Tag: Ranveer Singh

In ‘Rocky Aur Rani Ki Prem Kahaani’, Karan Johar Has His Tongue Firmly in His Cheek

A film on the cultural gap becomes an occasion for the filmmaker to subvert himself without losing scale or splendour.

If one had doubts about whether director Karan Johar lost his edge in the last decade where he himself mocked ‘his kind’ of cinema, it’s taken care of with one scene in Rocky Aur Rani Ki Prem Kahaani. 

As it often happens in a Dharma film – a family is coming down in search of a prospective bride. The samosas and laddoos are laid out, chai is served, pleasantries are exchanged, there’s probably small talk about traffic and the weather. It’s only a matter of time before they get down to ‘business’.

The girl is asked about her hobbies – cooking, cleaning, embroidery? The girl (Anjali Anand) says she likes to sing. She breaks into ‘Mujhko Rana Ji Maaf Karna‘ from Karan Arjun (1995), a semi-erotic song born in the aftermath of the phenomenal success of ‘Choli Ke Peechhe Kya Hai’ from Khal Nayak (1993). It’s a glorious scene where Johar not just tells us about his disdain for such business-deal like arranged marriage meetings, but also does so while being steeped in his love for (tacky) Hindi film music.

Once touted as the blue-eyed boy of the young, mainstream Bollywood about 25 years ago, it took only a few years for Johar’s limitations as a filmmaker to start showing. With the arrival of the Ashutosh Gowarikers and Farhan Akhtars around the turn of the millennium, Johar’s ostentatious productions began to look vacuous. It resulted in Johar meddling with his natural style – trying to make something topical (My Name Is Khan, 2009), trying to appease a younger audience (Student of the Year, 2012), making a relatively more rooted and raw film (Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, 2016). 

It’s been nearly two decades since Johar sacrificed scale, but it’s good to see him return to what might be considered his forte. The frames (by cinematographer Manush Anand) are wider, each and every character seems air-brushed, the lead actors are given ‘professions’ that look laughably plastic, regional stereotypes are dialled to the volume of 11, the production design seems to have the budget of a small country’s GDP. It’s deliberately light-weight, blindingly glossy, unhealthily sweet and yet witty when you least expect it. 

Rocky Randhawa (Ranveer Singh) – the scion of the Randhawa family’s Dhanlaxmi laddoo empire, named after and built by his grandmother (Jaya Bachchan) – opens the film with a charm-offensive voiceover, introducing his family members. Bachchan, who has spent a lifetime playing stoic, meek characters, is refreshingly cast as the acidic matriarch of the Randhawa household. Motivated by her quest for wealth, and disappointed by her husband Kanwal’s (Dharmendra) artistic pursuits, she names her son, Tijori (Aamir Bashir) and rules ‘Randhawa paradise’ (hilariously modelled on the White House) with an iron fist. One day Kanwal, who after an accident which makes him wheelchair-bound and suffering irregular bouts of amnesia, starts uttering a name ‘Jamini’. 

Rocky looks into it. Sure enough, one Google search later, he finds out that the woman he’s referring to is related to a primetime news anchor, Rani Chatterjee (Alia Bhatt).

Like two comets colliding into one another, Rocky and Rani meet, but initially to help complete the love story of Kanwal and Jamini (Shabana Azmi), Rani’s grandmother. Seeing Rocky’s perfectly-chiselled torso behind his barely-buttoned shirt, it’s lust at first sight for Rani.

A still from ‘Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani.’

In an inspired montage of recreated old Hindi film songs, Johar shows Kanwal and Jamini meeting in Delhi’s popular lovers’ spots, only to show another love story blooming in the background. As the elderly couple sits on a bench, the younger couple dance at a distance, almost like their alter-egos. Johar is able to paint the love stories of two generations – one that finds solitude in their late years, while passions rage and bodies intertwine without much thought or deliberation in the other. Dharmendra and Shabana Azmi are an inspired choice for a couple, given their ‘schools’ of acting. There’s something sincere about them as frail, longing elders.

Rocky and Rani – as the title of the film suggests – are destined to fall in love. However, not before a social experiment that includes them living with each other’s families for three months, so as to overcome the significant gap in their cultural upbringing. Johar, never shying away from a joke to mine the cultural differences, makes a joke about Rabindranath Tagore being referred to as ‘Dadaji’ by Rocky.

In another scene Tota Roy Chowdhury – playing Rani’s father Chandan, a Kathak dancer by vocation — is shown to be doing hand movements while being seated in Rocky’s living room, stressing upon how culturally refined he is. Seen through a comical lens, it does disservice to Roy Chowdhury’s otherwise superbly calibrated performance.

However, underneath all this fluff and humour also lies some pointed (and some patronising) social commentary. Johar touches upon the casual sexism in the Randhawa family, even with the women singing “Kaanto se kheech ke yeh aanchal, tod ke bandhan, baandhi payal” in front of their oppressors. When has Johar ever been known for half-measures? Rocky is reformed from his toxic masculinity by embracing kathak because of Rani’s father, and the Chatterjees are called out for their snootiness and superiority complex later in the film.

While most of the progressive posturing – possibly inspired by Ayushmann Khurrana’s genre of films — is delivered well, there are a couple of painful detours.

Churni Ganguly, playing Rani’s mother, goes on a lengthy tirade when Rocky is embarrassed to go lingerie shopping with her. There’s a scene between Jaya Bachchan and Alia Bhatt – eerily similar to a scene in Crazy Rich Asians (2018) where Michelle Yeoh tells Constance Wu “you will never be enough” – that ends with Bhatt’s character saying “khela hobe (the game is on).” This is the oddest bit of appropriation from Bengal politics.

Karan Johar’s Rocky Aur Rani Ki Prem Kahaani rests on the shoulders of its two excellent leads. Singh – who doesn’t miss a beat playing a ‘90s Govinda–meets–Bittu from Band Baaja Baraat fool – is able to turn his bratty character into someone earnest in the blink of an eye.

