AUTISTIC TEMPERAMENT
A teenager with a developmental disorder anchors a gently affecting drama. Plus a low comedy with a high laugh quotient.
SEPT 9, 2007 – THEREâS ALWAYS A POINT in a movie where you begin to second-guess whatâs in store, and that point, in Kaushik Royâs Apna Asmaan, came for me at the very beginning. A patient is being wheeled into an operating theatre, and we see that most clichéd of hospital shots: the camera at trolley level, looking up at the anguished mother and father, desperate to be with their son (Dhruv Piyush Panjnani) till the moment the doors shut on their faces. What follows is the inevitable waiting-room wait â and I geared up for an against-all-odds medical drama, a notion that was bolstered by the appearance of Dr. Satya (Anupam Kher) on a television set.
Dr. Satya talks about Brain Booster, a wonder-drug heâs fashioned â and even as he deflects the interviewerâs more controversial questions (about underworld drug connections in Mexico, about having no published papers, about experimenting on apes and not on humans), he promises that his drug can cure the autistic. Padmini (Shobana, playing the mother, and possibly named after her famous actress-aunt) perks up at this information, for her son â the boy wheeled into the hospital â is autistic. And you instantly know sheâs going to have to deal with the drug. You know that the drug will cause a miraculous change in her boy. And you know that the rest of the film will spool out like Lorenzoâs Oil meets Awakenings.
What you donât know is that Apna Asmaan will veer off into science fiction. Dr. Satya, you see, is the mad scientist, and the boy is his nature-defying science-experiment-gone-wrong. (They are, in other words, respectively drawn from the templates of Frankenstein and the Creature.) Thereâs a reason a painting thatâs alluded to (in this film full of allusions) is titled Lakshmanrekha, the metaphorical boundary-that-shall-not-be-crossed â for Apna Asmaan goes on to detail the consequences of crossing that boundary. If youâre still looking for proof that this is some sort of fable, the name of this boy â the functioning of whose brain forms the basis for the drama â is practically out of the Panchatantra: Buddhi Raj. (Such roles are usually scenery-chewing opportunities that actors canât wait to sink their teeth into, but newcomer Panjnani delivers a solidly unshowy performance).
But Apna Asmaan isnât just a cautionary tale about what happens when you mess with nature. After all, the very foundation of modern medicine is that you try to fix natural maladies through non-natural means, and which parent would rather not take that risk when their childâs future is at stake! When Padmini discovers that her son has been cheated out of ten rupees by a shopkeeper â Buddhi hands over a fifty after making purchases for twenty-five rupees; he gets a ten and a five in return â her grief isnât about the loss of money so much as the lousy way her child routinely gets treated by society. So you donât need a Brain Booster infusion to see why the family is driven to Dr. Satya and his miracle drug.
But is that really the answer? Apna Asmaan opens with Buddhi doodling with a marker on paper, squeezing paint out of tubes and filling in his outlines. And what the director is after is this: When Buddhi has these other talents, is Padmini justified in wanting her son to be ânormalâ? like the other kids? Just because she is a gold medalist in mathematics, is she right in yearning for her son to replicate those same feats? So yes, sheâs given up her dancing, and she prays incessantly â in a temple, at a cross in a cemetery, even by the side of a tantrik â for her Buddhi to get better. But simply because sheâs put her life on hold, is it fair to want her son to be something heâs not? Isnât that kind of sacrifice the very job description of being a parent, whether your child is differently abled or not?
Apna Asmaan is thus a cautionary tale about parenting, about setting goals for children that they may not necessarily be equipped for. To see it simply as a medical drama â about autism, though the film is certainly a little of that â is to miss the big picture. There are plenty of annoyingly overwrought touches â the surreal bits; the early image of a self-flagellator near a temple being invoked later to anchor the pain felt by Padmini when she hears insensitive remarks about Buddhi (a whiplash echoes on the soundtrack) â and the closing portions devolve into routine (and somewhat silly) plot mechanics, but for all that, this is an extremely assured feature film debut by the director (who based the character of Buddhi on his own autistic child).
Apna Asmaan works because the sci-fi trappings remain at an allegorical level. Theyâre merely the motor for what is otherwise pure, potent drama. Buddhi may experience a burst of genius at one point, after being administered a Brain Booster shot, and he may end up solving IIT-level problems on the blackboard at his classroom, but Roy doesnât fail to give us a shot of two girls giggling to one another: â Heâs so cute, na!â? Elsewhere, when a neighbour complains about Buddhiâs noisemaking â he keeps singing, rather yelling out, Hum honge kaamyaab â and Padmini asks him to stop, he counters that the neighbourâs daughter plays her music real loud too. And Padmini explains that they own their flat, that they are not tenants like her family. There is genuine texture to this universe.
