After my last post on “The Best movies of 2005” , here I am with the second installment, the flip side–the Worst Movies of 2005. A word of clarification: My definition of “worst” is based on the magnitude of the difference between perceived quality (hype, laudatory reviews) and actual merit (ie my evaluation).
For example, “Veer Zara” would have been my worst movie of 2004 even though it was nominally better than “Mirchi—Its Hot” simply because “Veer Zara” promised so much and delivered so little.
So here goes. “Neel n Nikkie”, “Maine Shaadi Kyon Kia”, “Kyon Ki”…and many other possible candidates don’t make the list because I have still not gotten around to seeing them. And hope not to.
I was expecting low-brow humor, maniacal acting, whippy dialogues and all-round madness. (All of which is exemplified in this, one of my favorite lines from “Haseena Man Jayegi”—“Yeh aapke honewale pati ke ho chuke bacche hain” [These are your would-be husband’s done-before offsprings]).
What we got instead was the total absence of laugh-out-loud humor (despite attempts to the contrary), a profusion of hammy acting (Celina Jaitley being the worst offender), flaccid dialogues and all-round idiocy. The fault may be because of this done-to-death story template —husbands cheating on their wives with a femme fatale (Masti, No Entry, Shaadi No 1) that every situation and dialogue and even the actors (Fardeen Khan, Lara Dutta are common to two of these movies) look recycled, the supposedly “adult” jokes as predictable as a Mamata Banerjee bandh-call and as hot as yesterday’s coffee while the songs have none of the chutzpah of the”Teri Nani Mareen to Main Kya Karoon” variety.
Bring back the old Govinda, the old David Dhawan and the old Kader Khan-written scripts. Please.
A noble, uplifting theme does not a good movie make. As I mentioned in a previous review, Bhansali lacks the touch of brevity and subtlety—each of his scenes is overwrought and hyper-dramatic. Initially whatever impact they have is worn out as he keeps on using the same heavy-handed directorial style to squeeze tears from the audience.
In Devdas and Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, it was Bhansali’s gaudy sets and the excess of color that overpowered the audience. Over here, it’s hyper-drama with Amitabh the worst culprit delivering his dialogues with Mephistophelean glee.
An example of what goes wrong when you make a movie only for critical acclaim. (And perhaps an Oscar). And forget that some people on the Oscar committee may have seen “Miracle Worker”.
It’s risky panning “Black” without getting people coming and saying “Oh you heartless man have you no feelings?”
To them I point out the first line: ” A noble uplifting theme does not a good movie make”.
Copying from a Hollywood movie cannot be the cause of a Hindi movie making the “Worst list”. After all, that’s standard practice. What however can is if the movie makers copied the original movie wrong. The makers of “Chocolate”, it seems, either did not “get” the ending of the “Usual Suspects” (which is their source of inspiration) or in their unseemly haste to tack on a feel-good ending that is mandatory to Hindi movies, totally ruined the very basic premise of their master copy.
If copying wrong can be forgotten in the spirit of Xmas, what even Jesus Christ cannot forgive is Suniel Shetty’s atrocious wig, Anil Kapoor’s faux British accent and Sushma Reddy’s synthetic cleavage.
Avoid this movie like the plague. Especially those who, like me, worship the original.
My Wife’s Murder
Gati has a blog called “Nothing happens“—a rather apt description of “My Wife’s Murder”. RGV tries to do a Hitchcock—-and falls flat on his face. When the movie finished, my wife turned to me and said–” It’s over?” And all I could say was “Thank God”. If “Home Alone” was a family movie without the family, “My Wife’s Murder” is a suspense movie without the suspense. And twists. And turns.
To be honest, Suchitra Krishnamoorthy as the grating wife looked quite familiar (wonder why) and I was just rooting for her to get murdered. I was also rooting for Nandana Sen to do a Tango Charlie cave scene and for the movie to take an unexpected turn. Disappointed on all counts.
Mangal Pandey—the Rising
Two well-endowed hotties dancing sensuously, simulating girl-on-girl action.
A New York club, 2005?
No. Barrackpore Cantonment. 1857.
A British makes love to a cross-eyed, hyperventilating Indian widow. Mangal Pandey, who is “pretty fly for a brown guy” dances the funky dance with the two Barrackwatch beauties. A careless servant pours water on Memsaheb’s bosom. Breast-feeding. Elaborate mujras. A servant gets aroused on watching the nocturnal activities of his memsaheb. Rani Mukherjee gets vulgarly auctioned by a lecherous slave trader. And the piece d’resistance—-Kiron Kher’s cleavage—truly the Massacre at Cleavpore.
Carry on Sepoys?
No. Mangal Pandey—the Rising.
Which raises the question—what exactly was “rising” here?
A disaster of the proportion of “Asoka” . Despite having material that lends itself to gripping drama, Ketan Mehta loses the plot (as well as the broader historical context) making “The Rising” the No 1, unmitigated disaster of 2005.