Bhatt, looking distressingly false in the environs of a newsroom, and while holding a glass of scotch at one of her family’s “cultural” evenings is radiant every time she’s around Singh.

A still from ‘Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani.’

One of her best scenes in the film is when she’s thinking of him, trying to douse her love for him in alcohol. She looks at her colleague, Soumen (Namit Das) asking him to hug her. He’s a little taken aback at first, but when he eventually does – she rebuffs him. It’s a tricky scene where Bhatt is trusted to navigate between an independent woman showcasing her agency and longing for someone she considers intellectually inferior, while sitting beside someone she doesn’t fancy physically. 

Johar’s film is ultimately a fine argument for everyone to be their unapologetic selves. Like, in a scene, Tota Roy Chowdhury performs to a song from Devdas (2002) at a Punjabi sangeet ceremony – inviting sniggers for a large part of the audience. The scene gets a callback later in the film, when Roy Chowdhury and Singh perform a revisionist Dola Re. It appears as though Johar has finally embraced his reputation as a maker of fluff after a long time, doubling down on this opportunity by staging a Durga Puja of Bhansali proportions, a funeral of Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham proportions, and an ‘intimate’ wedding proposal that features 100 people (instead of 500 background dancers like in the film’s songs). The man is simply incapable of thinking small. But then again, Johar never promised us the truth. He only promised a good time.

Rohit Shetty’s ‘Cirkus’ Has Plenty of Errors But No Comedy

This adaptation of Shakespeare’s ‘Comedy of Errors’ doesn’t just feel like shoddy filmmaking; it feels like a scam.

Some questions surprise us by their mere existence.

Take this: What’s common to William Shakespeare, Gulzar, and…Rohit Shetty? The Comedy of Errors.

Shakespeare wrote it; Gulzar made a film on it (Angoor), and now Shetty, adapting the same story, has directed Cirkus. What a range – if Shakespeare and Gulzar were Bards, then Shetty is, well, bad. Among many flaws in his decades-old filmography, an incoherent screenplay ranks at the top. The Comedy of Errors, however, gives him a potent weapon: an excellent time-tested story that revels in incoherency.

Cirkus opens to a circus performer, Roy (Ranveer Singh), in Ooty, who is renowned for (literal) high-voltage stunts. Whenever he performs, his twin brother in Bangalore, Roy (Singh) – following the tradition of many Hindi potboilers – gets a rude electric jolt. They have a brother each, who are also twins, called Joy (Varun Sharma). When Roy_2 and Joy_2 travel from Bangalore to Ooty for a business deal, people start to recognise them – and, the chances are high, you know what follows.

Set in the early ’70s, Cirkus adopts a strange visual language: Almost the entire film seems to be shot on a set. It produces a foreign fairy-tale-like feel (which, unlike Gangubai Kathiawadi, doesn’t have a deep thematic reason). But this is a Shetty directorial where every ‘reason’ anagrams to arson, so let’s move on.

A still from Rohit Shetty’s ‘Cirkus’.

The second striking (and a potentially pleasant) facet is the director’s love for silly humour and Bollywood. Close to half-a-dozen old Hindi songs feature as comedic snippets; Sanjay Mishra’s character talks like the actor Jeevan; and many references – from Ittefaq to Andaz Apna Apna to China Gate to Shetty’s own films – keep popping up in the form of dialogues, characters, and mannerisms.

In most Shetty’s films, intentions and executions are worlds apart. In Cirkus, there’s an inter-planetary distance between the two (where the planet of execution is yet to be found). Here’s how this movie defines comedy: clumsy physical actions, exaggerated background score, contrived facial expressions. This goes on and on – and on and on – for over two unending hours.

Making a bad film is one thing; making one with such evident disinterest and laziness – that too, when you’ve the support of a celebrated text – is just Shetty filmmaking.

The screenwriters (there are three of them! – who would have thought) had to do one thing to make the movie borderline tolerable: Come up with more than a dozen jokes. Forget logic, character consistency, and all the highfalutin things that insufferable critics like to harp on: just give us good jokes.

But nothing – absolutely nothing. After a point, I became so desperate to make my time worthwhile that I began looking for jokes – if a character, for example, said a remotely kooky dialogue, I was prepared to laugh; if a character made an eccentric observation, I was prepared to laugh; if a character slipped on a banana, I was, my brothers, yes, prepared to laugh.

Think of a film critic going nuts in a theatre, internally screaming, “Mujhe jokes do! Mujhe jokes do! Mujhe jokes do!”

‘Give me jokes.’

But – yeah, you got it – nothing; just nothing. It’s not even a small film – the thing bleats and bores and lumbers for 140 minutes. (Note to myself: Should have just stayed home and cooked 70 packets of Maggi instead.)

Cirkus doesn’t just feel like shoddy filmmaking; it feels like a scam. An elaborate and effortless con game (as the writers didn’t even have to try writing a story – and whatever else they wrote, to quote Truman Capote commenting on Jack Kerouac, was “not writing [but] typing”).

I’m sure Shetty does have a genuine fondness for old Bollywood and silly humour (I’m myself a huge fan), but this isn’t tribute; it’s an insult. An insult to delightful Hindi cinema, an insult to innocent humour, an insult to the audiences who have made sure that after most Shetty comedies, the only person laughing (that too in a bank) is the director himself. Spare a thought for a grave in the Holy Trinity Church in Stratford-upon-Avon, where a 406-year-old hand must be itching to write this film’s shortest review: only errors, no comedy. 

Why It’s Not Easy to Become a Man in Today’s India

Shannon Philip’s new book shows the fragilities that drive the aggression of young men in Delhi.

I have often wondered what goes on inside the cars full of men that slow down at the sight of every girl or woman out on a street in Delhi.

It plays out differently for me every time.