And there is genuine complexity in its characters. I was startled when Padmini complains to Dr. Sen (Rajat Kapoor, as a neurosurgeon), âMain logon ko kya munh dikhaoongi?â? But then, the fact that sheâs been Mother of the Year for so many years does not mean that she cannot experience her little moments of resentment, as in this case, when she all but says sheâs ashamed of her son. Thereâs also the hint of an undercurrent of a not-just-professional relationship between Padmini and the doctor (itâs revealed, in an awkwardly phrased line of dialogue, that he is a bachelor); she almost calls him during Holi, when she feels particularly left out of the general revelry outside, but she hangs up before he answers. Shobana plays Padmini beautifully.
And Irrfan Khan â as Ravi, Padminiâs husband â is simply marvellous. (But then, he hasnât been anything less of late. Heâs the male Konkona Sen Sharma, capable of greatness even if the film around him is less than great.) Heâs one of those men whoâve spent years at the same, small office â heâs a plastic salesman; a nice touch has him praying before a red, plastic Ganesha at home â giving vent to his frustrations with frequent alcohol and the occasional outburst. He loves his son, but he canât do much else â especially in the face of the frightening levels of commitment and dedication that Padmini shows. His utter helplessness, at times, makes you see that becoming a parent is the easy part. Holding on to that job â now, thatâs real work.
I EXPERIENCED A VAGUE sense of déjà vu as Dhamaal began to unfold, with its setup of four never-do-wells (Riteish Deshmukh, Arshad Warsi, Aashish Chowdhry and a very funny Jaaved Jaffrey) stumbling upon a man whose car has flown off a cliff. Then this man (Prem Chopra) kicked the bucket â literally; a final death spasm results in his leg knocking over a pail â and I knew. Itâs based on It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World â a comedy so obsessed with size, it ran close to three hours, roped in dozens of Hollywood funnymen (and women), and squeezed in three additional (and quite redundant) repetitions of the titular adjective. This is an adaptation right down to the long chase leading to a big load of money buried under âa big W.â?
That said, Dhamaal is a riot. You could get all nitpicky about the pace that flags during the mid-section, and thereâs a distasteful kids-in-peril development that had no business being here. (It appears to have been inserted simply to give the nominal hero, Sanjay Dutt, something heroic to do.) But director Indra Kumar steers clear of song sequences and love interests (thereâs no heroine, go figure!), and trains his focus on the large â and very game â cast, the standouts being Sanjay Mishra as the silliest dacoit in living memory, Vijay Raaz as an air traffic controller who retains his calm during the worst crises, and Manoj Pahwa as an alcoholic pilot who triggers the funniest Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak joke ever. I canât recall the last time a comedy this low delivered such a high laugh quotient.
Copyright ©2007 The New Sunday Express
Rakesh
September 8, 2007
A fine review of Apne Asmaan, Baradwaj – didn’t even know about this film, which is the best thing about this review.
“He’s the male Konkona Sen Sharma…” Yep. If any one has shouldered the mantle of Naseeruddin Shah in our day, it’s Irfan.
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Professor Bakwas
September 9, 2007
Ref. Dhamaal, even I was a bit confused why they chose to include the ‘kick the bucket’ scene. Sometimes with our films one can’t tell if they’re paying homage or simply copying off a dvd copy of the original, mindful that even the parts that don’t make sense in the adapted context should be included so as to appease the ‘inspiration’ Gods. But you’re right, the film does appeal in a ‘Govinda-esque’ way, minus the risque jokes of course, which was another plus for me.
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Chandni
September 9, 2007
Hi Baradwaj
I immensely enjoy your writing. An observation on your blog: I wish it was a little more user friendly, and looking for older reviews was easier. For instance, I was wondering if you had done a review for ‘Don’, but realised the only way I could look at older stuff was to click on the ‘Previous Entries’ link, which gets cumbersome. Including a search option, or an alphabetical listing of reviews would help (if either of this is already there, pardon me, but then, I couldnt find the same)
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Akshay Shah
September 10, 2007
Fabulous reviews as always Rangan…Surprised to see you liked DHAMAAL but not HEYY BABYY:-)
A.Shah
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N
September 10, 2007
What does “solidly unshowy” mean?
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Qalandar
September 10, 2007
Re: “Shobana, playing the mother, and possibly named after her famous actress-aunt”
Is this the niece of THE Shobana (e.g. Thalapathi) you are referring to. That woman slew me. There does seem to be a resemblance here…
BTW, was never going to check out Dhamaal– but your review has convinced me otherwise…
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brangan
September 10, 2007
Rakesh: Thanks. Though I’m afraid a lot of people are taking this movie very literally, and not ending up liking it. I’d like to know what you think, if you ever get around to it.
