STAR TREK
A heroine journeys through 1950s cinema in an ambitious, admirable but unaffecting drama. Plus a ten-in-one omnibus movie that has its moments.
DEC 9, 2007 – IT MAY BE NECESSARY TO COIN A NEW TERM to describe Sudhir Mishra’s Khoya Khoya Chand – High-gloss Documentary, perhaps. An early image of lovingly hand-drawn posters is underscored by the familiar, muffled rat-a-tat of film running through a projector, and this seems to suggest that what’s to follow is a movie movie – but despite the sumptuousness of the (meticulously art-directed and photographed) period detail, this rise-and-fall journey of an actress of the fifties (Nikhat, played by Soha Ali Khan) is less emotional than educational. Filled with narrative arcs designed to add up to nothing less than a grand portrait of the Hindi film industry of the time, this may well be the most expensive project that Films Division never funded: Bollywood – Before It Was Called Bollywood.
With an archaeologist’s love for artifacts, Mishra lays it all out before our eyes – the radiant, old-world beauty of the leading ladies who’ve paid their dues to the casting couch; the Bengalis who saw the movies as a mode of artistic expression versus the Punjabis who primarily sought to exploit its commercial potential (Saurabh Shukla is terrific as an embodiment of the latter); the decadent hangers-on (Sushmita Mukherjee chews up the scenery as Nikhat’s watchdog-guardian); the endless procession of incestuous (and sometimes internecine) relationship triangles that play out between Nikhat, the sensitive writer Zafar (Shiney Ahuja), the bewigged hero Prem Kumar (Rajat Kapoor, beautifully conveying a velvety hauteur), his trophy wife (Dipannita Sharma), the insecure, manipulative heroine Ratanbala (Sonya Jehan, walking away with the film’s most delicious performance), and the assistant director Shyamal (Vinay Pathak).
Mishra employs the time-tested documentarian’s trick of using music as a signifier (we start with the mid-fifties, with Man dole, and go on to the mid-sixties with Khwab ho tum ya koi haqeeqat), and he stages Shantanu Moitra’s exquisite tunes in the manner befitting the era, when it wasn’t unusual that an entire musical sequence was constructed around a man pounding away at a grand piano. (We also get a mujra and a cabaret, which were – of course – the item numbers at a time they were not yet called item numbers.) And the film unfolds as a series of vignettes that favour mood over exposition, so that we are asked to take a leap of faith that – for instance – Zafar and Prem Kumar could be sworn enemies at one point and badminton buddies a little later.
Had this been the sole purpose of Khoya Khoya Chand – this documentation and depiction of Mishra’s own romance with the movies – we would have come away fully satisfied with this obvious labour of love. But where the film falls apart is in also trying to be a depiction of Zafar’s romance with Nikhat, which is ignited quite literally as he finds her struggling with the ignition of her vintage car. This occurs after she discovers that Prem Kumar, with whom she’s having an affair, is going to marry someone else – and the stalling of her automobile is simply a ripe, juicy metaphor that her life, as she knows it, has come to a standstill. Do you still need to know if Zafar will be able to start the car and drive her off to better tomorrows?
It’s a glorious conceit – but also one brought out in the emotional language of the movies (as opposed to the factual one of documentaries), and it makes us want to see the love story of Zafar and Nikhat. The passionate, full-blown, pull-out-the-stops love story, that is, not just the snippety version that peeps out of the other, bigger love story about the magic of the movies – and Mishra isn’t able to reconcile these two not-entirely-complementary goals. He doesn’t get much help from his leading lady either, who needed to embody the steely determination of Smita Patil in Bhumika, the naked vulnerability of Judy Garland in A Star is Born, and the romantic charms of Waheeda Rahman in Guide (the ego-fuelled relationship between Nikhat and Zafar resembles that of Rosie and Raju, with her taking centrestage as he watches from the sidelines) – and Soha Ali Khan is simply not up to the demands of this hugely complex character.