Often, a window rolls down and only one head pops out; sometimes, two of them emerge at the same time as if pushed by an invisible force. What follows could either be just sounds and gestures or full sentences spoken with purpose. It might be a remark on my looks, an offer to drop me to my destination, an invitation to go for a drive, or words I want to unhear as soon as they have been uttered. 

‘Becoming Young Men In A New India: Masculinities, Gender Relations and Violence in the Postcolony,’ Shannon Philip, Cambridge University Press, 2022.

A new book, Becoming Young Men In a New India: Masculinities, Gender Relations and Violence in the Postcolony, by Shannon Philip, a British-Indian ethnographer, studies the forces at play inside these cars and multiple other male-dominated spaces in Delhi to show the fragilities that drive such aggression. 

It’s not easy to become a man in the new India, the book argues.

The process is dictated by a formula that applies to every aspect of an aspirant’s public self. Certain exercises are to be performed at the gym, clothes to be bought at the shopping mall, poses to strike before the camera, and girls to be chosen from the crowd. Those signing up to become men train themselves to modulate their tone of voice based on who they are talking to – curtly to waiters, firmly to women, and respectfully to fitness trainers, who must always be addressed as ‘sir.’

The idea, as Philip, a young man himself, demonstrates by immersing himself into their world – gyms, clubs, parking lots, cigarette shops – is to effortlessly switch between aggression and refinement. It takes smartness, they tell themselves, to be a modern Indian man who pulls out the chair for his girlfriend minutes after he has taken care of someone who dared to graze his car. It is this pursuit that unites the disparate men he follows in Delhi. 

He hangs out with sets of “strivers”, a term defined by the National Council of Applied Economic Research as members of the Great Indian Middle Class who are better off than “seekers” from the lower middle class but don’t qualify as “global elites” from the upper middle class.

All of Philip’s informants are unmarried, north-Indian, Hindu, ‘upper or middle’ caste and between the ages of 20 and 27. The writer doesn’t explain why a young man from a Muslim or Christian or Other Backward Class background won’t make an “urban smart striver.” What he does, however, is show the lengths to which his chosen cast of informants are ready to go to be perceived as “smart bande (men).”

The physical template for this new masculinity – groomed, muscular, hairless, fair-skinned, and distinctly heterosexual – is laid out across their hangout spots, as Philip illustrates through his sharp visual analysis. “Shopping becomes a men’s activity that is carried out in masculine ways,” he writes.  

The template shows up in the “mast (fun)” body” of Ranveer Singh whose life-size cut-outs illustrate the perfect pose for a man to click a selfie, in the carelessly stylish way (the late) Sushant Singh Rajput chills out in the posters for jeans that claim to enable a “fast life”, and in the confidence with which Virat Kohli carries off his sherwani in the hoardings that exhort men to wear their “identity.” The last one draws pure reverence from his informants for the cricketing star’s command on refined vibes and “hard” looks. It elevates him, in their eyes, from a “smart banda (man)” to a “true son” of India. 

The new India arguably demands that its sons be hairless and hard at the same time. That they use fairness creams but never smile for photographs, wear glossy sunglasses but stare at everything in sight, and drive ruthlessly in their perfumed cars. How to strike this impossible balance?

‘It takes ‘smartness’ to be a modern Indian man who pulls out the chair for his girlfriend minutes after he has taken care of someone who dared to graze his car. It is this pursuit that unites the disparate men Shannon Philip follows in Delhi.’ Photo: Adam Cohn/Flickr (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

Philip observes his informants employing “skilled practices of the body”: building up a frown, tensing up arms, and smoking their cigarettes sternly. Their constant switching between public and private personas can be comic.

He notes one of his informants, Aman, a bank employee who wishes to become a Bollywood actor, change after leaving a cigarette shop in Connaught Place. “Once we move ‘offstage’…away from ‘public view’, he becomes gregarious and excitable again. He slouches, looks around carelessly, his arms relax, and he smiles and laughs loudly.” Aman also keeps urging Philip to harden up himself. “If you keep smiling and looking soft, people will come and sit on your head.” 

Building an image is easier than being burdened with reality, as the political icons of the new India have established. The young men believe they must work to earn respect (“izzat”), like their fathers and grandfathers did, but few would find jobs that look good on their CVs and pay enough to have their sisters wedded.

They crave success that will make the world sit up and take notice; and they want the same for India.

While neither seems within reach, the young men find themselves with a lot of free time – and they spend it roaming the city. Philip’s informants like to roam only the “smart” places in Delhi – South Extension, Greater Kailash, Connaught Place – even if they live far away from these neighbourhoods. They hang out at places that keep out the “riffraff” by charging an entry fee or imposing a dress code or putting their visitors through “security.”

However precarious their own prospects, they stress that poor and working-class men have no place in a smart city like Delhi. One of them refers to homeless people as “kachra (trash)” that must be removed for India to realise its potential. 

The men want their smart spaces not to be invaded by women, either unless they happen to be their girlfriends. Generally, they view women with suspicion: what if they reject them? What if they cheat on them? What if they come between them and their bhai–log (brothers)? Since their girlfriends are not going to become their wives, because, whether new India or old, marriages are dictated by caste and religion, the men don’t see the point of going further than casual dating.

Ultimately, they question the value of having non-family women in their lives – you can’t ring a girl when you get into a street fight! What you need in those moments is a carful of bros who will drive recklessly to your rescue. 

Also read: Decoding Digital Desires: Postcolonial Masculinity in the Bois Locker Room

They don’t want women at their gyms, their cigarette shops, and the happy-hour bars they can only visit in the afternoons because they must spend their evenings at home playing good boys.

They might tolerate a woman walking purposefully to catch a bus, but they don’t want her to dawdle while out in public, much less break into a dance. If she dares, they believe it’s their duty to discipline her. One of Philip’s informants, Raj, spells out his attitude: “Friend, you know it is not right to lift your hand on women, but a little bit you have to keep them under control, otherwise they get out of hand.” 