Professor Bakwas: Even the “W” bit – couldn’t they have at least picked another alphabet? 🙂
Chandni: Thank you very much. The search function here pretty much brings up what’s on this blog. Older reviews can be found at the older versions of the blog. (The links are under ‘Blogroll’. And yes, I’ve been thinking of an Index Page, but haven’t gotten around to it. And Don is at http://brangan.easyjournal.com/entry.aspx?eid=3118166
Akshay: Thanks bhai. And man, Heyy Babyy was bad – I’m sorry.
N: Just that – “it’s not showy and it’s solidly so” 🙂
Qalandar: No, this IS that Shobana from Thalapathi 🙂 Her *character* here is named after her real-life actress-aunt, Padmini (from Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai, Mera Naam Joker, and a whole lot of terrific Tamil films like Thillana Mohanambal). Reg. Dhamaal, put your silly hat on and I think you’ll have fun.
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shruti
September 12, 2007
“male Konkona Sen Sharma” — Aw, come on, he’s lightyears more talented than she is! They’re not in the same league at all. All they’ve got in common is that they’re currently crowned Mr and Ms Indian Parallel Cinema.
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brangan
September 13, 2007
shruti: “lightyears”? Methinks it’s more a matter of mere centimetres. Oh my God – that’s alliteration heaven!
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MumbaiRamki
September 13, 2007
Will you be reviewing Darling ?
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Priti
September 13, 2007
(posting this comment here, coz u r more likely to read it here, than at the now-old post about 15 years of a r rahman)
my media aesthetics teacher today read out a terrific article on naushad. i stood up to say that an article on a r rahman by one baradwaj rangan was pretty much on the same lines, until i discovered that even that one was by u. i ve been reading ur blog for a while now, n i think u write really well…
btw, r u the one who used to write for ET Madras Plus a couple of yrs back? if u were, then i must say, i used to be very irritated by that column of urs 😀 am gonna find it hard to believe that both this blog n that column r by the same person! n congratulations, for having bagged the national award!
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Anupama
September 13, 2007
I recently stumbled upon your website and immensely enjoyed reading all the reviews. Being a new mother, I particularly loved the closing sentence of the Apna Aasmaan review – “His utter helplessness, at times, makes you see that becoming a parent is the easy part. Holding on to that job – now, that’s real work.”
So profound.
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Padawan
September 14, 2007
Bring back Old Rush, Humour….I am bored!!!
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brangan
September 15, 2007
MumbaiRamki: Nope. Too late now.
Priti: Thanks. And that column was a real love-hate thing. Looking back now, I don’t care much for it myself. Where do you go to school, by the way?
Anupama: Thank you. It’s always nice to know that a line that came into existence mainly for providing a sense of closure to a review worked at such a level for a reader.
Padawan: “I am bored!!!” Hey man, that’s life 🙂
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rks
September 21, 2007
Very much agree with your review of Dhamaal. Didn’t know that it is based on It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World .
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Manish
September 26, 2007
Hi Baradwaj, just got around to seeing Dhamaal. And came back to your review (was the one which prompted me to pick this one up, amongst a choice of recent titles).
Noticed you mention it being ‘inspired’ by “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World”. Just to update you, there’s a more recent movie starring Rowan Atkinson called ‘Rat race’ and Dhamaal is about 80% same (the dacoit is missing an a female lead has some role in that one).
And to boot, the introductory sequence of Javed Jaffrey (hand stuck in a man’s back pocket – getting dragged all the way to the loo) is a direct lift-off from one of the mad ‘Mr Bean’ sequences.
Adding those two…I would think the directors looked at Atkinson for inspiration 🙂
But anyway, I ended up enjoying Dhamaal even more than Rat Race which wasn’t so hilarious (the one minute takes on popular jokes, as done in Dhamaal, were missing)…especially if you discount that Atkinson makes you laugh just by appearing in a frame 🙂
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brangan
September 30, 2007
rks: maybe it’s also a bit of Rat race, as Manish points out.
Manish: I can’t say about Rat race, but that Big W and all is definitely from It’s a Mad, Mad Mad, Mad World.
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Sagarika
October 11, 2007
I’m yet to read these two reviews, but thought I’d start bottom up, reading the comments first. Why? Well…”why the hell not”? 🙂
I stopped at Priti’s response about your “very irritating” column in ET from another life. I went looking for samples in the archives, and I must say, buried among the so-so ones are some pretty impressive tongue-in-cheek jabs at the mostly-TamBram “urban elite” mentality (or sentimentality?).
I completely cracked up over the “Arre O Sambar #4” post “It’s Potty Time Folks”. It’s so darned true! I mean, how can one not agree with: “Ever wondered why 12 Across is cracked in a blinding instant in the loo? Because you’re in the same position as Rodin’s Thinker.” Been there done that!
And, for the record, I still have my musty, painstakingly-bound article collections from the late-80s Reader’s Digests (stopped buying them after that in my household) sitting within arm’s reach on the windowsill of a certain Room-with-a-View!
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