Shiney Ahuja fares slightly better, primarily because Zafar is more interesting – and less easy to figure out – than Nikhat is. We’re only too familiar with the heroine who is exploited by her family, who is unlucky in her loves, and who, after her downfall, finds solace in alcohol and ambitions of a comeback – but Zafar is, I think, some sort of Guru Dutt: if not a poet as such, at least a poet-at-heart. It’s not just that he has a poet’s way of philosophising away the harshest of happenings – in what has got to be one of the most beautiful lines written for the movies, he consoles someone (who feels guilty about betraying him), “Koi kisi ko dhokha nahin deta… Sirf haalaat hote hain,” that it’s all due to circumstance – he’s also framed Christ-like at a doorway in an instant-recall homage to Dutt and his Pyaasa.
Had we taken to heart Zafar and Nikhat, had they been all that they could have been, we wouldn’t be left with the niggling questions, such as: Why the clumsy, hasty, title-card epilogue, when there’s a narrator introduced early on in the film (only to disappear soon after)? And why does every film that Nikhat stars in come off as disreputable and trashy, with wildly declamatory acting and fake sets and the works? This is, after all, the fifties we are talking about, with Guru Dutt and Bimal Roy and many, many others – so wouldn’t a big star like Nikhat have appeared in at least something worthy?
During the preview screening of one such film-within-the-film, the character that Nikhat plays jumps off a cliff, and her leading man reaches the spot seconds too late, screaming her name over and over. It’s as melodramatic, as tear-jerking an end as you’ve seen, and yet, as the lights come up, there’s not a wet eye in the theatre. As the audience gets up and bursts into a standing ovation, I was thinking: But didn’t even one of them feel anything about this tragic ending? Or were they so distanced from the experience – much as I was with Khoya Khoya Chand – that they found it easier to applaud its ambitions than be affected by its accomplishments?
AS TITLES GO, YOU CANNOT GET MORE SELF-EXPLANATORY than Dus Kahaniyaan, which gives us ten distinct stories (from six different directors) for the price of one movie – and the credits sequence suggests some kind of connective tissue binding these various narratives. We seem to be inside a kaleidoscope, with each turn bringing into focus people and places that shift shape and reconfigure into the next set of people and places. And when Matrimony – the first story, about an adulterous wife (Mandira Bedi) – wound up with a twist in the tale, it appeared that the link between the ten stories was going to be a gotcha! ending.
But that isn’t it – though there are a few others that try to stun us with a last-minute revelation that apparently goes against what we’ve seen before. There’s Love Dale, where Neha Uberoi meets the mysterious, life-altering Anooradha Patel on a train, and there’s Strangers In The Night, where Neha Dhupia’s confession of infidelity to her husband (Mahesh Manjrekar) appears to improvise on the similar sequence in Eyes Wide Shut – and these are generally the least interesting of the bunch. These are stories that hinge on relationships – existing ones, yet-to-be-formed ones – and the surprise twists seem to cheapen the material by winking at us where a focussed, glassy-eyed stare at the people in these relationships would have been more appropriate.
But the twist works very satisfyingly in Zahir, where Manoj Bajpai – who beautifully calls himself a “bekaar banker”, and who wants to be a writer – learns the hard way that the creative muse, sometimes, comes with a high personal cost. And so we move to the next part of the portmanteau, which could be clubbed under Life Lessons – and these stories range from the awful (Rice Plate, where a terribly mannered Shabana Azmi learns about religious tolerance) to the affable-if-no-great-shakes (Gubbare, where a terrific Nana Patekar shows up holding red balloons in a bus whose destination is What Marriage Is All About).
The dark, moody, stylised head-scratchers work much better. High On The Highway features Jimmy Shergill and Masumeh as a couple that’s, well, high on the highway, and seem to pay the price for – you knew this was coming – living life in the fast lane. Sex On The Beach has Dino Morea hilariously confronting Death, whose human form – unknown to us, all this time – comes with cast-iron breasts barely contained in a gold bikini. And Sanjay Dutt and Suniel Shetty – as gangsters, what else? – go mano-a-mano in Rise & Fall, which has got to be the shortest film ever to feature an extended action segment.