While animated by brotherly love, the author sees their world as defined by a “desexualised homosociality” in which there is no space for queerness. Some of them might have sex with men because it is easier to arrange that in a city like Delhi, but never identify as gay. “Because I am smart,” says one of them, “I don’t want to have a boyfriend.” 

Philip, who set out into the field as a queer researcher, lucidly draws out the contradictions between how he and his informants inhabit public spaces in Delhi, including a time when one of them coaxes the writer to urinate alongside him because he believes that’s what brothers do. This seems to shock no one else in the public toilet but him. 

“To me,” he writes, “the space suddenly felt crowded and uncomfortable, but everything continued just as it was.” 

Snigdha Poonam is the author of Dreamers: How Young Indians Are Changing Their World (2018), which won the Crossword Award for nonfiction.

Mumbai Police Lodges FIR Against Actor Ranveer Singh for Nude Photos

A Mumbai-based NGO claimed the actor had “hurt the sentiments of women”.

Mumbai: The Mumbai Police on Tuesday registered a First Information Report (FIR) against Bollywood actor Ranveer Singh over his nude pictures on social media, an official said.

A Mumbai-based Non-Governmental Organisation (NGO) had approached the Chembur police here with a complaint against the actor.

Based on it, the police registered the FIR against Singh under various Indian Penal Code Sections like 292 (sale of obscene books, etc), 293 (sale of obscene objects to young people), 509 (word, gesture or act intended to insult the modesty of a woman) and provisions of the Information Technology Act, an official from the Chembur police station said.

An office-bearer of the NGO had alleged that the actor hurt the sentiments of women in general and insulted their modesty through his photographs, police earlier said.

Ranveer Singh, a recipient of several awards, is known for his roles in films like Bajirao Mastani, Padmaavat and Gully Boy.

(PTI)

With Obvious Storytelling, ’83’ Is an Opportunity Lost to Show Underdog India’s Famous WC Victory

Some good acting by Ranveer Singh and young actors like Jiiva cannot save this ludicrous mess.

If you have a deep interest in Indian cricket, then you know how the first West Indian wicket fell in the 1983 World Cup final.

A turbaned fast bowler, Balwinder Singh Sandhu, pitches a good-length ball outside the off stump; the lethal opener, Gordon Greenidge, shoulders his bat. But like a great plot twist, the delivery upturns our anticipation: it cuts in and shakes the stumps.

An opening so perfect it laid the foundation for an improbable win — a ball so cunning it could have stolen the devil’s soul. Such a twist defines the story of the Indian team’s World Cup campaign and, indeed, the final — when you expected it to go one way, it went the other.

Winning the first two matches in the group stage, India lost to Australia and West Indies and sunk to 17/5 against Zimbabwe. Then Kapil Dev happened. But in the final, chasing 184, a Vivian Richards blitzkrieg made his team need just 127 more runs with eight wickets in hand. Even there, Kapil Dev happened, and just when you thought that the match would go left — taking cues from Sandhu’s fast ‘off-spinner’ — it went right.

Such a trajectory — replete with macro and micro twists — that too of an underdog is the stuff of the movies. I wasn’t even born in 1983, but I remember the Sandhu delivery like last night’s dream. Because that’s the poetry and cruelty of cricket: When the Indian team wins, the whole country wins, when it loses, it loses alone. That spirit alone should make Kabir Khan’s 83 invincible.

A still from ’83’.

What’s not there to love: nostalgia, cricket, underdog, plot turns, the coloniser’s land, an impossible win, national pride. What’s more: the film knows the right beats, and it hits them hard — very hard. But such overcompensation, hardcoded into the film’s DNA, also makes it falter.

At the start of the film, for example, Sandhu (Ammy Virk) is bowling to Sunil Gavaskar (Tahir Raj Bhasin) in the nets. “Why do you want to send a telegram to the batsman that you’re bowling an inswinger?” He tells the fast bowler. That scene ends there; you nod and make a mental note, ‘smart foreshadowing’. But in fact, it doesn’t end there.

Later in the movie, Sandhu beats Gavaskar in the nets and, before the Greenidge dismissal, the legendary opener tells him, “Andar waali daal, chhupa ke (bowl the inswinger — hide it well).”

These three scenes summarise both the intent and method of this 152-minute sports drama. Intent: hinge a scene, a sequence, or a subplot, around a real-life event and milk it dry. Method: hammer and repeat, hammer and repeat. Imagine a cricket team with 11 batsmen, and all of them are Virender Sehwag: that’s 83 for you.

Take the ‘underdog’ subplot for instance. The movie opens in the “Cricket Board of India” office. The board officials mock, more than once, India’s slim chance at the World Cup in front of the team manager P.R. Man Singh (Pankaj Tripathi).

A still from ’83’.

Then an airline staff makes fun of him at the airport; then he doesn’t get the passes for the World Cup final in London; then a spectator taunts Kapil Dev (Ranveer Singh) after a warm-up match; then a British journalist grills the Indian captain about his team’s chance in the tournament; then a commentator repeats during the first match that India doesn’t stand a chance; then a kid waves a tricolour in front of the dejected team to revive its spirit; then when the team starts doing well, a journalist calls it a “lucky win”; then — it goes on and on, and on and on.

The rest of the subplots, too, repeat the same cycle. Someone should have told the screenwriters (Khan, Sanjay Puran Singh Chauhan, and Vasan Bala), in essence, what Gavaskar told Sandhu: “Why do you want to send a telegram to the audiences that you’re about to hit a familiar beat?”

Sometimes 83 outdoes itself. In an early scene, two Indian players are discussing the four West Indian pacers. The whole thing sounds like a basic Wikipedia entry. “That’s Marshal. That’s Michael Holding, ‘Whispering Death’. That’s the ‘Big Bird’, Joel Garner.” It’s impossible that this scene would have happened in real-life. Its sole intent then seems patronising: to ‘teach’ the audience.

A still from ’83’.

