce, leaving both sides of the family devastated. Now, fully qualified as a lawyer, Amber is set to escape to London, when she learns that Khalid is to marry her naïve, sixteen year-old sister, Miriam. (Both names are suitably stylised).

Directed by Mitu Misra from his own story, LWT was to be helmed by Santosh Sivan (The Terrorist, Ashoka the Great). Santosh, 52, in 2012, became the first South Asian to be honoured with a membership of the most prestigious American Society of Cinematographers (ASC). ASC membership is by invitation, based on an individual’s body of work. According to Misra, it was on Sivan’s insistence that he took to wielding the megaphone. Some older references to the film even credit Sivan as director. Screenplay comes from Ewen Glass and Andy McDermott, the latter also being a producer on the film.

A demographic collage of secular dimensions is profiled in the film, as we have almost all shapes and shades among the characters: the British philanderer boss, the plebeian driver, the Pakistani mistress who is a victim of circumstances, the good-for-nothing billionaire heir, the short-cut to riches Pakistani gangster, the two Pakistani families caught between two worlds and bipolar principles, the British moll who is pregnant with the mobster’s child, and the heart-of-gold Yorkshire neighbour, who just asks for a tender hug in return for favours. Rarely, if ever, do they strike a discordant note.

Some really thought of twists advance the tale. Scenes of a taaveez (a ward-off-evil charm, worn around the arm or the neck), being burnt, not once but twice, are as bold as one can get with such a sensitive subject, and may not go down smoothly with a section of viewers. One must also admire the extremely cautious cutting of the nudity and sex and simulated sex instances, which are few and far between, as are the scenes of gory violence and blood-spilling. Cock-fighting, a popular sport in certain parts of Pakistan and its Northern neighbours, get s a new avatar on screen, as we see not full-grown cocks but chick-sized denizens get into battle as revellers on a wedding night place their bets. On a few occasions, the goings-on become a trifle far-fetched, but never entirely incredulous.

Acquitting himself remarkable for a first-timer, Misra is aided by remarkably competent performances by Gabriel Byrne and Sibylla Deen. Perhaps the late Robert William ‘Bob” Hoskins would have been the only other actor who could do so much justice to the role. As it is, Byrne, whose face is a generous mix of Harrison Ford and Indian actor Tom Alter, adds a quiet, strong dignity to the role, embodying the quintessential chauffer. Jan Uddin (of Bangladeshi descent; as the villain; an odd fragmenting of the moniker) is stereo-typical, but manages to get out of the strait-jacket.

Danica Johnson, Manzar Sehbai, Ambur Khan and Sonia Kaur fit into the two-generations of British-Pakistani immigrant community garbs comfortably. Old-timer Harish Patel, the plus size Indian actor who I have not seen in decades, has a bit role, probably the only authentic Indian presence in the film, playing a Pakistani. Reece Ritchie, Toyah Willcox, Nicholas Farrell, Mark Addy, Irfan Ajeeb, Emily Atack and Aqib Khan lend support. Harvey Keitel as the philandering moneybags, puts-in a cameo-ish presence.

Framing and graceful movement are the well-established credentals of DOP and director, Santosh Sivan. There's plenty on offer here. Editing, by Chris Gil,l keeps you engaged, while music, by Zbigniew Preisner, is an embellishment. Digital RAW Source Master--Arri Alexa XT is fine, except for some minor visuals involving light sources, in the second half.

At 109 minutes, Lies We Tell takes a while to drive home a bitter truth: Lies We Tell will never cover-up the bitter truths we must face. Along the way, it grows on you.

Rating: *** ½

Trailer: http://www.filmfestivals.com/blog/lies_we_tell/lies_we_tell_by_mitu_misra_the_trailer

Mitu Misra on himself

I was born in Punjab, India, 1960 and was brought to England by my parents, a year later.

I grew up facing the usual problems that first generation immigrants have faced throughout time. At school, I was beaten up regularly. If you weren’t white in England at that time, it was common to be labelled either a ‘Paki’ or a ‘Nigger’. I only found sanctuary with other immigrants. In Bradford, there happened to be more Pakistanis than Indians, and as a result, most of my friends were Pakistanis, and we grew up trusting each other blindly, visiting each others’ houses and developed warm, family-like relationships. The common dream for all was to make enough money to go back to the countries we originally came from.

Growing up in a ghetto, my only true escape was cinema, for which I would beg, borrow and steal for a ticket, any ticket. I loved watching films, Bollywood, Hollywood, it didn’t matter.

In 1993, although broke, I started a company called Safestyle UK, which grew in five years from, zero to $150,000,000 turn-over. The company, based in Bradford, eventually employed hundreds of people, a large percentage of whom were Pakistanis, many of them the children of friends I had grown up with. India’s most respected Director Mani Ratnam came to Bradford, in early 2005, to convince me to allow him to write a script on my life (my first contact with the ‘film-world’). Being a huge fan of his, I agreed.

He did write a script on the events of my life, but I was more interested in saying something about the reactions of my friends to ‘9/11’ and ‘7/7’. I met with several writers to explain my dilemma, wanting them to develop a story that would change the mind set not only of my friends, but of all Muslims. Each meeting resulted in me being told that I was the only one who could write it.

Having never seen nor read a screenplay before, I embarked on a learning process, whilst simultaneously developing the story of ‘Lies We Tell’. My need to develop the script overtook my business drive and, eventually, I sold my company to focus on the screenplay. After several years and many more drafts, we finished writing Lies We Tell in 2014.

Although I was prepared to finance the film, I had no intention of directing. After attempting and failing to find a suitable director, Mani Ratnam introduced me to Santosh Sivan, India’s most prominent DOP, and an experienced Director.

Santosh read the script and insisted that I must direct it, even though he knew I had never even been on a set before. His view being that if I had spent 10 years developing and writing the story, I was the only one who could capture the nuances. I repeatedly refused, but he assured me that he would stand with me all the way... which he did.

Ewen Glass in his own words

Born and raised in Northern Ireland, I went on to study Film & Media, at Stirling University, in Scotland. After graduating, I cut my teeth writing stage-plays before turning exclusively to the screen. Productions include a feature with extensive distribution on the home market, shorts such as Un'infermiera di nome Laura and Arthur Conan-Doyle adaptation Straggler of 45, and work as a story-liner on British TV serial, Hollyoaks.

My feature scripts have received development from Northern Ireland Screen and Slovak Audiovisual Fund, and in 2013, I was awarded a place on Edinburgh International Film Festival's prestigious TalentLab.

2016 good year for Sony Pictures Networks India

As 2016 fades out, Sony Pictures Networks (SPN) reveals that it has been a good year for the company. In 2007, the company had changed its name from Sony Entertainment Television (SET) to Multi Screen Media (MSM). Many viewers in India still remember the old name, which was the identity when the Sony group entered India, in 1995, not too long after the Indian skies had opened up to non-state, satellite television broadcasters.

According to N P Singh, CEO, Multi Screen Media (MSM; formerly COO), said that the strategic intent behind rebranding Multi Screen Media (MSM) into Sony Pictures Network (SPN) was to align with the parent company, and thereby accrue the benefit of global synergies. "The new logo is our way of creating a picture from a pixel; a campaign from an idea, and a revolution in progressive television entertainment. Going forward, Sony Pictures Networks will steer its helm on three levers, namely, general entertainment, sports and digital. With a comprehensive bouquet of varied channels, we are equipped today to serve India's population both, in the urban and rural areas, as well across geographies," says Singh.

India was a state monopoly when it came to radio and television, but that changed in the 90s, and, since then, Akashwani (All India Radio) and Doordarshan, the respective arms of the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, have progressively lost ground to private and multi-national players. All government channels are free-t-air, while private channels cost between Rs. 5 and Rs. 100/month (current exchange rate is Rs. 68=$1), and up to 1,000 channels are available.

Singh added, "At MSM, we've served television audiences worldwide for the last 20 years, during which time, we pioneered new formats, new shows and actually set the trends for television entertainment. We changed the dynamics of how cricket and cinema were viewed on Indian television and contoured a variety of genres in TV entertainment. So, while Kaun Banega Crorepati (Who Wants to be a Millionaire, anchored by Amitabh Bachchan) and Dus Ka Dum (The Power of Ten/Selman Khan) created new waves in television gaming, Boogie Woogie (Naved Jaffri and Ravi Behl) and Indian Idol (Indian version of the singing competition, American Idol) brought the commoner's talent on the telly. We were also the first ones to embrace the cultural fabric of India by providing SAB (Sri Adhikari Brothers’ channel, bought over)- an out-and-out family humour channel." (Watch video; link below)

Sony Pictures Networks India Pvt. Ltd. owns and operates a television network in India. SPN comprises of Sony Entertainment Television (SET), one of India's leading Hindi general entertainment television channels; MAX, India's premium Hindi movies and special events channel; MAX 2, a second Hindi movie channel showcasing great Indian Cinema; SAB, a family comedy entertainment channel; PIX, the English movie channel; AXN, the leader among English Entertainment Channels; AATH, the Bangla (Bengali) movie channel, MIX a refreshing Hindi music channel; SIX, India’s Premier Sports Entertainment Channel; KIX, a youth-centric sports channel focusing on high adrenaline, fast-paced content and LIV--the Digital Entertainment Channel. Recent additions include co-branded networks Sony ESPN and Sony BBC Earth.

SPN’s flagship movie channel, Sony Max, has been the leader since the last 26 consecutive weeks. In May 2016, Sony expanded its movie cluster with its first free-to-air (FTA) channel Sony Wah. With this, the channel count in Sony's Hindi movie bouquet has reached four, including Sony Max, Sony Max2 and Sony Max HD. During the Indian Premier League cricket tournament season, each year, Sony Max registered highest ratings in the prime time (late evening) segment, hence the property is special for the group. Cricket is the most popular team sport in India. Sony Wah (an approximation of Wow/Good), according to the company, has been the leader for 23 out of 35 weeks in Financial Year 2016-17. Wah has notched only 25 weeks of airing. Sony Wah is, uncharacteristically, free to air. Overall, the company claims that it has grown by 30% over the last year, which is much better than the industry average.

Andy Kaplan, president, Worldwide Networks, Sony Pictures Television (SPT), says, "Our channels in India represent an important part of Sony Pictures Television's global portfolio and we are proud to be part of the fabric of the diverse Indian culture. As we celebrate bringing the best entertainment to viewers in India for 20 years, it's only fitting that these networks be branded as part of our Sony family. Like the Sony brand, which stands for innovation, creativity and delight, SPN brings the same qualities to our viewers."

