Handpicks: The Best Films Of 2015, Till Now.

Before listing some of my favorite films of 2015, I'd like to mention a 300-minute miniseries whose first half gave me the impression that it is quite something, and might be the movie of the year. Bruno Dumont's Li'l Quinquin is absurd, whimsical and riveting, using wry humor to tell a grim story deftly. Although I have only seen the first two parts of it (it is a four-part miniseries), I feel it will turn out to be an experience to cherish. 

As is evidenced in this list, films playing at the Cannes Film Festival each year constitute my watchlist.

Some of my other favorite films of the year are, in no particular order:

• Amy (UK)

Asif Kapadia's incredible and empathetic documentary on Amy Winehouse's rise and eventual death paints an astonishingly multidimensional picture of her. Constructing her life from the moment she stepped into the world of music to her untimely and tragic death, it digs so deeply into the thoughts and milieu of vulnerable and troubled star, we feel like we had known her all her life at the end of it. Kapadia's achievement here is that he keeps himself completely detached and pieces together her life using home videos, interviews from her friends and family and her songs like a skilled analyst. And the extent of the research he and his team have done is breathtaking, to say the least. Masterfully packaged and always profound, it darts toward a devastating conclusion we all know, but when it gets there, we wish it didn't. Brilliant.

• Killa (known as The Fort internationally; India)

I watched Avinash Arun's Killa twice in the theater, and both times I was bit by the nostalgia bug. A quiet, subtle and reflective film, it is beautifully told coming-of-age story that is as honest as it is humorous. There are no eye-catching gimmicks here, no fancy tricks. It's a tale told with simplicity and insight, and makes for a rather uplifting experience. It needs to be experienced. As of this moment, this is the best film I have seen all year.

• Timbuktu (France/Mauritania)

There have been only a few films that have truthfully depicted life under militant rule. Afghani filmmaker Siddik Barmaq's shattering Osama is one such film. But Abderrahmane Sissako's Timbuktu, a film that was nominated for the Oscar earlier this year and that premiered in competition at Cannes last year, also deserves to be a part of that category. A discerning and sensitive piece of cinema, it cogently illustrates how the populace of Timbuktu fight for -- and always lose -- their basic human rights against the jihadists who have invaded their land and lives. What distinguishes Sissako's film here from other similar films is the approach to the story and its setting he adopts. Scenes of stoning and lashing are handled with great tactfulness, unnerving us with only a few brief flashes instead of a lengthy sequence that would have been grisly and exploitative. And it is this tact that finally makes Timbuktu an unforgettable experience.

• Gett: The Trial Of Vivane Amsalem (Israel)

Thanks to Surya Vasisht, who reminded me about a film that made quite a splash in the festivals it played at last year. A divorce drama that isn't quite in the league of Aghar Farhadi's A Separation, probably the most haunting and intricate divorce drama in recent memory, Ronit and Shlomi Elkabetz's Gett: The Trial Of Vivane Amsalem offers a lot of finely-layered drama. A peek into the five-year ordeal of a woman who wants to divorce her husband but is a victim of his stubbornness and her own persona, it crucially chooses not to take sides by opting for an objective approach. With no "good guy/bad guy" angle, it only becomes more engaging as we don't know whom to root for, with both characters being equally flawed and equally human. The only put-offs are two scenes of hamminess that splotch an otherwise powerful and subdued film.

• Court (India)

A metaphorical and intellectually rich character study, Chaitanya Tamhane's Court does two things well: it gives us a supremely accurate depiction of the drab Indian lower courts and the people that crowd them and marks the arrival of a major talent. When I first watched it in a nearly empty theater, I grew frustrated with the lack of dramatic momentum. But when it ended, I was silenced; it is astounding how many layers the film has and how flawlessly it manages to convey what it wants to. Although marketed as a "courtroom drama," it isn't one at all; in fact, I don't think it falls into a particular genre. Pessimistic about the country's judicial system, it delivers a harsh but vivid picture of how we, at the end of day, still are casualties of it, and how it might never be resolved. But the treatment is assured and aloof, which is a clever move to make us direct observers without ever making us invest emotionally. If that isn't unique, I don't know what is.