Khan’s movie takes no half measures, operating in just two modes: It first underscores the greatness of the Indian team — accompanied by all means of possible deification — and then explains it, again and again and again, for us, the poor audiences. For all its unending assertions of national pride, Khan’s team displays nothing but (benign) condescension towards the Indian audience.

Since 83 is framed around a famous tournament, replicating the matches with some authenticity would have elevated, maybe even saved, the film. But the unfocussed cinematography and choppy editing distract the audience and dilute the film. Here too, you can spot a formula. We first see a bowler’s run-up, then cut to a medium shot of a batsman hitting the ball.

This constant spatial disconnect between the bat and ball neither captures the ingenuity of the bowlers nor the craftsmanship of the batters. Many matches are shot from a perpendicular angle, with respect to the pitch, making you feel as if you’re standing on short mid-wicket – an alienating filming style that often snaps our emotional chord with the match.

But nothing – absolutely nothing – prepares you for some wild subplots, crosscuts, and cameos. There’s one about the Indian soldiers listening to the radio commentary amid relentless shelling. There’s one about a small town, Nawabpur, wrecked by communal violence where cricket functions as a healing mediator. There’s one about a pregnant woman taken to a hospital (she gives birth and names the baby – I’m sure you guessed it – “Kapil Dev”).

A still from ’83’.

And then the cameos. When Singh hits a six during the epic 175, the ball sails into the stadium, and it’s caught by… the real Kapil Dev. Which is still okay, but the guest appearance by Mohinder Amarnath – playing “Lala” Amarnath, the father of Saqib Salem’s character (Mohinder Amarnath) – is meta campy filmmaking on drugs. Amarnath pops up throughout the film, and each subsequent appearance makes 83 even more (unintentionally) nutty. He starts off as a stern father, who has high expectations of his son. But even there, he struggles to manage even the most basic dialogues. Khan, however, raises the stakes.

In a later scene, Amarnath watches Salem on TV – or, as we know, watches himself. When Salem gets run out, he throws a shoe at it. He appears again, during the World Cup final, in front of the TV, watching himself, smoking a pipe. Forget being moved – or ‘inspired’ or intrigued or engaged – in the latter half, when the film had crossed all limits of silliness, I began laughing.

Which doesn’t mean that the movie’s devoid of merits. In fact, 83 shines when it’s not straining to be poignant.

Its scenes of banter among the Indian players hit the sweet spot: They’re unimposing, relaxed, funny. Unlike most Bollywood sports dramas, this movie doesn’t demonise the opponents. The acting is impressive across characters, and Bhasin, Virk, and Jiiva (a superb turn as Krishnamachari Srikkanth) stand out. It’s never easy to make a film with more than a dozen characters, but the writing takes care to dignify each one of them, even Sunil Valson, who gets a small scene capturing his disappointment on being dropped from the side. Deepika Padukone too, playing Kapil’s wife Romi, is a compelling presence in a short role.

A still from ’83’.

The film also nails an important essence of cricket: that it is hardly about one individual. It’d have been easy (and disingenuous) to make this movie revolve around a few players, such as Kapil Dev and Mohinder Amarnath, but the makers stay true to the spirit of the game. And whenever it returns to Kapil Dev, it produces some fine moments, thanks to Singh’s restrained performance.

His Kapil makes for an unlikely ‘hero’, an unlikely leader. Unlike the movie, he gets awkward about making inspirational speeches. He seethes when his teammates, more than once, are just content to be ‘competitive losers’. He soaks it all in and spits it out on the field.

A true definition-defying role, Singh’s Kapil excels in non-verbal stuff, bringing out paradoxical yet credible facets of the captain: the bashful smile, the simmering silence, the quiet resolve, the stifled frustration. Singh often looks like he’s on the verge of pulling a prank – carrying a sense of playful unpredictability – but again, unlike the movie, he gives us no easy adjectives.

These sporadic highs, however, cannot save a ridiculous and ludicrous mess like 83. A good (real) life story needn’t translate into a good film – a point so obvious yet one that demands repetition, because this drama is sunk by gargantuan and embarrassing mistakes. But maybe none of that matters. Maybe all we need is an overeager highlights of warm nostalgia, vicarious pride, flowing reverence, inspirational story, and repetitive melodrama – all beyond scrutiny, for it is, after all, based on a ‘true story’. Because when you’re trapped in a tournament of unending mediocrity – and low expectations – it isn’t difficult to win a World Cup every Friday.

The Role of Fashion in the Great Celebrity PR Machine

Today’s red carpet scene is as exciting as it is uninteresting.

It was the 2014 Oscar ceremony. On the red carpet, in a sea of A-list actresses who all looked fantastic, one person stood out.

Lupita Nyong’o, then a newcomer, stepped out in an ice blue pleated Prada gown with an enviable fall, something she took advantage of as she twirled around on the carpet.

That was a fashion moment which has been frozen in time. That moment, right there, propelled Nyong’o to a level of international stardom that her Oscar win, later that night, would not have necessarily warranted. The carefree flow of the skirt was charming, the diamond headband was alluring, the soft makeup inviting and the colour of her skin empowering.

But a lot had to happen for that singular moment to have had the impact it did. Nyong’o was a newcomer who had the backing of high-end luxury brands and stylist Micaela Erlanger – who continuously pushes stylistic boundaries.

You see, usually one becomes a fashionista slowly. But in Nyong’o’s case, she established herself as a fashion icon the very first go. For a night at the Oscars, celebrities either tend to keep a low profile or opt for a go-big-or-go-home strategy. Nyong’o took the third road, one less travelled – simple and elegant.

Lupita Nyong’o showed up for the Oscars in 2014 draped in ice-blue silk. Photo: Reuters

Even us ‘normal folks’ would agree that the person who stands out in a room is almost always wearing something simple and elegant while his/her counterparts are sporting something flashy.