MSM Motion Pictures is the company’s venture in film production. Sony Pictures Networks Distribution India Pvt. Ltd. (SPN Distribution India) is a wholly-owned subsidiary of Sony Pictures Networks India Pvt. Ltd. Along with ‘home’ channels SET, SAB, PAL, MAX, MAX 2, WAH, MIX, PIX, SIX, Sony ESPN, AXN, Animax, Aath (Eight), SET HD, MAX HD, SIX HD, PIX HD, AXN HD and Sony ESPN HD. It also distributes the well-known TV Today Network channels--India Today, Aaj Tak and Tez.

Some notable Sony films in Hindi

AZHAR, 2016

PIKU, 2015

YOUNGISTAAN, 2014

DAAR @ THE MALL, 2013

BAJATEY RAHO, 2013

Key Personnel

Mr. N. P. Singh, Chief Executive Officer

Mr. Jayesh D. Parekh, Co-Founder

Mr. Andy Kaplan, President of Worldwide Networks

Ms. Humsa Dhir, Head of PR & Corporate Communications and Senior Vice-President

Mr. Anup Vishwanathan, Head of Marketing and Senior Vice President

Mr. Neeraj Vyas, Sony Max (movie channel cluster) Senior Executive Vice-President and Business Head

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N.P. Singh video: https://youtu.be/Hjx1KbTZM2Y

Aamir, Nasir, Tahir, Tariq, Mansoor, Amjad: Movies, Masti, Modernity, Flashback 3

To remind you, Aamir is indeed Aamir Khan, Amjad is definitely Gabbar Singh, and the triple M above is to acknowledge that it was Akshay Manwani’s biographical book on the cinema of Nasir Hussain that got me delving into the period of about 15 years, when I interacted with the Hussain Khans (first five) and the bare Khan (last, but the most imposing personality). Actually, Mansoor did not use his middle name, so he can be called a ‘Khan’ too! Tahir stands for Nasir’s (younger) brother, Tahir Hussain.

Nasir Hussain (1931-2002) was already a in my favourites list much before I met him. Now, the story of my interactions with him is picked-up from the ending couplet in my second instalment:

‘Kya husn ney samjhaa hae, Kya ishq ney jaanaa hae,

Ham qhaak-nasheenon kee, Thokar men zamaanaa hae.’—Jigar Moradabadi

(What does beauty understand, what does love know,

We dirt-dwellers care two hoots for the world.—very loose translation)

Thus wrote the master-poet. Nasir Hussain made it his tag-line, the audio accompanying the logo, in the pre-credit titles of each NH Films’ production. A montage that begins with burts of lightning and thunder and morphs a circle, that is replaced by a pillar, much k a Greco-Roman column. The Voice-over changed with time, my earliest recall being actor Raj Mehra. I had seen all seven of of them, right up to Caravan (1971), which he made for his brother, Tahir Hussain’s TV Films’ banner, the only time the NH Films’ logo was followed by the kid brother’s, for Tahir established his own, independent  banner, with Anamika (1973).

It was 1971. I had completed my Junior Bachelor of Science level, third year of the four-year degree course, and was now studying for the final year of graduation. The events of the preceding, tumultuous academic year, 1970-71, were now history. Among other upheavals, in a rather un-nerving situation, I had found Amjad Khan officiating as a Judge at the Inter-College Mono-Acting Competition of Bombay University, where I represented my college, and his, National. Whether I deserved it or not, I ended up getting no recognition for this outing. After the results had been declared, I bumped into Amjad Khan outside. Daring my luck, I asked him, “What was wrong about my acting? Was I really so bad today?” I queried. Amjad responded with a derisive grin, “Bad? What makes you feel you can act at all?”

Six months later, Principal Bhojwani had moved on and the ban on offending students had been lifted. Naturally, Amjad and his brother Imtiaz, returned, to call the shots. Auditions were held. Knowing the futility of it all, I gave the acting audition—up the Hekandbai Hall stage, a short performance, down and out. Needless to say, I was rejected. Now, I claim to be an impartial critic of myself, as I am of others, when reviewing their acts, and there was no way I could have been rejected. But it was a fact. Somewhat despondent, I went back to my 7-hour college instruction days, and forgot all about any more acting on the college stage. Amjad was already getting roles in films (after 2/3 films as boy, he had been shooting for Love and God and Hindustan Ki Kasam, where he had noticeable roles), and his clout was strengthened by this fact. Moreover, it was my last year of college. And unlike Amjad, I had no intention of sticking around after getting my degree.

Obviously, I was both surprised and anxious when I was told in class why the brothers had sent an emissary to, to summon me, and we were headed towards, of all places, Hekandbai Hall. Apparently, a rehearsal was on, in full swing. Imi and Manju (why did it sound like Manju? Surely it should have been ‘Amju’) had prepared another swash-buckling drama to be staged soon. It had Amjad as a rifle-toting Robin Hood, pitted against a hoarder/black-marketer, clashing head-on, in true filmy style. For all I knew, it could have been a leaf out of the Mother India or Ganga Jamuna screenplay pages. Amjad as a do-gooder folk-hero? And who was playing the blood-sucker grocer/money-lender? I. This was explained to me post-haste. “We’ve tried many of them. Nobody can stand his ground. Will you do this role?” Me? All of 19 going on 20, an audition reject, who did not know what acting was, facing-up to the mighty, 29 going on 30 Amjad Khan, under Imtiaz Khan’s direction? Wow! “Yes,” I agreed. “Fine,” said Amjad. We start rehearsals right now.”

Too good to be true! It turned bad very soon. No, not because of ego clashes, or my failure to live up to the Khans’ expectations. “This is not acceptable. You cannot come for just an hour a day. Rehearsal is over when I say it is over, not before,” was the cold, menacing stand of Amjad Khan. “But Amjad, you know I am in Senior B.Sc. I have college from 8.30 to 3.30. Every day, I leave home at 7-7.15 and return around 5. With rehearsals, I reach around 6.30. There is so much to do at home, besides studies. You are also aware that, occasionally, when I have some time off, I write film reviews and do some work on radio. I cannot give you three hours every day. It is unreasonable and impractical,” I tried to convince him. “Very well, then. We’ll find someone else. You may leave.” That was as close I have ever come to acting in a play with Amjad Khan. But we were in a film together. It was produced and directed by Nasir Hussain, and had, among its leading cast, Tariq. More of that later.

In the wake of film talent contests that had unearthed actors of the calibre of Dharmendra and Rajesh Khanna, a leadership training and community development organisation called Wadala Jaycees (Jaycee stood for Junior Chamber of Commerce/Junior Chamber International, the US-based parent) decided to organise one. The prime mover was Nanik Rupani, and the whole idea had the backing of a producer-son, Shanti Sagar. Shanti was not part of his father Ramanand Sagar’s unit, and did not use the connection to curry favours. He had made a very good artistic film called Daraar, which gave me my break as a dubbing artiste, voicing for a dozen characters, who had played small roles in the location shooting of the film, in picturesque Kashmir. Shanti not only opened the doors for a career option, but also asked me to come on board and help in organising the first ever Wadala Jaycees All India Film Talent Contest.

Nanik Rupani honouring Siraj Syed at an event much after the Talent Contest, while a hidden Meenakshi Sheshasdri applauds

WJAIFTC was formatted in the template of any popular talent contest:  Contestants applied, on a prescribed form, sent in their applications by what is called ‘snail mail now’, enclosed a nominal entry fee, their applications were vetted, selected entrants got a call, came for a interview and primary audition, and so on...till the screen test. Final Round judges were eminent producer-directors Ramanand Sagar, Shakti Samanta, Pramod Chakravarti, S.S.Pillai (editor of the popular film weekly, Screen) and Ameen Sayani (top compère and radio producer/voice, and my mentor and Ustaad). I was to help with the sifting of the applications, and serve as a judge during the first round. I was also to compère the results function, at the mammoth, 3000+ capacity, Asia’s largest indoor venue, Shanmukhananda Hall, which Mr. Sayani should have rightfully been retained to do, but he was already officiating as a judge, hence even a hint of a conflict of interest was to be avoided. Obviously, at 20-21, I was the youngest member of the team.

One memorable day, at the production office of Shanti Sagar, who was then making another minor classic, Prem Parbat, we assembled to conduct the interviews of those who had made it past the application stage. “May I come in?” asked the next candidate. “Yes,” said one of the senior members of the jury. In walked a tallish, broad-framed man, who doffed his hat at us judges, as we motioned him to sit down. “You are...?” prompted another jury colleague. “Amjad Khan,” the hopeful responded. I had recognised him a full five seconds before he introduced himself, and it had taken me all of those five seconds to regain my composure. Siraj Syed was part of a panel that was be auditioning Amjad Khan for a film talent contest? It was happening, not in a film scene, but live, at Andheri, Bombay, albeit in a film producer’s office.

Flashback 4 coming-up.

Siraj Syed reviews ‘A Million Rivers’: Complex hOMage to simple man PURI

This ‘homage’ began as a ‘tribute’ to Om Puri, counterpoised against Lillete Dubey, by writer-director Sarah Singh, four years before his death, in 2013, and was completed in 2016. We saw the film on 30^th January 2017, at the Black Box, in Central Mumbai, courtesy the G5A Foundation for Contemporary Arts and Culture.

When I last met Om Puri in the last week of November 2016, at the International Film Festival of India, Goa, Panjim, he was not in the mood to talk about cinema. After a warm hug, that went back 40 years, he said, “I’m here to meet Bobby, and eat the wonderful food that he serves at his catering franchise, not to attend IFFI itself. You try it out, too.” I couldn’t, and the next piece of news about Om came a month later, when I was in Mumbai. He was dead.

A mere 364 days older than me, and a man who was modesty personified, his departure left me in state of strange numbness. I hadn’t seen any of his films for a few months, and there were none lined up. The loss hadn’t even really sunk in, till I got this email from G5A. And I joined the million rivers who were crying their hearts out, led by Chef Mourner, Sudhir Mishra.

G5A was screening his unreleased 52 minute B&W vehicle, A Million Rivers, made by Sarah Singh, an NRI who lives in America. Sudhir just could not stop the eulogy and anecdotes, from Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro (which Sudhir co-wrote) and Dharavi (where director Sudhir cast him as the protagonist). You could see he was deeply moved and didn’t want to stop admiring the qualities and the abilities of the late friend he had recently lost. In a small way, I was part of those memories too, especially the Bandra days of the late 70s/early 80s.