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With that out of the way, let us turn our attention to the films that might make a splash later this year. Here are some of my most anticipated films of the year:

• Son of Saul (Hungary)

Probably my most anticipated film of the year and surely the most talked-about film at this year's Cannes Film Festival, Laszlo Nemes' grungy Holocaust-thriller seems like a winner from the outset. Designated to be a devastating but compelling experience, I can hardly wait.

• The Lobster (Ireland/UK/Greece/France/Netherlands)

Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos' deadpan Dogtooth was a stunning near-masterpiece that was overlooked and despised because of its disturbing subject matter. A science-fiction romantic-comedy that looks kooky and alluring -- and I would expect nothing less from Lanthimos -- The Lobster would surely be a film to watch out for. It's an added bonus that the film won the Jury Prize at Cannes earlier this year.

• White God (Hungary)

The outlandish trailer of Kornel Mundruczo's film had me under its spell. I don't know what to make of it. But it looks simply gorgeous. 

• The Tribe (Ukraine)

A contemporary silent film by Myroslav Slaboshpytskiy in Ukrainian Sign Language with no subtitles according to Wikipedia, it's a plucky and supposedly shocking experiment that will have a great payoff if it executed to perfection. And the least we can do is give it a shot.

• Titli (India)

I have been waiting for Kanu Behl's unflinching and bleak take on urban violence and patriarchy ever since it premiered in the Un Certain Regard category at the Cannes Film Festival in 2014. Those who have seen it have heaped praises on it. It has been announced recently that the film that has already released in France is going to get a commercial release in its home country in October. The wait goes on.

• Our Little Sister (Japan)

I simply cannot resist anything by Hirokazu Koreeda. With 2004's masterful Nobody Knows and 2013's thoughtful and moving Like Father, Like Son, he makes some of the most emotionally complex and balanced dramas in contemporary cinema. Need I stress on how restless I'm to watch his latest?

• Dheepan (France)

There are people who love Jacques Audiard and then there are those who think he's overrated. Personally, I think Audiard is a terrific storyteller. His strength is that he absorbs us into the world he creates in his films by keeping his characters relatable and tells his story with great compassion. Dheepan, his new thriller and controversial Palme D'Or winner at this year's Cannes Film Festival, might not have anything original to say but I expect to see a palpable story and great craftsmanship on display.

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Review: Asif Kapadia's astonishing "Amy" is documentary filmmaking at its riveting best.

We all know Amy Winehouse. That husky voice complementing that jazzy music so perfectly, it flings us in fantasy-land.

But we don't quite know the girl Asif Kapadia shows us in Amy, a devastating account of the rise and eventual untimely death of the songbird for whom fame and frenzy became too much to handle. But here's the thing: this isn't just another account of her life. We know how it is going to end. But how we get there is where the real essence of Amy lies.

What catches your attention right away is how Kapadia treats the material. A teenaged and sassy Winehouse carols the birthday song with her friends, carols for a group of people who are going to turn her into the Amy Winehouse we knew through newspapers, and there is a naiveness about her that simply cannot be overlooked. Swiftly, we recognize her as one of us, one of those commonplace folk who do commonplace things. And it is a particularly impressive move because of the impact it has on us; just like that, we are watching closely. Although I do understand why Kapadia decided to start with this particular clip, for this is a clip filmed way before fame touched her and therefore it gives us a glimpse into the ordinariness of a girl for whom life was about to catch off-guard, I wanted to know how she was professionally. But I needn't have worried. Kapadia takes good care of our queries.

After establishing her milieu neatly, we move on to how she fared in the competitive environment. We hear the voices of her manager, her album producers, best pals, then-boyfriend, documenting her life at every moment and every turn till she became the Amy Winehouse we know. The footage intercuts between her personal and professional lives, and we see how one Amy slowly but surely turned into two different Amys, and it's ruffling.

The story of Amy Winehouse's affair with fame unfolds chronologically, and each sequence gives us an inkling of the extent of the intimidating research Kapadia and his team have put into it. It is like a jigsaw puzzle; he knows where the pieces go, but the way he manages to coerce her associates and family to divulge everything they know about her and assemble the details together into a coherent whole is truly laudable. I say the research is intimidating because even though we might know where the story is heading, what path it follows to its conclusion, we are still under the illusion that we are watching a person we never knew through a microscope. The use of her euphonic music is ingenious; in parts, Kapadia uses her songs to describe phases in her life, and for once we don't listen to them as songs. We find a whole world of meaning behind those lyrics, and begin to comprehend the person who wrote them.