The best of the lot is Pooranmashi, where Amrita Singh and Minisha Lamba act out a story of near-Biblical dimensions – this one could be titled Sins of the Mother – and make you wonder why Meghna Gulzar (who directed this segment) hasn’t been able to translate this narrative economy to her feature films. And that’s the success of Dus Kahaniyaan, really. If we’re still looking for something linking these stories, it’s that – put together – they make up a nifty, little showcase for actors (and even directors, including Sanjay Gupta, Hanslal Mehta, Apoorva Lakhia, Rohit Roy and Jasmeet Dhodi) that more mainstream Bollywood typically does not know what to do with.
Copyright ©2007 The New Sunday Express. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
Srini
December 8, 2007
OSO tried to take a self-indulgent look at the kitschy 70s and KKC (wow!!) tries to explore the spirit which represents the Golden age of Bollywood. Explore is what it does without finding any treasure.
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Aditya Pant
December 8, 2007
I have a slightly different take on Khoya Khoya Chand. I really liked it. I agree that you don’t really feel for the characters, but I actually saw it as a ‘documentary’ depicting and era and hence didn’t come out disappointed.
I thought the director had a choice between creating a coherent story revolving around the main characters and showing an entire era. He chose the latter. And in the process didn’t do justice to the love story. But i didn’t have a problem with that. As you said in your last review, “But when you find yourself liking a film, you look for reasons to explain away the things that you don’t like as much”…I was too wowed by the recreation of the era, and of course the music.
http://urgetofly.blogspirit.com/archive/2007/12/08/khoya-khoya-chand-review.html
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brangan
December 8, 2007
Srini:So did you like the film or not? I’m a bit confused by the “wow” 🙂
Aditya: Read your thoughts. Thanks. We seem to have the same thoughts about the film, except that you note all this and say “yes” and I say “maybe”. I guess you’ve mentioned the same problem when you say “Despite the promise, she is not able to get all the nuances of this extremely complex character, so much so that it ends up being almost unidimensional”
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filter kaapi
December 8, 2007
i happnd 2 ctch KKC @ a multiplex in mmbai wth abt 15 ppl seein evrythin bt d flick. i went in xpectin smthin as magical as HZA if nt sumthin as hard hittin as dharavi bt cmae out admirin d ensemble n nt d screenplay. mebbe in his indulgence 2 do evrythin so 5ne (d songs r almost surrealy picturised), he gav d story a miss. i dunno if m right at dis bt in HZA, u cheered KK n thn wished he nevr happnd 2 Chitrngda n u prayd Shiney n Chtrngda get 2gdr 5nally n u wer actualy mooved wen they 5naly did.
here sudhir almost repeats d situation xcpt dat u dnt really feel mooved wen they get 2gdr 5nally.
its almost like seein it 4m a 4th person’s view (u cld evn relate 2 4m d 3rd person’s perspectiv). i’ll cut d crap u cld nevr really relate 2 d guys (sudhir’s chracters r always complex bt still relate-able) mebbe miscast or miscript.
culdnt ignore, cant hate bt wnt love it
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madhu
December 9, 2007
Mr Rangan,
I am left wondering, not just by this review but by many of your other ones, how do you manage to remember whole lines of dialogue, and then compare and contrast it with phrases and situations from other movies, when all you do is sit and let the movie “wash over you”?
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brangan
December 9, 2007
filter kaapi: You’re doing this to annoy me, aren’t you? “5naly” means “finally”? That’s just two extra alphabets you’re saving effort on 🙂
madhu: Well…
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Vivek
December 9, 2007
You must have had one hell of a CG in Pilani if you could remember all that! ;). Don’t think I’ll watch either movie now. Thanks for saving my money.
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S
December 10, 2007
I am such a sucker for that era even if it is a bad documentary, I will be catching the movie next week. I hope soha doesn’t come too much in the way.
Dus Kahaniyaan – the format just didn’t sound right & sanjay gupta is a man I have come to suspect evenwithout watching any of his works.
I read the carnatic music pience in Sun. exp. website. I am not sure, was it meant to be more on the kutcheri format thru’ sikkil gurucharna? Didn’t just feel the flow. I hope when I read the total piece(whenever you decide to put it here), it takes this feeling away.