Say, at an extremely extravagant Indian wedding, a woman in a plain, matte, bordered sari will always grab more eyeballs than the women in blingy gowns and suits. Going against the norm with an old-school trick is somehow always more memorable than chasing current trends.

That is exactly what Nyong’o did – at Hollywood’s biggest night, her simple look came as a delightful shock. Since then, she has given numerous looks that are worthy of appraisal and have indeed garnered her lots of fashion press, but none of them have managed to translate into a level of attention she received that night.

And in just six years, the entire red carpet scene has changed dramatically. Today, it’s harder than ever to create a ‘fashion moment’.

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The relationship between celebrity styling and fashion houses is an old one and more than a little nuanced. To put it briefly, back in the day during the studio system, Hollywood actors were dressed by the costume designers their studios would hire – with a few exceptions like Audrey Hepburn who exclusively started wearing Givenchy in the 60s because of her friendship with the designer.

As the studio system was dismantled, actors would simply dress themselves (something that happened in Bollywood as well). That started to change in the 70s when labels like Armani and Halston started to dress the likes of Jane Fonda. The level of publicity that the brand eventually received spurred other brands to start dressing celebrities for red carpet appearances too.

Today, this courtship has reached its peak. Apart from the involvement of a professional stylist (who comes with a team), there are exclusive contracts being signed between two parties. When Jennifer Lawrence wears Dior, she not only enjoys access to a massive inventory of high-end clothing, but also a level of respect that only a fashion house of that stature can grant her. In return, Dior gets showered with respectable publicity and gains more customers.

The whole point of the red carpet may be quite superficial, yet its importance cannot be overlooked. To stay relevant, being an entertainer isn’t enough in this day and age. Publicising the work is necessary and glamour is arguably the best way to market oneself. The more media coverage a person gets, the bigger their following becomes. This equals to more clout, and fashion is one of the biggest tool at their disposal.

Also read: Will Fast Fashion Really Change Their Ways in a Climate Crisis?

Throughout history, celebrities like Cher, David Bowie, Prince, have used fashion to send a message to the world. The more outrageous their choices, the more media coverage they’d receive. This is not to disregard their talent in anyway, but how they presented themselves is played a massive role in cementing them as the icons they still are.

A more modern counterpart of these examples today would be Lady Gaga, who has used fashion to market herself since the beginning of her career. There is a fair chance of a person not being aware of her work as a musician and an actor, but they’ll surely know her as ‘that woman who wears weird clothes’.

Gaga understood the sheer power of fashion early on and how it can create an effective image when used correctly. A decade ago, she was shocking people with a meat dress and just when people were starting to become immune to her fashion choices, she spurred it all again by surprising critics with plain Brandon Maxwell dresses.

So her initial looks helped her make a mark in the music industry, whereas her later looks have aided in putting up a persona for the acting industry. This way, the public is forced to look at her through a lens of her choosing.

Back home in India, even less than a decade ago, the red carpet wasn’t as big of a deal as it is now, but things started to take a turn when Sonam Kapoor, then a relative newcomer, continuously made it into the newspapers for her fashion choices. While not the first person to have become a fashionista in India, she was definitely the most mainstream celebrity who would consistently wear haute couture garments.

She has said on multiple occasions that it was her love for fashion that propelled her into wearing such high-end clothes, but there’s a good chance that she genuinely understood the power fashion has in showbiz and simply used it to her advantage.

Sonam Kapoor’s fashion choices unsurprisingly led other actresses to step up their game. Today, every actor has a stylist who goes out of their way to source clothes that’ll get their clients as much positive coverage as possible. Currently, the styling situation is pretty much the same in Hollywood and Bollywood – just that it’s all on a much larger scale in the former.

So, when everyone is fighting to look the best and/or be the most shocking, how does one stand out?

Well, most don’t.

Today’s red carpet scene is as exciting as it is uninteresting. Exciting because every celebrity is willing to take some kind of a fashion risk. Uninteresting because every celebrity is trying to get the most attention.

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Ever since Billy Porter’s breakout role in FX’s Pose, Porter has continued to give us red carpet moments. The most memorable of them all has been the tuxedo ball gown by Christian Siriano that Porter wore to the Oscars this year. The gown not only broke gender stereotypes, but also went against the current red carpet norm of gigantic feather and tulle dresses.

Billy Porter’s tuxedo gown stunned the red carpet at the Oscars this year. Photo: Reuters

It subverted expectations and urged people to have a conversation. Even Porter’s most recent appearance at the Emmys a couple of months ago, where he wore a black jacket and trousers with high heels and an avant-garde hat, generated more buzz than his actual Emmy win.

Ranveer Singh can be considered his closest Indian counterpart because while there is no specific ‘red carpet moment’ one can point to like Porter above, his whole style history has been liberating for men all over the country and has actually started a conversation about gender roles in the fashion industry.

So, while it’s becoming harder and harder to create a ‘fashion moment’ today, one thing is for sure, the whole machinery of using fashion to push a certain image of a certain celebrity will continue to jog on.

As superficial as fashion may seem, clothes are actually quite subtle because they send a message to the world in the guise of superficiality, and that is true for everyone regardless of whether that person is a celebrity or not.

But since the dawn of time, celebrities have used this basic necessity of clothing to craft an image of themselves. When people see their favourite star, they see a version of them that has been meticulously crafted by professionals so that they can be viewed in a particular way.

This information is neither good nor bad. It’s just a fact that perhaps more people should be aware of.

Shivani Yadav is a fashion and film writer.

Featured image: Bollywood actress Sonam Kapoor at the 68th Cannes International Film Festival, in a cobalt blue creation by Ralph & Russo. Photo: Reuters

Zoya Akhtar Directed ‘Gully Boy’ Selected As India’s Official Oscar Entry

The last film from India that made it to the final five in the Best Foreign Film category list was Ashutosh Gowariker’s Lagaan in 2001.