Whether A Million Rivers is really a tribute to the cinematic genius Om Puri or not is a tough question. He is captured in the most brilliantly lit environs, his frame and visage acting out a million stories silently, with props like cigarettes, flowers and guns, while uttering only one sentence in the film, that, far from profound, and, in fact, humorous. Whether A Million Years is a film at all is another question we have to mull over. Inspired by Brechtian (original name Eugen Berthold Friedrich Brecht,1898-1956, German poet, playwright, and theatrical reformer, whose epic theatre departed from the conventions of theatrical illusion and developed the drama as a social and ideological forum for leftist causes; a favourite among leftist theatre groups in India too, like IPTA) distancing techniques, works of Eurpoean masters, Warhol and Mani Kaul (Uski Roti?), Sarah has used locations, cameras (many of them), ambient sounds, music, and dialogue as very rarely seen on the international screen, let alone India.

At the Q&A after the show, moderated by veteran poet, journalist, art and literature personality, Ranjit Hoskote (who kept trying to “draw you into”), a member of the audience likened her fragmentary cutting style to that of the bête noire of India’s (government-run documentary producing unit) Films Division, Pramod Pati, but Sarah denied having seen any of his work. Jean Luc-Godard (French-Swiss, now 86), Miklos Jancso (died 2014, aged 93) and some other Hungarian auteurs of the 60s and 70s came to my mind, and I couldn’t help asking her, “Sleep (a 1963 American film by Andy Warhol (American pop art icon, died 1987) consisting of long take footage of John Giorno, his close friend at the time, sleeping, for five hours and 20 minutes)?” She, instead, named another, another Warhol favourite, The Screen Tests (1964-66), as a major influencer.

A Million Rivers is a surrealist, semi (make that quarter)-narrative fiction film, set in South Asia (read Kashmir and the divided Punjab province, West with Pakistan, East with India). Themes of fragmentation and fantasy are explored in this black and white, chapter-divided: a man with a mirror reflects all that is around him, never turning the mirror to reveal himself, being a centre-piece.

Elements to ponder over, before and during the viewing of the film.

1. Sarah Singh made the film with almost no budget. --Congratulations

2. She said she knew what she wanted, in her mind, but was sometimes unable to convey it to

Om Puri and Lillette Dubey. –They, in turn, have been unable to explain to us, audiences.

3. There is almost no dialogue, because there is a real-life breakdown in communication, alluding to the Kashmir issue and the divided families. --That does not mean that the four lines that are spoken are the raison d’être of the film. The lines themselves range from mundane to contextual.

4. Sound track is jarring, levels fluctuate dramatically, and the music plays with you.—That means it is deliberate, and the more you find it jarring, the more you are with the film.

5. Images are often out of focus or frames awkwardly construed.—She worked with B&W, which needs less stringent monitoring, but since several camera-persons were used, some inconsistency has crept in.

6. Characters take ages to do what they are doing, shape up to speak, but don’t, in the end.

—Sarah is quite like that herself. She reflects on the question being asked by looking away, fidgeting a bit and them replying either curtly or with shakes of the head, accompanied by a wry smile.

7. We see some faces that just cannot belong to actors.—For the Liberty cinema cycling scene, reminiscent of the back-projection era, Om Puri’s son was cast as the cyclist. He got terribly delayed in reaching Liberty Cinema, so Sarah asked one of the hangers-on if he had a cycle and could ride one. He did. He could. He’s the man doing it on screen.

Carrying a mirror along the streets of a small town, the man who first picks it up and then leaves it, after a round trip, is her driver.

8. Are the locations linked or logical?—Yes, and no. Punjab and Kashmir are logical, Liberty Cinema, Mumbai, is a liberty that the director indulges in.

8. Is there a narrative-based story here?—If you piece together all the jigsaw pieces, you’ll still find large gaps. Fill-in the blanks, and make your story, if you will. Film stories generally have a beginning, a middle (muddle?) and an end. Not necessarily in that order, insisted Godard. A Million Rivers is all about the middle. Characters in search of an author?

9. Is A Million Rivers the kind of film a regular single screen or multi-plex cinemagoer will patronise, and is it likely to earn ‘a million dollars’ worldwide?—Frankly, no. It is strictly festival fare and/or academic discourse text, and stuff that is ideal for cerebral critics’ battle of analytics. Culture promoters like G5A and universities will have to provide platforms.

10. Would it work as an exhibition of audio-visual art, or a set of paintings, having, say, an entire section on the imperfect face and features of Om Puri, imperfection that evokes and irradiates such perfect rays of communication through the eyes.—I am sure it will. In the present format, it seems so much of an exercise in painting and still-photography, with the screen-tests sneaked in, surreptitiously. Only the hardest-boiled of the film genre aficionados, who will dig deep into their grey matter and the few ‘Johnny come latelys’, who swear by form, not content, will sit through the 52 minutes short. And don’t forget the awards expected upstream; not a million, but not too few either.

Sarah Singh was born in Patiala, Punjab, India, and moved to the US in 1974. She is an award-winning ‘filmArtist’ and has completed two feature-length films (this is her second; the first was called The Sky Below), several short film works, and is in the development of a third feature film, which is on Sufi music. Sarah has worked in the film and TV industry for over a decade. Prior to that she exhibited paintings, drawings and photography.

At the age of seven, she held the camera for the first time. Ten years later, she owned one. She had begun capturing the world---people, places, shadows, both in colour and in black & white. However, she took to film-making only in her early thirties, and it wasn’t easy. “You

can’t be an introvert and work in film, so I had to toughen up a bit before shifting from painting (a solitary activity) to film-making (working with people).”

A Million Rivers, her first feature film (films less than 70 minutes long are generally clubbed as short fiction), premiered at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London earlier. “Thematically, it is directly derived from the legacy of Partition, which includes fragmentation and crisis of identity within an individual; the breakdown of family; aggression towards women; the violence of men over one’s self and the landscape; and the construction of a new identity. I transpose that political and geographic topic on to an abstracted fictional framework that subverts reality and in doing so, creates a hyper-reality.”

Sarah is the daughter of ShivDev Inder Singh and the cousin of the Punjab Congress leader, Capt. Amarinder Singh, the erstwhile Maharajah of Patiala, and the former Chief Minister of Punjab (2002-2007).

Asked by this critic why only two of the dozen-odd characters had been given names—Mumtaz and Kirat (which is probably an abbreviation of the Sikh first-name Gurkirat/Harkirat), she replied that it was purely co-incidental and un-intentional.

Cast

Lillete Dubey

Asif Basra                  

Diksha Basu                           

Mokhtar Belalia                                                         

Rajesh Khera                          

Rayes Mohiuddin                  

Karan Pandit              

Pappu                                                 

Brij Sodhi                   

Vandana         

Rating: ** (One for Om Puri, one for the guts required to throw everything to the winds).

Siraj Syed reviews Resident Evil 6-The Final Chapter: Horror is terrific business

There has to be something about it. It’s the first film franchise of the horror genre to cross a billion dollars, since its genesis 15 years ago. If you are from the gaming generation of the new millennium, you are probably aware that it all began as a game, and the eponymous first edition in the series was released in 1996, as a survival horror video game, but the franchise has since grown to encompass other genres. The series is a mix of action and horror film-inspired plot-lines, exploration, and puzzle solving. As of January 27, the video game series had sold 75 million units worldwide. Resident Evil 7 has been launched a few days ago, and the 100 million mark is not remote. Horror is horrific...nay, terrific business!

In the CapCom (Japan Capsule Computer Company) copyrighted game, the first Resident Evil ushered in a new generation of survival horror, as the dwindling numbers of Raccoon City’s S.T.A.R.S. team investigated the mysterious Spencer mansion in the Arklay Mountains. When it came on screen, in 2002, it was Resident Evil an R-rated, 1h 40min, version, classified as Action, Horror, Sci-Fi. We saw a special military unit fight a powerful, out-of-control super-computer, and hundreds of scientists, who had mutated into flesh-eating creatures, after a laboratory accident.

Written and directed by Paul W.S. Anderson it starred Milla Jovovich (then called the 'reigning queen of kick-butt'). She was 27 at that time. In 2017, at 41 going on 42, she reprises her role in three age-stages, playing two of them herself while her daughter essays the third. It is written and directed by Paul William Scott Anderson again, and obviously, age does not matter for behind the screen duties. Just for the record, he is now 52. And just for the record, Milla and Paul are husband and wife.

Picking up three weeks after the events in Resident Evil: Retribution, Alice is searching for survivors, when she is attacked by the BOW (not a dog, by any means; a giant Bio Organic Weapon; quaint acronym, that). Alice destroys the flying ‘predator’, after which The Red Queen (Ever Gabo Jovovich-Anderson) appears and tells Alice that she must return to the Hive in Raccoon City within 48 hours, to procure the air-borne anti-virus that the Umbrella Corporation has developed, if she wants to save the few humans still alive. This anti-virus can kill every organism infected by the T-virus, thereby neutralising the carnivorous humans who are preying upon the enduring ones.

During flashbacks, it is revealed that Dr. James Marcus, the original founder of the Umbrella Corporation, had a daughter, who was dying of premature aging (progeria). Marcus, desperate to save her, developed the T-virus, as a way to cure her. After having had his creation taken away from him, Marcus' business partner, Dr. Alexander Isaacs, tried to convince Marcus to use the T-virus for military purposes. When he refused, Isaacs had Markus killed.

On her way to Raccoon City, Alice is captured by Isaacs (Iain Glen), long thought to eliminated by Alice. Isaacs tells her that the one she killed was a clone, and decides to toss her to a horde of zombies, trailing his armoured vehicle, but Alice escapes via a motorcycle carried within it. Alice later arrives in the now-destroyed Raccoon City, and is captured by a group of survivors, consisting of Doc (Eoin Macken), Abigail (Ruby Rose), Christian (William Levy), Cobalt (Rola), Razor (Fraser James), and Claire Redfield (Ali Larter), who is revealed to be have survived the attack on Arcadia.

Anderson (Pompeii, The Three Musketeers and four of the Resident Evil series; he nevertheless wrote the remaining two that he could not direct) revels in hand-held camera shots but eschews slow motion completely. He shot the film in 2D, using his 3D crew. Having a female lead in an action story was taboo, but to use his own words, “Milla became the audiences’ way into the story”. Much more than that, as we see on screen. Not too many female leads have had, and pulled off well, so many long-drawn bouts of hand-to-hand combat, usually fighting a genetically enhanced foe. There is blood-letting galore and more violence of the chopping-off kind. Anderson seems to be in a big hurry to reach the 106 minutes of ‘allotted’ time, with cuts racing near four frames per shot frenetic pace, a decision that precludes you from ingesting and digesting the CGI in 3D with due cathartic pleasure.