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brangan
December 10, 2007
Vivek: Sadly, no. In that case, I’d still be an engineer, no? 🙂
S: The film is certainly worth a watch. Ans yes, it was supposed to be a light piece, with Gurucharan talking about what December means and how he prepares and so on. I’ll put it up soon.
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Sudarshan
December 10, 2007
My personal favourites of the lot were High on the Highway and Sex on the Beach, too. HotH seemed the only piece that wasn’t either copied directly from well-known short stories (Roald Dahl, anyone?) or following the standard short story ‘morals’ that every beginning writer uses (Tolerance, How To Live Your Life).
It’s rather funny that even when trying this sort of experiment, Sanjay Gupta’s so blatant about copying from well-known sources and stereotypes.
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Vivek
December 10, 2007
That Shabana Azmi story seems to be a lift from a min-story in Douglas Adams “The Hitch Hiker’s guide to the Galaxy” (So Long and thanks for all the fish). It involved a similar incident with Arthur Dent and a man over a pack of biscuits in a railway station.
@BR Your pieces still have arcs of analytical binding though. Smaller arcs on specific points of Interest combine seamlessly with the larger arcs on your impression of the film as whole. And every single impresion you have is suitably justified and probably the only thing amiss is a QED at the end :). Once an engineer always an engineer!
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Sagarika
December 10, 2007
brangan: “Star Trek” gave me a gnawing feeling of deja vu…I’m positive I’ve seen it before on these very pages (OK, maybe on the older site) but can’t wrap my brain around it…so much for my lengthy lecture earlier centering around my photographic memory for all things brangan. 🙂 Anyway, hard to not recycle this title once in a while when much of your focus is stars and their journeys (or misadventures). Hardly matters, but it’s these little devils that eat your innards if you’re the much-ado-about-nothing sorta person that I more-often-than-not am.
Anyway, a postscript on that weighty (if one-sided) discussion on why many of us readers, esply the writerly ones, (as Stephen Fry attests to in the article whose link follows), care so damn much about the process. I think Fry says is all in this one para from his 2002 NYT piece:
“Musicians tend not to face these questions because it is not generally held that everyone has a symphony in him somewhere. Language however belongs to us all. Is there a hint of resentment in readers? We all speak English. We all write e-mails and letters every day. What’s your secret? Just give us enough detail, and we can be inducted into the coterie, too. It is almost as if some people feel that they were off sick or at the dentist’s the day the rest of the class was told how to write a book, and that it isn’t fair of authors to keep the mystery to themselves.” Touche, whadya say?
And in case madhu, Vivek, me, a million others (and that includes you brangan, c’mon don’t you admire, say, a D.H.Lawrence or a Nabokov?)…are still not happy and want to know MORE, here’s the full article I’d bookmarked several years ago: http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=950DEFDD1338F93AA15754C0A9649C8B63&sec=&spon=&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink
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arun verma
December 11, 2007
Baradwaj – splendid reviews as usual. Haven’t watched KKC yet but I thought Rice Plate was one of the better of the Dus kahaniayans unleashed at us (Pooranmashi is clear top favorite of others as it is mine).
Rice Plate echoed the communal tensions where the majority community (read hindus, or shabana’s character) forcefully eat into minority’s share and are even thankless ; while not even digging into their own ‘portion’ (of duties, wealth or ‘plate’).
The gotcha stories were really tiresome..
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brangan
December 11, 2007
Sudarshan: Oh, stories with morals drive me nuts. I have a knee-jerk reaction to preaching in the movies, and I just couldn’t take Rice Plate, for instance.
Vivek: Re: “Once an engineer always an engineer!” Damn! And here I was, patting myself on the back about my successful career change 🙂 But you’re absolutely right. I always jot down points first, then group them into paras, then lay out the paras to form a “flow”, and *then* start writing whole sentences. I’ve always wonderered if this is due to my OCD-ness or my engineering education. Maybe both are one and the same? I’ve always envied those who could just start at Para One Sentence One, and then go on to write out the whole piece, as if they have a direct channel from their minds to the keyboards. Damn again!