New Delhi: Zoya Akhtar’s Gully Boy, with protagonist Ranveer Singh as an aspiring rapper, has been selected as India’s official entry in the International Feature Film category at the Oscars, the Film Federation of India (FFI) announced on Saturday.

The movie, which released commercially across the country on February 14, also features Alia Bhatt, Vijay Raaz, Kalki Koechlin, Siddhant Chaturvedi, Vijay Varma and Amruta Subhash. Produced by Ritesh Sidhwani and Farhan Akhtar, Gully Boy is about an upcoming rapper who sets out to achieve his dream by rapping about his life in the streets of Mumbai.

“India’s official entry for Oscars this year is Gully Boy. There were 27 films in the running this year but it was a unanimous decision to select Gully Boy,” FFI secretary general Supran Sen told PTI.

Singh, who played the lead in the film, said that it was a proud moment for the entire team.

Also read: Movie Review: ‘Gully Boy’ Is Too Self-Contained to Start a Real Conversation

Celebrated actor-filmmaker Aparna Sen was the head of the jury for this year’s selection committee. “The energy of the film was infectious. It will speak to the audience,” Sen said on Gully Boy being the final pick of the jury.

FFI president Firdausul Hasan said that the screening process for the Oscar selection started on Monday and ended on Saturday. He also revealed that apart from Gully Boy, other Bollywood films competing for the Oscar entry were Badhaai Ho, Andhadhun, Article 15, Uri: The Surgical Strike, Badla, Kesari and The Tashkent Files.

Singh said that Gully Boy echoed the voice of the streets and it will always be one of his personal favourites. “As always, I will keep striving towards making the flag of Hindi cinema fly high. I’m very happy that the passionate hard work that our cast and crew put into creating Gully Boy is reaping rewards,” he said in a statement.

He also said that he is especially proud of and happy for Zoya Akhtar. “It (Gully Boy) is her baby, and I am blessed to have been a part of her maverick vision. With the love and support of our beloved audience, we’re hoping to make a significant mark on the world stage,” he said.

Farhan took to Twitter to congratulate the team behind the film, which was one of the most critically-acclaimed Hindi movies of 2019.

Koechlin also expressed her excitement on the movie’s Oscar selection.

Subhash, who played Murad’s (Singh’s character in the film) mother Razia Ahmed, said that she was overwhelmed.

“The subject, the making of the films is so universal. I am sure it will resonate and touch the hearts of everyone. It is great that this film will be representing us,” Subhash told PTI.

Writer Reema Kagti said that the team is “thrilled” with the selection.

Varma, whose portrayal of perceptive and enterprising Moeen in the film earned him critical acclaim, said that getting selected for the Academy Awards is a big deal. “We are going to Oscars… This is a big deal. It is very special. This was unexpected. I am jumping in joy. We are happy that the whole nation has chosen our film and it is very exciting,” the actor said.

No Indian film has ever won an Oscar. The last film from India that made it to the final five in the Best Foreign Film category list was Ashutosh Gowariker’s Lagaan in 2001. Mother India (1958) and Salaam Bombay (1989) are the other two Indian movies to have made it to the top five.

Assamese film Village Rockstars, directed by Rima Das, was India’s official submission to the Oscars last year. The 92nd Academy Awards will be announced on February 9, 2020.

Movie Review: ‘Gully Boy’ Is Too Self-Contained to Start a Real Conversation

The protagonist’s compelling story is told through banal Bollywood tropes of marital discord, domineering father, domestic violence and parental pressure.

Note: This review of Gully Boy, originally published on February 14, 2019, has been republished in the light of the film having been declared India’s official entry for the Oscars.

In an early scene in Gully Boy, starring Ranveer Singh and Alia Bhatt, some foreigners are on a slum tour in Dharavi. They enter Murad’s (Singh) house. “Wow, it’s amazing!” says one. “Every inch has been used,” says the other. It’s a funny scene, as the ones indulging in exoticising look clueless and superficial. But since this is a movie by Zoya Akhtar, a deceptively meta filmmaker, you also wonder whether this is self-referential, some sort of a semi-serious apology?

Because like those tourists, Akhtar is an outsider here too, and her last two films, centered on the mega-rich, literally belonged to a different world. Even her debut, Luck By Chance, set in Bollywood, was far removed from Dharavi. Gully Boy thus poses a formidable challenge: to become a part of a world she has not seen before.

Gully Boy opens to Murad, a final year college student. He lives with his parents, grandmother, and younger brother in a small house, in Dharavi. His father, Aftab Sheikh (Vijay Raaz), a driver, frequently discourages and rebukes him; he’s also brought home a second wife. But not all is bleak for Murad: He has Safeena (Bhatt), his girlfriend from high school, and hip-hop, a music genre with foreign roots, that acquires momentous meanings: distraction, escape, home.

Murad’s music has voice – or at least that is the intention. At one point, he takes a jibe at the mainstream rappers, saying, “Isko rap bolte hain? Yeh dekh meri gaadi, mere joote, yeh dekh daaru, chhokri.” Mumbai street rap – raw, irreverent, restless – melds the personal and the political. The context is local and so is the setting. Even the language – the darting, colliding verses in ‘Bambaiyya’ Hindi – is homegrown.

This form, so original and fresh, demands similar storytelling. But Akhtar doesn’t consider this world through the lens of her protagonist – or the rappers that inspired this film, Divine and Naezy – as it feels flattened out, devoid of complex, penetrating specifics and, consequently, a unique identity. It’s a world that Bollywood recognises, and sympathises with, easily: one solely marked by class divide, oblivious to other forms of inequities.The result then looks only partly real – an imagination of a milieu, rather than the milieu itself.

Also Read: The ‘Gully Boy’ Soundtrack Co-Opts – but Also Gives Credit to the Street

Gully Boy’s hook – a Dharavi rapper using music to collapse economic, social and cultural barriers – is at odds with its banal tropes: marital discord, domineering father, domestic violence, parental pressure. These realities of course exist, but Akhtar reduces them to inanimate generalities, evoking formulaic Bollywood pathos.