A clutch of such gory films in recent times can do little except further de-sensitise successive generations, in epidemic proportions, but there is no law against making gruesome content, either for hand-held video, or the giant 3Dimensional screen. Resident Evil 6 leans on the Bible to justify a man made flood of horrific disease, as a modern day, wannabe Noah, takes it upon himself to cleanse the world. Ominous? Hope not.

There is too much happening in terms of loose, and fore-knowledge required, narrative, which might be ‘a given’ to fans. Besides, too many clones tend to steer the film towards the ludicrous rather than techno-crous. Technology overload is de rigueur in ventures like these, yet a benign, statutory warning is in order: Do not approach cinemas showing Resident Evil 6—The Final Chapter if you do not possess at least a Bachelor’s degree in Information Technology and Artificial Intelligence, or, at the very least, a diploma in appreciating gadget-gizmo nerdology.

Okay, we give it to her--Milla Jovovich is the queen of kick-butt, in 2017 too! Butt, so what? Shawn Roberts as Albert Wesker is cool, though used as a plot decoy in the film.Lee Joon-gi as Commander Chu is cast probably with only the Chinese market in mind, as he has no reason to be Chinese, nor anything to really act out. That even a despotic ‘clonomaniac’ can both act and fight convincingly is proven by Iain Glen. Ever Gabo Jovovich-Anderson, who turned all of ten last November, is a talent to keep a tab on. What have they raised her on? Shakespeare?

Disappointed that this was the last chapter? Take heart--there’s always the epilogue.

Rating: ***

Trailer: https://youtu.be/79Sd4GtOXuI

Siraj Syed reviews Raees: Contentious content, alias “Don’t call me Battery”

Ra.One did it. Don 2 had done it. Raees, wherein he plays a Don once more, adds to his raeesy. Superstar ShahRukh Khan must be a happy man these days, heading in the right direction, hitting the road to Hitsville.Touted as the block-buster of the year, Raees, about a small-time bootlegger who wrangles his way to the top and becomes not only raees (Urdu for ‘rich’) but filthy rich, has nothing in it to merit the box-office billions it has reportedly earned. It is okayish at best, with numerous flaws, and is based on several false and contentious premises. While fans are in for a joy-ride, discerning viewers, by contrast, will be in a not so enviable plight, as they find the film much like a traffic square, green-lighting four different directions, along paths that sometimes intersect, but largely, run parallel. 

With four writers credited--Rahul Dholakia (also director), Harit Mehta, Ashish Vashi and Niraj Shukla (the debutant, from Ranchi, who is reported to have penned dialogue) this postulate becomes an even more plausible theory. One: Take a real-life criminal, with the age-old Robin Hood image, and pick exciting incidents from his life to string together into a screenplay. Two: Reference the religious and political angles of the time (1980-97) and incorporate them, to evoke mass appeal (it is said that in India, the largest selling commodities are politics, religion, films, sex and cricket; sex was apparently considered as an ingredient, in the shape of prostitution, which invited the wrath of the son of the real-life gangster whose life is the centre-point of the plot.(Mustafa maintained that his father Abdul Latif Shaikh did not run brothels, as was known to be a track in the story. As it turns out, sex trade does not feature in the list of criminal activities that Raees runs. Whether this is a result of some settlement with Mustafa or on the directives of the Central Board of Film Certification, or, who knows, a voluntary move by the makers, remains unknown. To be extra safe, the makers have consistently denied that the film is based on Latif’s life, in the first place).

Three: Work out a ruthless criminal v/s principled cop trope and pepper it with claptrap dialogue, casting a major actor, who is immensely talented and can upstage stars of no less a level of than the ruling triumvirate of Khans in a scene or two, yet pose no threat to the stars’ fan following and box-office draw. Four: Reference major Hollywood and Hindi gangster films, about liquor prohibition and rampant corruption among the police and the government, as well as songs of yesteryear that can be interpolated, with minor modifications.

After a potent mixture of these ‘failsafe’ ingredients is ready, sprinkle toppings in the shape of scenes that demand complete suspension of disbelief, and whistling, swooning, yelling fans to pull off. These include the watch and the ‘Apna time shuru (it’s my time now)’ scenes, the manner in which Raees uses a dancer’s hair-clip and his spectacle frame, not to mention his causing the literal burnout of the leader of a political party. Eureka! Box-office bonanza ensured. The odd critical stanza endured.

It will take some believing that Raees co-writer and director Rahul Dholakia (Kehtaa Hai Dil Baar Baar, Lamhaa) is the same man who made Parzania (2005), which was, like Raees, based in Gujarat, and dwelt on the communal riots in the state, as referenced via a montage in Raees. Parzania won the National Award for Best Film, in 2006. Raees, 12 years later, has, by all accounts, won the International Lottery for its producers, Ritesh Sidhwani, Farhan Akhtar and Gauri ShahRukh Khan. The innocents might be swayed, but the genuine critic has to apportion both credit and debit, though, admittedly, with so much plagiarism, one hesitates to give the film credit for a few clever scenes, lest the appreciation may turn out to be misplaced.

Shah Rukh Khan exudes a strong, sincere charm amid the gory goings-on, all the while carrying with him the trace of that indulgent sneer on his left cheek and jaw, and the affected, trade-mark dialogue delivery. Karachi-born VJ and 32 year-old Pakistani actress Mahira Khan as Aasiya, Raees' wife, looks like an odd mix of Shabana Azmi and Roopali Ganguly, and speaks in the Shabana mould. In an attempt to make the almost redundant character relevant, her part goes gaga romantic, not shy of over-the-top levels either. Nawazuddin Siddiqui as Raees’s nemesis, Jaideep Ambalal Majmudar, is no different than any other smart cop doing the same things in similar films. Why he is shown in civilian clothes in nearly every scene is not explained. Oh yes, he is a gifted actor of the natural school, but he needs to rise above delivering tacky punch-lines and wagging his index-finger for effect.

Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub as Sadiq, Raees's friend and confidante, and Narendra Jha as Moosabhai, turn-in high-rate performances. Jha, with his mix of Danny Denzongpa and Anang Desai looks, and rough cut persona, is a great piece of casting. Atul Kulkarni as Jairaj is as dependable as he always is. The amateurish attempt at comedy notwithstanding, Utkarsh Mazumdar, who is a native Gujarati speaker, is a natural for the Parsee doctor.

There is a palpable energy in Sheeba Chaddha (Raees’s mother) and a quiet dignity about Zakir Husain, as the senior police officer. Jaideep Ahlawat makes a convincing Nawab (Moosa’s lieutenant). Reading the names of the cast on various websites, it appears that 10-15 actors have had their entire roles chopped off, for reasons best known to the producers, and that the first cut of the film must have been at least 45 minutes longer than the 2 hours and 23 minutes they finally released. Survivors include Sunny Leone, who gyrates to the 1980 hit, ‘Laila maen Laila’ (try deleting that!).

Seats constantly vibrating to the Dolby Digital sound as the background score pounds away cyclic, ominous themes relentlessly, and the acoustics muffling a crucial line in the climax, which is not audible even when repeated, do not help the film. As the end credits roll out, your intellect challenges you on several counts. What was it all about? “Baniye ka dimaagh aor Miyanbhai kee daring” (a trader's mind and a Muslim’s daring) and “Koyee bhee dhandha chhota naheen hota, aor dhandheysey badhkar koyee dharm naheen hota (no trade is lowly and trade is above any religion)?” Even if these profound phrases were the pegs the story was to hang on, which itself is highly contentious, there is nothing in the movie to justify these lofty, and repetitive, declarations. And the entire track of Muslims mourning in Moharram, including self-flagellation, with an adversary choosing to plant a sniper on a root-top and target Raees precisely when he is surrounded by a hundred followers, is contrived and out of context.

Raees is a far from enriching experience. It is quite like the spurious liquor that Raees and his fellow bootleggers peddle. You get the kick alright, but the ‘good time’ is short-lived, while the hangover is protracted. While still under the influence, you could mull over questions like, “Weren’t Moosa (Moses) and Dawood (David) names of prophets? Weren’t the myopic students in your class called “Battery” because they wore glasses; and didn’t they respond with an emotion-charged retort, “Battery naheen bolneka!” (Don’t call me battery!)? Wish I could have given those rag-a-muffins the treatment when they did, a là Raees! Also, I must remember to get myself a steel stiletto frame, next time I change my spectacles. Can come quite handy.

Rating: ** ½

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When you view a film in a large auditorium, located inside a Grade II multiplex, amidst the ticket-buying crowd, eight days after its release, you get probably the truest taste of the dish. 

It was nostalgic, viewing the film at Bandra’s Gaiety G7 complex, along with 250-300 others, who occupied less than half the seats in the auditorium. Gaiety, Galaxy, Glamour and Gem were the fore-runners of the multiplex phenomenon that was to be the shape of cinemas, late 1990s onwards, in Mumbai, as it was in the rest of India and the world. The first two were regular, single screen structures, with Glamour and Gem as their smaller cousins, mainly used for previews and ‘trials’. It is now a seven cinema complex, with average admission rates in the range of $2. Snacks and ice cream are still sold at affordable prices, costing $0.5 per item. The nostalgia arose because this was my first visit to the theatre in about 20 years.

Raees was released across 3,500 screens, worldwide. Here’s what appears today (February 3) as a headline in the Times of India: “The film crossed the Rs 100 crore mark earned Rs 6.5 crore on its eighth day, taking the total to around Rs 115.51 crore. It has now surpassed the lifetime total collections of his (lead actor and co-producer, ShahRukh Khan) last hits, 'Don 2' and 'Ra.One', and is expected to beat the lifetime collection of 'Jab Tak Hai Jaan' soon. The film crossed the Rs 200 crore mark worldwide, and is performing well in its second week.” Rival daily Indian Express writes, “Raees released on January 25, which was a Wednesday. The Shah Rukh Khan film has made over Rs 225.43 crore worldwide, and its India gross earnings stand at Rs 151.4 crore, till February 1.” (A crore is 10 million and the current rupee~dollar conversion rate is about Rs. 67=USD1.