Sagarika: Thanks for the link. Yeah, I think I’ve sued this title earlier.
arun verma: I think almost everyone’s liked Pooranmashi. It had a real “short story” feel to it. That was a nice reading of Rice Plate. Thanks.
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Sagarika
December 11, 2007
brangan: Having told us this much, now tell us: do you write first drafts in longhand or type? And what’s your writing instrument of choice? (Yes, taking Stephen Fry’s titular cue!) Lemme guess — that hand-me-down Hero fountain pen with which most of us wrote our public exams? So much for stories with morals driving you nuts, now tell me if my little quiz here didn’t remind you of that oft-told tale about the camel that was given a little room in the tent to keep his head warm, and… 🙂
Btw your “…those who could just start at Para One Sentence One, and then go on to write out the whole piece, as if they have a direct channel from their minds to the keyboards” reminds me of what Stephen King jokingly said: “Writers are stenographers taking divine dictation.”
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brangan
December 11, 2007
Sagarika: Oh, it’s just typing. I doubt I can actually write with a pen anymore 🙂
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Sagarika
December 12, 2007
brangan: If only I hadn’t inherited as many fountain pens as I did; if only I hadn’t written as many letters home as I did when I was away at college; and if only I didn’t continue to enjoy scribbling in my diary so damn much…then I too would happily jump on the “I doubt I can actually write with a pen anymore” bandwagon. It certainly makes complete sense for someone who writes as prolifically as you, what with the editors gun being one instrument too many in the picture anyway!
Luxuriating in the pleasure of putting pen to paper and watching words emerge is probably best left to doodlers and closet writers — those of us with not a care in the world, so to speak. 🙂
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Shantesh Row
December 13, 2007
Watching Dus Kahaniyaan made me crave for yesteryear Doordarshan’s serials like Katha Sagar & Darpan. Thankfully, both the serials gave credit to the original short story writers like H H Munro and Tolstoy to name a few.
All Sanjay Gupta and his team have done is to mercilessly pilfer Roald Dahl. Mandira Bedi’s story is a senseless reworking of Dahl’s fur coat tale. Zahir is a slight tangential rework of Dahl’s story The Visitor (based on his Uncle Oswald series.) And Rice Plate seems to be copied lock, stock and barrel from the film ‘A Lunch Date’.
There are so many original short stories written in so many different languages in India. Why not just revisit them cinematically and give credit where it is due.
Indeed, the only thing that stirred my senses during the show (which had just 5 people watching it in a large theatre in Dubai – like my wife said, 2 stories per person!), was the promo for ‘Pankh’ about a boy child star who is forced to act as a girl in films, with life-altering consequences.
Indeed, it’s hard to find any originality in Bollywood these days. So let’s say ‘Welcome’ to ‘Married to the Mob’ soon!
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Virginia
December 13, 2007
Hmm, agree with you many things, but don’t get you about the Dia Mirza movie where you say the guy pays a price for having a muse – I thought he paid a price for being an inhumane primitive sexist rapist pig. I didn’t really think his being the kind of horrid person he was was prepared for, though.
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thani
December 14, 2007
Hey Rangan. Nice review. i’m thinking, some of us, & with some of our reviews, end-up writing for the Deja-Vu (literally for the ones already-seen) and some other times for the ones that hasn’t. This present review of yours (KKC) reads like the former, for me.
BTW, i Read you. do you Read me?:-) do check-out my KKC review here http://passionforcinema.com/khoya-khoya-chand-review-bhansalification-of-sudhir-mishra
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thani
December 14, 2007
oops, forgot to mention your brilliant “this may well be the most expensive project that Films Division never funded: Bollywood – Before It Was Called Bollywood.”
and your Succinct winding-up of the review. soupare!
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Ritu Chandra
December 17, 2007
Hi Baradwaj,
I watched KKC over the week-end. We went to a show that had precisely 6 people in the hall and to top it all the reel got stuck thrice and we had to actually walk out and find someone to fix it!!. The experience did hark back to the cinema experience of yore. Ofcourse unlike here in the US, in India one wouldn’t need to walk out, the audience would make enough catcalls to ensure the picture started playing again.