This is reflected in the film’s politics as well. Gully Boy’s eclectic album has two charged numbers – Jingostan and Azadi (a diluted version of the JNU protest song that now contains no references to capitalism, casteism or Brahmanical supremacy) – that pop in the film without a convincing context or reason. The songs of the original Mumbai rappers don’t exist in a vacuum, but Gully Boy surveys and selects on its convenience, using only selected bits from Azadi, shortchanging the people and place that had provided the original artistic mileage.

A local rapper, for instance, bursts into Jingostan at a jamming session; the track ends, and the film moves on, approximating, what can only be called, a ‘revolutionary’ number. In another scene, Murad and his friends deface several billboards late in the night, presumably protesting a consumer culture that props up the haves and silences the have-nots. This scene is impressively materialised – it is wonderfully shot and charmingly performed by Kalki Koechlin (Murad’s friend) – but, fundamentally disconnected from the movie, it primarily exists to look ‘cool’.

Also Read: Hip Hop From the Ghettos of Mumbai Comes With a Raw Message

Akhtar nails some crucial details though. She accurately captures the free-flowing, rhythmic street verse, peppered with stray English words – “rap-beep”, “art-beat”, “hard, bhai” – lending the film an authentic facade. The film’s blessed with a stunning ensemble: Singh and Bhatt, comfortably switching from pathos to tomfoolery to violence, are ably helped by a great supporting cast, most notably Siddhant Chaturvedi who, playing the rapper MC Sher, delivers a stunning debut performance, distilling the exasperation and ruthlessness of a street toughie with remarkable preciseness. There are enough hints about the abyss, too – that it is either rap or a life worse than nothing for Murad: enduring the humiliation of a day job, peddling drugs, stealing cars.

There’s enough in Gully Boy that will keep you hooked. Akhtar knows the filmmaking beats – the conflicts, the comical diversions, the brute resolutions – but they, quite disappointingly, belong to a worldview that is too smug and self-contained, too disconnected to broach a real conversation. A film that makes fun of slum tourism, no matter how polished or self-aware, should have known better.

Celebrities From Bollywood, Cricket Team Asked to Stop Endorsing Junk Food

The Union health minister has taken note of the issue.

New Delhi: “Agree. Good suggestion. We will follow,” said Harsh Vardhan, the new health minister of the country, in reply to a letter from public health professionals about celebrities endorsing junk food.

The letter has been addressed to celebrities from Bollywood and entertainment such as Salman Khan, Ranbir Kapoor, Deepika Padukone, Ranveer Singh, Varun Dhawan, Alia Bhatt and Kapil Sharma. They have also written to Virat Kohli and Yuvraj Singh, as Indian cricketers.

“Since you are involved in marketing of unhealthy foods as a brand ambassador, may we request you as responsible citizens of the India, to reconsider your decision and call off such endorsements,” say the health professionals from Nutrition Advocacy in Public Interest who have written this letter.

For example, Ranbir Kapoor advertises for Coca Cola, Ranveer Singh for Thums Up, Deepika Padukone for Good Day biscuits, Varun Dhwan for Frooti, Salman Khan for Appy Fizz and Kapil Sharma’s show endorses Maggi noodles. Virat Kohli advertises for Dominos Pizza and Yuvraj Singh for Cadburys.

Also read: Is Coca-Cola Influencing India’s Public Health Policies?

While NAPI received a reply from Harsh Vardhan’s office, they sent this letter to the celebrities mentioned and also to Indian officials like Rajiv Kumar and Vinod Paul (from the NITI Aayog).

NAPI says that these celebrities are appearing in ads and endorsing food that is high in salt and sugar and is ultra processed, and that “None of the advertisements declare the amount of sugar or salt in the product.”

By their calculation, a single packet of instant noodles itself gives a person 42% of the daily recommended sodium intake. Many of the sugary drinks, chocolates, energy drinks, sweet wafers, biscuit and cola drinks which they analysed were found to be crossing the sugar threshold recommended by WHO. One 300 ml of cola can push a person upto 66% of their daily sugar requirement.

Last year, many members of NAPI also raised the issue of Amitabh Bachchan’s partnering with the company Horlicks, on a nutrition campaign. Bachchan apparently took the criticism seriously and the campaign wound up at the time. He has previously renounced his association with Pepsi.

Food which is high in salt and sugar and which is ultra processed, can trigger obesity, diabetes and cancer. NAPI has also informed the celebrities of a study published in the British Medical Journal which suggests a possible link between sugary drinks and cancer.

“Aggressive marketing of these foods increases their consumption and replaces the real foods,” says NAPI.

Image of Ranveer and Deepika Photoshopped, Shows Them Campaigning for BJP

The effort tries to portray unwilling A-grade celebrities endorsing the BJP using B-grade photoshop skills.

A photograph of movie stars Ranveer Singh and Deepika Padukone has been posted by a page on Facebook. The photograph shows the two sporting saffron scarves on which ‘Vote for BJP N Modi’ is printed. The text accompanying the image reads, “कमल का बटन दबाकर देश की तरक्की में भागीदार बनें’ (Press the lotus button, become a part of the nation’s progress.)“

The post is by the page Ek Bihari 100 Pe Bhari. The page has a rather modest following of a little over 36,000. The post however has been shared over 4,000 times already. It has also been posted on the group Main Bhi Chowkidar. A post by an individual user has garnered over 2,600 shares.

Photoshopped images

As expected, the image is digitally altered. Alt News reverse searched the image on Google and found the real photograph, which was clicked on November 30, 2018. Singh and Padukone had visited the Siddhivinayak temple in Mumbai, where the picture was clicked. It was carried by several media publications.

As is evident from the image above, the duo had sported plain saffron scarves and not BJP scarves. The original picture was tampered with. The two images – photoshopped and real, have been posted together below for comparison.

Credit: Alt News

This article was originally published at Alt News. Read the original here.