Ameen Sayani and the film Geetmala: Standing tall

Every stage singer is a mimic,” said Ameen Sayani ‘clone’ Sagar Sayani to me, in the green room, “and imitates legendary film song singers, Mohammed Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Manna Dey, Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle or Geeta Dutt. So what’s wrong if I imitate the compère, the very man who introduced us to these original singers, on radio and on stage, for 65 years?” Lead singer and ad-libber Gaurav Bangia shared with us that a food-stall in suburban Mumbai has been playing ads in the voice of an Ameen Sayani mimic for decades. Ameen Saahab himself joked, “Sudesh Bhosle (in the audience) is such a good mimic that had he taken to imitating me, I would have been out of work long ago.” Truth is, there was, and is, only one Ameen Sayani--constantly imitated by three generations of compères and radio voices, and yet standing tall above them all.

Among the fans of this most famous of what is today loosely called a Radio Jockey (RJ), is a lady called Minakshi Khosla, part of the family of the acclaimed film producer-director, late Raj Khosla. She, and show organiser Mayoor Shah, strung together a live Geetmala (beaded string/garland of songs; named after the weekly, one-hour, hit-parade that decorated air-waves in India, SriLanka and many other parts of Asia and Africa for over 41 years), and staged it at the Nehru Centre Auditorium in Central Mumbai on Saturday, 04 February.

Featuring Gaurav Bangia, Radha (36-year-old daughter of Hridaynath Mangeshkar, and gifted as expected) and Amroota NNatu as the singing triumvirate, with Hridaynath Mangeshkar (the only brother among the family that has given us Lata, Asha, Usha and Meena), Anandji (surviving brother of the celebrated music composer duo Kalyanji-Anandji and AmeenSaahab’s friend/contemporary), Sudesh Bhosle (singer and mimic) and Kuldeep Singh (music composer, also the musical backbone of Indian People’s Theatre Association) as the luminaries in the audience.

Hridaynath did the honours of felicitating Mr. Sayani and handing over the citation plaque, Sudesh obliged with a few songs, while Hridaynath and Anandji restricted themselves to singing praise of the man. Compèring the event was easy-going RJ Gaurav Shrivastava. A big surprise for us all was an audio message by 88 year-old Lata, played on the occasion to a stunned audience of music-buffs.

At 84, AmeenSaahab is in the best of physical shape. Who is? But he ruled the world of Hindi film music appreciation during days when there was no TV, and nobody had heard of mobile phones. Looks and physical fitness did not matter at all, so long as it was 8 p.m. and the announcer on duty at Radio Ceylon (SriLanka Broadcasting Corporation)’s Colombo studios confirmed that it was indeed 8 p.m., so it was time for Binaca Geetmala.

Millions of listeners, among them a budding musician called Laxmikant (-Pyarelal), remained glued for the next one hour, when the top 16 songs of the week were played, with characteristic and magnetic lead-ins and lead-outs, and very, very interesting answers to listeners’ queries, then sent to him at a Post Box number in Bombay. Like all-time-great Laxmikant (left us in 1998) confessed in a clip from the thousands of hours of recordings carefully archived by Mrs. Rama Sayani (now no more) and Rajil (their son, who takes care of his Dad’s matters, for many years now): “We (L-P) became music directors purely because we wanted se the day when our songs were played in the prestigious Binaca Geetmala.”

Of the 100,000+ sponsored programmes and spots that Mr. Sayani produced/lent his voice to, from 1950 to 2016, Binaca (later renamed Cibaca Geetmala, following the change in name of the toothpastes brand that it promoted), Geetmala was closest to his heart. A retinue of some 100 writers, sometimes 10 of them working concurrently, helped him shape every commercial recording with nuggets of wisdom and humour, poetry and twist of phrase. But when it came to Binaca, he took very little help from any of his pen-pushers.

My brother, late Riaz, his Chief Copywriter (d. 2007) wrote a few thousand of the spots and sponsored programmes he recorded. Not a prolific writer, I was honoured when AmeenSaahab asked me to write a few of the last Cibaca Sangeetmalas (the second name change; its last run was on All India Radio’s Vividh Bharati service, as a shortened, half-hour show). Doing Public Relations for the Television version of the show in the 90s was another privilege, though, sadly, the show did not run for too long.

But it is as a radio voice and a stage compère that I have learnt the most from him, from 1970 till date—an unbelievable 47 years. He gave me my first major break in the sponsored radio programmes to promote the film Bobby (1973-74), and a few hundred more since (I still do some work for him). He also introduced me as an 18-year-old co-compère in half-a-dozen shows, sharing the Master of Ceremonies (MC)’ duties, with me, on twin microphones.

There was so much he wanted to share that Saturday night, but even after a sixty minute extension, the four-hour show allowed him all of just 20 minutes. The audience wanted more of his autobiographical anecdotes, in his own voice, which was not to be. This loss was partly compensated by the glowing tributes paid by more than 20 film and music personalities, projected on the video screen, between songs. And the hundreds of images of varying hues that flashed across, capturing him from the age of 7-8, till 70-80.

Once he admonished me for sounding like him during the recording of the first Bobby episode, I have made conscious efforts not to sound anything like him. As a result, clones filled in the vacuum when somebody is looking for him and he was either unavailable or unwilling to accept those assignments, while I, the reluctant disciple, would refuse to imitate his ustaad to get work. It was only at his 80^th birthday celebration that his family and a few close family friends asked me to do an Ameen Sayani in front of a select, live audience. I just had to do it, albeit with high anxiety. After all, this was the first, and most likely the only time, I would be seeing him walk-in to a hall on my announcements, and, then, would continue to address him and the others, as ‘Ameen Sayani would’, interspersing the trade-mark household phrase, “Behno aor Bhaiyo” (sisters and brothers).

Sudesh Bhosle, Anandji, Minakshi Khosla, Hridaynath Mangeshkar and Ameen Sayani

Conceived by Lotus Leaf Entertainment, the event was sponsored by Global Punjabi Association, Central Bank of India and Monarch.

May God give AmeenSaahab good health, and may he be around forever.

Siraj Syed reviews Moonlight: Silences waxing eloquent

‘Slowly, silently, now the moon

Walks the night in her silver shoon’—Walter de la Mare

In The Color Purple, we realised that black persons appear purple in on some occasions. A character in Moonlight says he was nick-named Blue because he looked blue when seen in moonlight. Others are called Black or Nigger, by their own folk, who are low on self esteem, and susceptible to apartheid, within the segregated race of black Americans.

Based on the play, In Moonlight Black Boys Look Blue, by Tarell Alvin McCraney, the film won Best Motion Picture--Drama, and was nominated in five other categories at the 74th Golden Globe Awards. And no less than eight Oscar nominations at the 89th Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Adapted Screenplay. It’s a familiar tale of black destiny, lifted to dizzy heights by the carefully constructed screenplay, and shapes to be a classic, only to take a detour that ends in an emotional cul-de-sac. Not much of a problem for the protagonists, for they seem to enjoying the dead-end that they find themselves at.

Set in Liberty, Miami, this is essential the story of Chiron (Alex Hibbert), a fatherless young boy, called Little after his size, and Black by his best friend, Kevin (Jaden Piner). His mother, Paula (Naomie Harris) prostitutes herself, to meet the needs of the two, as well as to feed her drug addiction. Two good Samaritans appear on the scene, drug-dealer Juan (Mahershala Ali) and his girl friend, Teresa (Janelle Monaé). But they have limited impact on the life of the depressed and head-bent-low, floor-staring scraggly boy, who is regularly picked-on by his school-mates, particularly Terell (Patrick Decile). The bullying wind-millers get their grist when he begins to spend time with Teresa, who takes great care of him. He’s called a faggot and even beaten-up, by the delinquents.

As he grows up, inevitably, he slips into Juan’s shoes and becomes a drug dealer. With Juan no more, he becomes a rather big little boss. Meanwhile, his mother slips farther into drug-abuse and ends up in a rehabilitation centre. Teen Chiron (Ashton Sanders) metamorphoses into adult Chiron (Trevante Rhodes), who is nothing like he was when he was young, except for still being short on speech. His pal Kevin (Jharrel Jerome) is now a chef/waiter in a restaurant, in another city, while Chiron lives alone. He is brawny, and carries a gun. But his quietude stays with him, and he still, often, stares at the floor. One day, Kevin (André Holland) gives him a call, and they decide to meet soon.

Written in 2003, the play found a film interest in 2013. The result was a screenplay that reflected the similar upbringings of writer-director Barry Jenkins (Medicine for Melancholy) and McCraney (born 17 October 1980, incoming chair of play-writing at Yale School of Drama). The character Juan was based on the father of McCraney’s step-father, who was also a childhood (protector) of McCraney, as Juan was for Chiron. Paula was an amalgamation of Jenkins and McCraney's mothers, who both struggled with drug addictions. McCraney and Jenkins, both grew up in Liberty Square, a primary location of the film.

It takes some genius to pick a semi-autobiographical story about blacks in the America of half a century ago, full of stock characters and beaten-to-death situations, and turn it into an immensely watchable film. Although it was originally written as a play (are the three chapters in the film the three acts of the play?), the outdoors blend in seamlessly in the narrative, except for the last scene in the restaurant, where McCraney and Jenkins get indulgent, and carried away.

The compulsive need to make silences and postures speak instead of dialogue does get the better of the writers and director, but in the context of the overall treatment, you can let this pass. Had it not been for these minor deviations, Moonlight would have been a near perfect cinematic experience. Almost all of film grammar text is exemplified, in terms of cinematography--hand-held, tilts, pan-tilts, zooms, tracking, track-tilt-pan, unusual angles, mood lighting almost like impressionist painting, and excellent use of dark images.

It was imperative that Jenkins assemble a totally credible cast to make this stereo-typical drama so convincing that you don’t even realise that you’ve seen such stories filmed many times before. And he has picked peaches. Chiron, the film's protagonist, is played Trevante Rhodes (track and field sprinter; first major role), Ashton Sanders (Straight Outta Competition, The Retrieval) and Alex Hibbert as Child Chiron / "Little"; Kevin, Chiron's closest friend, is André Holland (42, Black or White, Selma), Jharrel Jerome as Teen Kevin, Jaden Piner as Child Kevin; Janelle Monáe as Teresa (Rio 2, as Dr. Monae); Naomie Harris (Pirates of the Caribbean, Skyfall, Spectre), Mahershala Ali (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Hunger Games, Kicks) and Patrick Decile. Janelle and Harris probably have a tougher task each, spanning some twenty years, as the two children grow up. Take your pick. And you, actors, take a bow. Oscars, anyone?