Coming back to the actual film, I went to watch it in great anticipation, being a great fan of the cinema of the 50s. But I too came away with a feeling of futility. The film was a lost opportunity.. they could have made such a delicious film with the subject that they had. Complex, flawed, passionate characters, tragic circumstances (remember how most characters in the films of that era were trapped by their destiny, helpless because of their circumstances.. something that is completely alien to us today)…the meat was all there. Yet Sudhir Mishra made a strangely sterile film. You are right. One doesn’t **feel** film. Your mind can probably appreciates bits. And that is the greatest failure of the film. The 50s afterall were all about feelings, passion and emotions and less about intellectuality. The screenplay in this film is totally ineffectual. Soha cannot catch a whiff of the complexity of the character she portrays. This was a Meena Kumari kind of role. Probably the only contemporary actress who could attempt it was Priyanka Chopra (she is good at layered characters). But Sudhir Mishra is the bigger culprit.. One tame scene after another. I give a thumbs down to the film. The only redeeming factor is the fantastic music by Shantanu Moitra.
Cheers
Ritu
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brangan
December 17, 2007
Shantesh: Ah, Katha Sagar. We were reading The Last leaf in school just as it was made as a Katha Sagar episode. Looking at TV today, who could imagine that the likes of O’henry were once part of our staple diet!
Virginia: “inhumane primitive sexist rapist pig”? That’s one way to look at it. But I saw it as him losing a bit of his soul… you know, becoming an animal, losing his humanity and all that. And that was the cost of the muse.
thani: Most reviews, I’d think, work best for those who’ve already seen the films. Saw your review, and really liked it. Thanks.
Ritu: Good to hear from you. But PC and “layered characters?” Care to explain? 🙂
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Radhika
February 4, 2008
KKC : I found it a sad let down – what a stunning contrast to Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi. Where HKA was edgy and fluid, this was tentative and jerky. I wondered it just lacked the editing finesse (was HKA edited by Renu Saluja?) – in parts the editing is so clumsy that you are left slack-jawed wondering what happened. For e.g. in one scene, Nikhat, on the sets of a film is shown charging on a horse, Prem Kumar looks up, his fiancee is shown approaching, the music rises in a tan-tan-ta-daan crescendo, and then, duh, just as you expect the horse to mow the hapless woman down.. nothing, the next scene starts. In another scene, Zafar is shown going away out of a door and then suddenly he is there with his head on her lap. Did he intend this to act as some sort of oh-so-subtle metaphor for their confused, jerky lives? For a period movie there were so many elements that jarred. The music cogged from Jingle-bell Rocks (Moitra is a serious plagiarist, this is third movie in which he has happily lifted songs) sounded more 60s, Shukla mouths phrases like “this is just not done, yaar” which sound too contemporary – and when was there ever a Hindi movie superstar with a moustache? I thought, perhaps Prem Kumar’s foliage was for a specific movie within the story, but no, he sports the fuzz right through, more like a good Tamil movie star than the chikna-faced heroes that are preferred up North. So also, Zafar’s permanent stubble, which is more suited to the metrosexuals of today – in the 50s this would have been dismissed as lacking grooming and hygiene… didn’t go well with the persona that was the advocate of tehzeeb. The ending was awful – I got the sense that Mishra was as fed up with the story as we were. I don’t know when I last saw a movie whose protagonists left me so untouched emotionally. I almost wished Nikhat would cop it soon and put us out of our misery. You wrote that Soha Ali Khan lacked the complexity to do this role – but don’t you also think that her character was not sketched out very convincingly? Nikhat is a pastiche of Nargis (the bit in which she continues to make movies to support a parasitic family), of Meena Kumari (the immersing in booze, which unlike in Meena Kumari’s case, seem to have left Nikhat’s looks amazingly unravaged) and Madhubala (the hole in the heart). No wonder she seems so jumpy in her portrayal – her character suffers from an identity crisis.
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