Getting into critiquing and critic-nit-picking, there are too many broody-moody moments and the manifestations of homosexual feelings might not go down well with prudential audiences, though Jenkins shoots them in a judicious mix of arousals and subtleties. Some of the one-liners (there aren’t too many) are lost in accentuation, and I envy the few members of the audience who decoded them instantly, as was evidenced by their vocalised reactions. Wonder what fare they had been exposed to or what extra auditory perception they were gifted with! Another strong case for sub-titling English language films in English!\                                        

Screen adaptations of LGBT stories are so often in your face and address mainly the sexual orientation issue. Firstly, this film is not a gay/queer/homosexual theme, per se. Secondly, the treatment is as realistic as it gets.

There are phases that the moon goes through, waxing and waning, and then there is an apt figure of speech; the two together best define Moonlight: Silences waxing eloquent.

You can usually hear what is not said.

Rating: ****

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9NJj12tJzqc

Siraj Syed reviews Kaagaz Ki Kashti: Paper-boat ride across oceans of melody        

When you are making a biopic, you first need to narrow down on either a famous person, or a commoner who has led an uncommon and highly captivating life. Jagjit Singh was an extremely popular singer, with dozens of albums and hundreds of songs to his credit. Next, it always helps if the person is alive, or has passed away not too long ago, because material used in the documentary would then be largely in colour and not too dated, and at least two generations would identify with the subject, ensuring double the reach.

Rahul Dev Burman, the music director whose life was encapsulated in Brahmanand S. Siingh’s last film, and Jagjit, both fit in perfectly. Finally, in striving towards riveting content, you need two things in ample measure—sources and resources. Brahma has had access to both in ample measure, judging from the several thousand hours of footage he has captured in both ventures. Obviously, he has done his homework rather well.

Mobius Films is the name of the banner, and a two-hour documentary on the mainly ghazal (a definitive Urdu poetry genre)-singer, Jagjit Singh, titled Kaagaz Ki Kashti (after a popular poem that he sang)--Jagjit Singh Come Alive is what he has made, with the help of at least 1,000 credited names, and probably even more, uncredited. In terms of sources, he gives us the usual--family, friends, musicians, contemporaries, fans and business associates of Jagjit Singh (1941-2011), reminiscing about the man and the singer, narrating some humorous and hilarious anecdotes and incidents, some sad and some heart-tuggingly tragic.

Significant contributions come from Jagjit’s wife, Chitra--with whom he sang duets till the death of their only child Vivek (Babu) sent her into deep depression, and Jagjit had to start performing alone, when he managed to pull himself together--and two of his brothers, adding that imperative personal touch. Then there is ever-so-eloquent Gulzar, who, along with Jagjit as composer-singer, added a new lease of life and acclaim, to the great 19^th century poet-philosopher, Mirza Asadullah Khan ‘Ghalib’, via an eponymous television serial he directed, full of Ghalib’s matchless Urdu poetry, both recited and sung.

Jagjit Singh had a 50-year career, with innumerable concerts, in more than 40 countries, cut 80 albums on a dozen-odd music labels, rendering 500 plus ghazals. Part I includes screen appearances of producer-director and school-classmate Subhash Ghai, film producer-director Mahesh Bhatt, theatre and film personality Salim Arif, tabla wizard Ustad Zakir Hussain, singers Pankaj Udhas, Ghulam Ali (Pakistani ghazal maestro), Anup Jalota, Hans Raj Hans, Roop Kumar Rathod, Talat Aziz (Jagjit composed Talat’s first album), Ashok Khosla, Ghansham Vaswani, Vinod Sehgal (among Jagjit’s discoveries),  Harsh Goenka (industrialist, from the family that owns the label SaReGaMa, formerly better known as ‘HMV’), Daman Sood (gold medal-winning sound recordist), Deepak Khazanchi, Deepak Pandit, Ronu Majumdar (musicians), Geeta Prem (singer and old friend), Ameesha Patel (actress) and many others.

Resources abound, in terms of locales (including the obligatory trip to Jagjit’s birthplace, SriGangaNagar), archival pictures, audio-video footage, and recordings/film clips.

Obviously, money has not been a constraint here, a fact many docu-makers will surely be envious about. Funds are the bane of the documentary genre in most countries, particularly India. Fresh shooting is finely balanced with old material. Singh’s technique is to turn on the camera and let the subject keep talking, till he can draw out the few sentences or expressions that he then retains, with telling effect. This means laborious days at the editing table and skewed shooting ratios, but the result is all that counts. He propagates this approach in his workshops too.

Great care, however, is needed to make the fresh footage appear natural. There is always the danger of characters or conversations coming across as contrived or acted out. Singh tip-toes through this maze, with some ease. Like in the case of RDB, there will be a second part of Kaagaz Ki Kashti. With so much material available, it would be a criminal waste not to release Act II. (Some of the shots in the extended trailer, to which there is a link below, will be seen only in the ‘sequel’).

Brahmanand S. Siingh is a Mumbai-based producer, director and writer, best known for the National-Award winning feature-length documentary on R.D. Burman, Pancham Unmixed: Mujhe Chalte Jaana Hai, (113 min). Kaagaz Ki Kashti will add to his achievements. He judiciously curtails his cinematic stay on controversial matters, like the contentious cutting of his hair by the Namdhari Sikh boy Jagjit, and takes his time, dwelling upon the three major tragedies in Jagjit’s life—the death of his only, teenage child, in a road accident, the shock and consequent getting into a shell of his wife Chitra and the suicide of his step-daughter, Monica, shortly before his own passing away. Try holding back your tears of empathy, or, indeed, suppressing guffaws when the slice-of-life funny incidents come on.

Having been associated with Jagjit off and on since 1970, and having written a 3,379 word printed tribute for the compilation 70-track 5-CD set, released around his 70^th birthday, I do feel that the film could have given us some more distanced insights that is does not, and featured angles it doesn’t. Part of what I am referring to is not very flattering, so it would be at cross purposes with a tribute (a couple of Jagjit’s minor indulgences do find place and could have struck discordant notes).

Sound, always a crucial element in a documentary and ever more so in a biography about a singer, is the painstaking and highly commendable work of Bhaskar Das, an alumnus of the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII), Pune. Editing and re-editing and re-editing... gets ruthless by the minute of screen-time, and all kudos to the team. Due credit to editor, Jabeen Merchant (NH10, Mere Khwabon Mein Jo Aaye, The President is Coming, Manorama Six Feet Under). Merchant (mistakenly identified on Book My Show site as male) was an English literature student who worked as a journalist, before pursuing an editing diploma at the FTII. Jabeen imbibed the fine art of culling footage from epic documentary footage shooting while working with Anand Patwardhan, noted for his 3-4 hour works, on his raved documentary, Ram ke Naam. A large chunk of the inputs in Kaagaz Ki Kashti came from Associate Director Tanvi Jain, who is also Creative Director at Mobius.

Ifs and buts excepted, Kaagaz Ki Kashti is a must watch for Jagjit fans, patrons of good music and singing, and lovers of the rich and silky Urdu language.

Kaagaz Ki Kashti is smooth sailing across oceans of melody, on waves of time. To borrow from a Jagjit Singh album’s title, the experience is Beyond Time.

Rating: *** ½

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hI51DBWT-o8

Aamir, Nasir, Tahir, Tariq, Mansoor, Amjad: Movies, Masti, Modernity, Flashback 4

To remind you, Aamir is indeed Aamir Khan, Amjad is definitely Gabbar Singh, and the triple M above is to acknowledge that it was Akshay Manwani’s biographical book on the cinema of Nasir Hussain that got me delving into the period of about 15 years, when I interacted with the Hussain Khans (first five) and the bare Khan (last, but the most imposing personality). Actually, Mansoor did not use his middle name, so he can be called a ‘Khan’ too! Tahir stands for Nasir’s (younger) brother, Tahir Hussain.

Nasir Hussain (1931-2002) was already a in my favourites list much before I met him. Now, the story of my interactions with him is picked-up from the last paragraph of Flashback No. 3.

“Amjad Khan,” the hopeful responded. I had recognised him a full five seconds before he introduced himself, and it had taken me all of those five seconds to regain my composure. Siraj Syed was part of a panel that was auditioning Amjad Khan for a film talent contest? It was happening, not in a film scene, but live, at Andheri, Bombay, albeit in a film producer’s office.

Flashback 4

Amjad Khan made it to the winners’ list, without a hitch, along with some 11others. Destiny had brought us a full circle, and brought him into a situation where I, along with a select few, judged his acting merits. But there was no question at all of suspecting his talent. Later that I year, I was summoned to introduce the winners, at a star-studded show, held at Shanmukhananda Hall, though I have no memory of his physical presence there. The others are seen in the picture, which, I miraculously obtained, and have preserved ever since. Photographs of events I compèred or was associated with were clicked aplenty, but hard to come by, for reasons that remain blurred. It would still be some time before Amjad Khan and I were in the same film—Amjad, the star, would play the villain, while I would have a teeny-weeny cameo.

It was 1972, I was 20, and my days at National College were coming to an end, with the final exams of my Bachelor of Science in Chemistry and Physics being held that year. The college, however, was still to remain a regular fixture in my life, at least till 1980. And in came Tariq. One morning, I spotted Tariq walking into the campus, along with a slim, short, darkish, middle-aged man, who had shades of the Clark Gable looks about him. Tariq introduced him as Dharamvir Varma, the Production Controller at Nasir Hussain Films, and from the Varma family that once owned a studio and produced several films as well. What was he doing in our campus? “We are shooting our new film Yaadon Ki Baaraat, and would like to try out something new. Tariq suggested we contact you. Could you come over to the office tomorrow?”

NH Films operated out of an office that was located less than a kilo-metre from my house, and bang opposite Mehboob Studios. We sat there, in Nasir Hussain’s spacious room, the three of us, as he revealed his new idea. “I have a longish song and dance number in my film. It is nothing like you might have seen in our films, and is inspired by what I saw in London on my last visit. You could call it a disco number. Unfortunately, the few discos here are not the kind I have in mind, and the dancers and junior artistes we have just do not possess the fresh new looks that I want to capture. Zeenat Aman, Vijay Arora and Tariq will be the stars. I want you to get your friends, college boys and girls, to play themselves, dance, and lend the right ambience. Tariq told me you do visit discos and love dancing. I also have a small role for you, playing yourself. If we get the right atmosphere, this could be a highlight.”

I could have never imagined that one day, Nasir Hussain would send for me, in this manner, and I would end up facing a movie camera for the first time, via this route. “I’ll try, though I wonder if the kind of crowd I move in would be interested in the idea,” I responded. “We’ll pay them,” he added. “Payment might not be an issue, unless it was substantial”. “Well, since it is a big crowd, I won’t be able to offer much. Moreover, I will have to retain a few professionals too, to appease the dance director and the Associations, so payment could become a labour union issue,” was his candid retort. “I see. How many boys and girls do you need?” NasirSaahab gave the figure without batting an eyelid, “Two hundred.”

So, this was going to be Tariq’s debut! A spectacular set was being constructed at Filmistan Studios, where Hussain had spent a large part of his early career. Dharmendra, Neetu Singh and Ajit were also in the cast, but did not feature in the shooting that we were to be part of. Getting 200 teenagers to sign-up for a Hindi film song and dance shoot was not an easy task, by any standards. Firstly, many of them looked down upon Hindi films vis–a-vis English films, and secondly, reporting at a Goregaon studio for four consecutive mornings was something that could not even think of. But I set about the task, in right earnest.

A day before the shooting, I visited Filmistan Studios, to finalise a few details. I was taken to a set that looked out of this world, christened Heaven Hotel, on which a young man, in a customised outfit, was rehearsing dance steps. He too looked out of this world, not the Tariq I knew. A few things were bothering him, like the facts that he was not wearing his glasses and that he was not a trained dancer or guitar player. But it was indeed Tariq, as Monto, leader of the band Monto and his Avengers, shooting for what was a block-buster in the making, and I, who had denied him a role in a play, was doing pretty little! I tried to wave at him. Perhaps he needed privacy to figure it all out, for I was ushered out post-haste.

D Day. Close to 180 boys and girls showed-up. Many came out of curiosity, a few for the pocket money. Most, however, had to be sourced or cajoled. I had lived up to the faith reposed in me by Tariq, NasirSaahab and Dharamvir. Choreographer Suresh Bhatt had composed the steps for the main cast. For the ‘crowd’, I was told to keep it spontaneous and create a disco feel, with reactions on demand. Initially, Vijay Arora would sit in the audience, with a few handsome boys, and Zeenat would have some attractive female company. One of these girls was to win the Navy Queen Crown shortly, while another named Elizabeth, with a head-band, was to question the whole, make-believe discothèque ambience. She was to tell Zeenat, herself a disco frequenter, “Have you ever seen a disco like this? Does anybody dance like this?” Zeenat agreed that it was quite different from reality, but explained to her the whole world of the Hindi film make-believe. I asked the girl to keep her mouth shut!

I had worn a printed, silk kurta, with a pattern of heart/leaf shapes, and dark glasses to boot. When the proceedings began, I too joined in the fun. While Zeenat was doing the wriggly ‘stand-half sit-stand’ routine, I walked up to just below the stage, and followed her steps. Suresh Bhatt wasn’t amused, and told me to keep with the crowd. We rehearsed and rehearsed, and, after a few hitches, giggles and guffaws, it worked out rather well. Look carefully, and you will spot me in that trademark kurta. History was being made there, and a handful among the ‘crowd’ was going to take that exposure seriously. Others would just tell their friends, “Look, that is me!” I was to be saddled with more such assignments, and though this first one was done gratis, as a gesture towards a college mate, the others would get me some money too.

Now, whatever happened to the ‘role’ I was promised? That scene was shot at the entrance to Mithibai College. Vijay Arora arrives, astride a motorbike, and finds me talking to a girl. He makes some comments all in jest, accusing me of being a ‘Bunkmaster’, and spending time chasing girls, instead of studying. I protest, insisting that we were only talking about exams and notes. Suddenly, a college peon comes up and taps Vijay on the shoulder, “There’s a phone call for you,” (pre-mobile days, remember). Vijay excuses himself and heads for the college office. In the released film, the scene begins in the office, where he is on the phone! So much for the much-anticipated debut—the scene was entirely deleted! What did you expect? Even after so much cutting, the film was all of 168 minutes in length!

You remember, of course, that the 11-minute marathon song medley that I have referred to above was partly the title song by Kishore Kumar, ‘Aap key kamrey men’, ‘Dil mil gaye’ and ‘Dum maro dum’ (a new take, to cash in on the runaway hit from Hare Rama Hare Krishna, also scored by Rahul Dev Burman, and also picturised on Zeenat, who was the ‘Laal kapdonwali MemSahib’ in YKB). Catch it on the link below. 90% of the faces you see are neither junior artistes nor members of the Dancers’ Association. What an impact! Nasir Hussain had hit bulls-eye again, and the film, released in 1973, was a box-office baaraat (wedding procession) indeed. The four seamless song and dance numbers were the talk of filmdom, as were the hitherto unseen faces that thronged Heaven Hotel. A few production managers were told that their producers wanted to do something similar, and that they should trace out this man called Siraj Syed. Man? At all of 21?

P.S. I need not remind you that in the film, young Tariq was played by a child called Aamir Khan, Tariq’s cousin, and son of Nasir Hussain’s younger brother, Tahir Hussain, who had already produced Caravan and was now planning Anamika.

Yaadon Ki Baarat song medley: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmnmiuSboJs

Coming-up: Flashback 5

Siraj Syed reviews Biddu’s autobiography, Made in India: Lone Trojan’s Adventures of a Lifetime

That life-time has now seen 72 summers. Karnataka-born world musician Biddu Appaiah, with Coorgi nativity, has chased his recent summers from London, to Spain, to Mumbai to Goa, every year. For one who strongly believes that musicians should retire at 65, including greats like Paul McCartney, he has just about lived up to his conviction. The only creative work he has done in the last seven years has been penning notes, not of the musical kind, but for three books—an autobiography and two novels. Having been given a copy of Biddu; Made in India—Adventures of a Lifetime, I have taken a life-time to review it. (Like Biddu often does in his book, and then confesses, I exaggerate). Reading it, albeit so late, was an adventure all right.

Indian film-buffs, at least an overwhelming majority of them, hadn’t heard of his name till they heard the airplay of, and bought the records of, Qurbani, a commercial hit produced and directed by and starring the original King Khan, Feroz. Zeenat Aman gyrated to ‘Aap jaisa koi,’ with Pakistani-British teenager Nazia Hassan for playback. Picturisation did no justice to the track (it was hardly enough to chase away my blues after a dismal last paper for my Bachelor of Laws examination, though the film was my first taste of a drive-in cinema, newly constructed in Bandra, Mumbai), but the massive popularity of that number contributed significantly to the film’s success. Biddu says in his book that he had no interest in taking on the assignment, but fellow Bangalore boy Feroz, who had heard his earlier compositions, emotionally blackmailed him, using the nostalgia-Bangalore buddy ploy, and the track was recorded in London, in 1979.

A surfeit (word inspired by Biddu’s text) of albums followed, the most record-smashing ones being the breakout Disco Deewane (Nazia and Zoheb, the sister-brother duo) and the anthem with a killer Ken Ghosh video, Made in India (Alisha, unleasha, doing the rounds, 21 years on), Young Tarang, Hotline, Johnny Joker, Naujawan, Dil ki Rani. Biddu even co-produced a film with his friend Suresh Bhojwani, under the Double B Films banner, called Star. Although Star starred his look-alike, Kumar Gaurav, and the music (‘Boom boom’ et al) boomed around, the film proved a losing proposition, and the production house was shut down. Of the few other films he worked for as music composer, Maut ki Sazaa and Rise of the Zombie (two adapted versions of Biddu’s number, ‘Aao na pyar karen’ in the film's sound-track) came and went, Shootout at Lokhandwala hit bulls-eye with his ‘gun’ song, while... whatever happened to Ramu To Diwana Hai?

Biddu tells you that the producer-director-hero-lyricist-music director Chandru Asrani sought him out in London, and showed him his 90% complete film, which had been under production for about 14 years, and in which the colour changes from b&w to Eastmancolor, and, he was convinced, the actors change too! Chandru wanted him to add two songs to the dated-before-completed film. History is jumbled up here, but the film is itself history. Film journalists were invited home one evening by Chandru, where he played the songs of the film, at an informal get-together, at his flat at Khar, Mumbai, sometime in 1988-89. Some were in the voice of Mukesh, who had passed away over a decade ago, and a couple were sung by Mubaarak Begum. He even had a Kishore Kumar track, another Indian playback great, who had left this world by then.

It appears that Biddu got the surname wrong. Chandru was the younger brother of Arjun Hingorani, who was a producer-director and mentor to Dharmendra. Chandru Hingorani had assisted Raj Kapoor for a few years, and even got him to put in a Special Appearance in Ramu Tu Diwana Hai. Question is, what happened to the two numbers that Biddu had composed for the film? There are at least three song clips on YouTube from the film, but not even by a Himalayan level of musical ignorance can anybody attribute them to Biddu. (The hyperbole is inspired by Biddu, who, in the book, describes a woman as ‘any taller and her nose would bleed.’)

In the 60s, he spent some years in Kolkata and some more in Bombay, doing odd-jobs and performing at Churchgate hotels like Ambassador and Venice. It was at the Venice, in the late 60s, that I remember having seen his poster, as the Lone Trojan, remnant of a band that had disintegrated. The jazzy, south Bombay crowd might have had the bulging pockets required to frequent such fancy restaurants (pre-dating credit/debit cards), not a poor Byculla boy, like me. The poster, I must say, caught my fancy. Next, I actually met him at Famous Recording Studio, Tardeo, where he was trying to play one of his recordings to a giant of a music director, who had come for his own recording, to that popular venue.

(Producer K.B. Lall was remaking his 40s hit Lal Haveli as Phir Baje Shehnai, and Naushad was doing the music. This was a mammoth project, with an all-star cast, and was likely to take 3-4 years to complete. My brother Riaz was assisting Lall, in getting the script typed and corrected, and often took me along to meet Lall. Impressed by the success of recent 30 days- of-shooting quickie films like Ittefaq, he was toying with the idea of making one himself, with me in the lead, while PBJ took it s own time to shape. I was a good-looking 18 year-old then. So there I was, attending LallSaahab’s film-song recording, when Biddu made his bid).

“Please, Sir, listen to my song once. I am sure you will like it,” he requested. I wonder if he knew that Naushad was a champion of Indian classical music, and used Western orchestration in his film scores only as an exception. I was surprised when Naushad agreed, and the track was played. One of those memory lapses that become more common with every passing day, when you are 65, prevents me from recalling which number it was. All I remember was that Naushad looked nonplussed, and the only expression I could see on his face was a slight, sideways twitching.

Biddus’s subsequent exploits in the Middle East will take some believing, and his brush with a drug-smuggling case will have your heart in your mouth (heart, I said, not that crystalline/amorphous poison), especially when you consider he was a teetotaller, did not take drugs, did not even smoke. That is where you will learn of the deeds and misdeeds of actor-producer-director-writer I.S. Johar’s son Anil, who was one of Biddu’s bosom pals and stayed a couple of buildings away from his gig-joint in Mumbai.

Biddu and I had a longish meeting in Mumbai, when he was promoting Johnny Joker, where Shweta Shetty sang all the tracks, except a duet with him (the album is not one of my Biddu or Shweta favourites). Two things struck me then—he is not as bad with his Hindi as one would expect from his constant self deprecation on the subject, and he can read and write passably well; secondly, his poker-faced humour and sizzling half-similes are thoroughly disarming.

Coming again to the book, there are nuggets about Carl Douglas and Kung-Fu Fighting (some in-fighting included), Tina Charles and Dance Little Lady Dance, and my own favourite, Blue Eyed Soul. Biddu’s British English, almost archaic phraseology included, with metaphors and tongue-in-both-cheeks narrative, will keep you both entertained and on an adventurous high. I took a long time to start reading the book, but I finished it much faster, going at the Western four-four beat.

I feel the book would have been better off without the political bit at the end, where he discovers the lineage of a fiery leader through a Whitehall source, and corroborates it with the help of Google. That’s not Biddu. No, it’s not boring, as he fears, only redundant and highly debatable. And the cover design by Rashad Patel is passable at best.

Pssst: Don’t miss out on Joan Collins, The Bitch, The Stud, Embassy, and the singer who had to ask Biddu what colour shoes she was wearing. Another gem is the rationale behind naming naming his son and daughter Zak and ZaZa. “It will teach them to be patient. In school, when the roll call is taken, they will be the last names on the list to be called out,” he explains in the book.

Rating: *** ½

Curse of the God-man

Written before his autobiography but published a year later, because, ...“my publishers said they would only publish it if I wrote my autobiography. So I sold myself to the devil.”

He recalls, “Four years ago, it struck me that I didn’t want to do music anymore. I wanted to open a restaurant or write a book— but the story of my novel hit me sooner.”

Curse of the God-man, a mix of “adventure, mysticism, romance and murder” is set in 1950s India and is the story of a tea plantation in Darjeeling, terrorised by a tiger.

Second Novel

“Set in the Bombay of the 80s, it's a story of a family that comes from outside Mumbai and settles in the city as rag pickers. The father of this young boy kills himself because he thinks he's an utter failure. The kid grows up on his own, and then something very significant happens, which I am certainly not telling, but suffice it to say that between the ages of 17 and 25 the boy goes through a period and process of sexual awakening.” (Six years in the writing? No trace yet. Publishers may want to send this one and Curse of the Godman, for review).

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Su and Sheba

Su, Biddu’s wife for 46 years, of is a strong devotee of Meher Baba, of Ahmednagar, Maharashtra, a mystic, who died in 1968. Biddu is not religious, does not even believe in God, but believes in spirituality, and does yoga. At one time, he was an avid and expert swimmer, as well as the owner of a dog called Sheba, who meant so much to him, and is now in dog heaven. He insists that most of his inspiration came while taking Sheba out for a walk.

Sex, drugs and alcohol

Let me warn you--there’s lots and lots of ....oops, it should be the other way round, almost NO SDA. Am I saying that a puritan pop-star (note the contradiction, not the alliteration), whose fame spans the UK, USA, India, Japan, China and HongKong, the Philippines, and more, has penned an immensely readable autobiography, without any of the staple ingredients?  Meet Biddu. Clean and lean, with funny bones wrapped in an Afghan coat, with a hat and boots to boot.

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Made in India—Biddu: Journey of a Lifetime is published by Harper Collins (2010), distributed by Read Out Loud, in 249 pages, paperback, and priced @ Rs. 295. It is also available globally as an ebook.

(All album images from my personal collection).

Siraj Syed reviews Hidden Figures: US-Russia space race & black women’s amazing grace

Did you know that three black women played crucial roles in NASA’s space programme, and without them, John Glenn would not be remembered as the first American astronaut to make it back to earth, but as a young man who got burnt to cinders, along with his spacecraft, by the heat generated on his vehicle’s re-entry into earth’s orbit? This is the true story of the rather unimaginatively titled film, Hidden Figures. It would be a worthwhile experience if you sought out the movie at the first opportunity.

If you are unaware of the extent of apartheid in the USA of the 60s, you are in for some shocks. On the other hand, if you have American history of the 19th and 20th century on your fingertips, you might still be in for some jolting revelations. In case you missed it, let me reiterate: this is the story of coloured persons in America, not of apartheid South Africa. Separate toilets for blacks, separate coffee machines and mugs for blacks, separate recreation areas for blacks, and more. It is a must watch film, a timely (Obama to Trump), scathing flashback of American insensitivity that has taken 200 years to wane, and is still to be eradicated, if that is possible at all.

Hidden Figures is the incredible untold story of Katherine G. Johnson (Taraji P. Henson), Dorothy Vaughan (Octavia Spencer) and Mary Jackson (Janelle Monáe)—highly gifted and high-IQ African-American women, working at NASA, who served as the brains behind one of the greatest operations in history: the launch of astronaut John Glenn into orbit, a stunning achievement that restored the nation's confidence, turned around the Russia v/s America Race (Russia had beaten America to it by launching a man and a dog into space and got them back safely).

First documented as Hidden Figures: The Story of the African-American Women Who Helped Win the Space Race (2016), by Margot Lee Shetterly, the film rights of the true story were sold even before it was published. Screenplay by Theodore Melfi (third outing as writer-director, after Winding Roads and St. Vincent; he worked as a cook and a security guard at a strip club, before getting film breaks) and Allison Schroeder (Side Effects, Mean Girls 2) takes huge liberties with both time and characters, shifting events forward and backwards, between the 40s and the 60s. No surprise that some characters are amalgamated and some are invented, tools of the trade for any film in the bio-pic/docu-feature genre.

Quite often, it becomes apparent that scenes have been worked backwards, to lead them on to the story-point. Playing with technique, Melfi often builds the punch backwards, as in the scene where the doors of rooms have to be broken down in order to carry the gargantuan IBM machines in. Cleverly, the three black women have been juxtaposed against three whites, one of them being a woman. The boss (Kevin Costner) is a workaholic who sees practical sense in ending segregation based on colour when he finds the black woman who has just joined his department is a genius; his second in command (Jim Parsons) is an egotistic, establishment bound proudie; the woman is a hardliner too, but softens her stand slightly towards the end, though her apparent sympathy meets with a sarcastic retort by Spencer.

Theodore Melfi relies heavily on the characterisations of his entire cast, and the grace with which the three lead actresses plunge into manifestations of physical traits and looks, gestures and postures. Always in perspective, the liberties he has taken do sometimes appear convenient and devised—take the case of the showing John Glen much younger than he was, and the climax that he and Goble-Johnson are part of. Sure cinematic build-up, but at the cost of historical fact. Another indulgence by the co-writer and director is the development of the three women’s family lives, which endear them to the viewer ever so more. He can’t do much with the anticipated climax, but he sure knows how to begin a film. The first 3-4 scenes of the movie sow the right seeds for the plot to grow.

Taraji P. Henson (Hustle & Flow, The Curious case of Benjamin Button, The Karate Kid) as Katherine Goble-Johnson, the mathematics wizard who gives the machines a run for their artificial intelligence, gets the meatiest part, and makes the most of it. Octavia Spencer (Black or White, with Kevin Costner, Divergent series: Insurgent, Allegiant) as Dorothy Vaughan, mathematician and acting supervisor, is the least glamorous of the trio, and exudes a stoic dignity in every scene. Janelle Monáe (Rio 2, Moonlight) as Mary Jackson, who becomes an engineer, continues to surprise by her sheer élan and adaptability. Coming on the heels (pun intended; Hidden Figures has a lot of heels in it), of Moonlight, this is a shining performance.

Kevin Costner as Al Harrison, director of the Space Task Group, on his feet all the time, carries of the fictitious role with the poise and flow of the veteran he is. Kirsten Dunst (Spiderman 1-2-3, Melancholia) as Vivian Mitchell has an unsympathetic character that stops short of being a villain tanks to some careful writing and ‘taking it on the chin’ enactment. Jim Parsons (Big Year, Muppets, Home) as Paul Stafford, head engineer in STG is the real villain of the piece, yet you do realise that he is a victim of the circumstances—a black woman assistant coming in out of nowhere and solving complex equations with disarming equanimity, feats that show him in poor light.

Glen Powell (The Expendables 2, The Dark Knight Rises, Everybody Wants Some!!) as John Glenn, the astronaut (died 2016, aged 95) has one n less than his space hero counterpart, and the name and surname are interchanged. Powell makes a handsome, honest and approachable hero in the making, too smooth to be credible. Mahershala Ali (Moonlight) as Jim Johnson, the military officer who marries Katherine, a widow with three daughters (well-essayed roles) is suitably awkward and self-conscious, a far cry from the drug-peddler he plays so convincingly in Moonlight. Modelled on Whoopi Goldberg, Donna Biscoe as Joylette Coleman has a small role Katherine's mother, who helps care for her children, is quite a bundle.

Mathematics, trigonometry and equations are the cornerstone of the tale, and do occur in good measure. The good part is that you can just sit back and look, admiringly, if possible, for they never get dense enough to put you off. In 1961, when human beings were called computers and computers were called IBMs, three African-American women needed more than brains, guts and gumption—just that bit of luck and one bit of support at the top, to set their footprints on the sands of space travel. And look what they achieved. See it for yourself.

Rating: *** ½

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFPWbPmBsKc

January 06, 2017, PRNewswire release from New York

‘African-American business leaders, in partnership with 20th Century Fox, Google, Facebook, Infor and AT&T, have launched an initiative to offer free admission to the critically-acclaimed feature, Hidden Figures, for over 25,000 students in New York. New York schools are the first to benefit from the project. Like the 2015 project to screen Oscar-winner Selma - which reached 300,000 students across the country - the expectation is that other cities will join this important program as it rolls out in theaters nationwide.’

The film's principal actors (Henson, Spencer, Monáe and Parsons), director (Melfi), producer/musical creator (Williams), and other non-profit outside groups, offered free screenings to Hidden Figures at several cinema locations around the world. Some of the screenings are open to all-comers, while others have been arranged to benefit girls, women and the under-privileged. The campaign began as an individual bit of activism by Spencer, and made a total of more than 1,500 seats for Hidden Figures available, free of charge, to poor individuals and families.

India’s Nehru Science Centre could join the movement. We do not have a major white v/s black discrimination issue here, at least not anywhere like the scale it was in the US, but minorities of all manners have been discriminate against all over the world, over centuries, if not millennia. Plus, the film has high educational and scientific value.