Ultimately, Amy is devastating. It is not easy to mature with someone for over two hours and feel like we have known them our whole life, and then see their descent into eternal silence. Kapadia makes sure we get to mingle with not only the star but also the woman behind it. And one of Amy's -- and Kapadia's -- smaller successes is that we see a woman whom we can relate to in the early parts, and then observe her slowly alienating as we get to know her better. By the end, we are not even sure we knew the same person we wanted to know when we first saw her. And the discovery is shattering.

Review: SS Rajamouli's "Baahubali: The Beginning" is noteworthy for its sheer vision and magnitude, but sticks to conventional storytelling.

I don't have much of an inclination toward epics. Nor do I possess a lot of knowledge of Telugu cinema.

For me, even when they are handsomely mounted, epics need to involve a great deal of subtlety to work. Mughal-E-Azam is one such film, a timeless doomed romance that hinged on subtlety to ensure that the intricate battle of egos vibrates with real emotion. I simply can't sit through a film featuring large quantities of people sword-fighting in enormous battlefields. It is exhausting and delivers little to nothing emotionally or intellectually. But when you are in the hands of a master storyteller who knows his material front and back, top to bottom, and who doesn't make any attempt to manipulate his audience into believing his film goes deeper than what it shows, who can guess how enriching the experience will eventually be?

That's one thing I really admire about SS Rajamouli. There is honesty in his filmmaking. Without involving pretentiousness, he tells a story as it is without using gimmicks or fancy-schmancy technical tricks to blow dust into our eyes and compel us to overlook his flaws. With his last offering, the terrific and wildly imaginative Eega, he reaffirmed himself as one of the country's most original filmmakers.

And there is no filmmaker I would have wanted to see helm an alarmingly budgeted fantasy-epic than one who knows how to use CGI to propel the narrative, not create the illusion of an inventive film. The first part of a two-part saga, Baahubali: The Beginning is largely predictable and theatrical, but grand, sweeping, brilliantly conceived and extremely well-told.

It is a safe risk. Right from the opening scene, it is quite apparent that the story will make use of countless threads of other fantasy films serving as templates, therefore plot twists will be mostly out of the picture. Even the characters are stock. Evoking Hindu mythological stories purposefully, the setting is not unfamiliar: a kingdom ruled by a tyrannical and typically virile king and an innocent but dogged savior who is the rightful heir to the throne but is -- foreseeably -- unaware of that detail. The establishment of the environments the characters populate is done meticulously. Personally, I would expect nothing less from a filmmaker of Rajamouli's caliber, someone who firmly roots his characters in the story and utilizes them to layer his narrative. At the end of the first-half, we know exactly who is thinking what and where their place is in this congested saga.

As mentioned before, there is nothing here that we haven't seen and recognize, but the lack of subtlety is often frustrating. Not that the film requires it, but we are often reminded of its lack when the actors emote loudly for added dramatic effect.

Post intermission, the film dissolves into a prolonged flashback. And for once, this is a prudent move. Baahubali: The Beginning is one of those rare films whose second-half outshines the first by miles. The focus is shifted to only three characters and the relationship they share, therefore shrinking the world in the film and giving us more space to savor.

Which brings me to the all-essential, exhaustive and extensive war sequence that is the defining moment in the half and the film in general. Usually, war sequences of colossal proportions in film have action shown from multiple point-of-views, muddling it and rendering it ineffective. The idea, I guess, is to give it an epic feel by showcasing the bloodshed through the eyes of different characters to stress on the magnitude of it. In Baahubali: The Beginning, the war sequence is a watershed and it is evident from the way Rajamouli and his editor Kotagiri Venkateswara Rao handle its execution. Skillfully cutting between the viewpoints of three characters amidst thousands, it is a truly majestic sequence that makes great use of creativity and CGI. I can go as far to say that I haven't come across a more inspired war sequence at least in Indian epics. I can only imagine the mountainous task of directing over two thousand extras for that single sequence that Rajamouli confronted, and eventually came through laudably.

Alas, Baahubali: The Beginning is not without a couple of serious shortcomings. Short on plot twists also, what acts as a deterrent more often are the flat CGI effects in a few places. Although the world the story is set in is fantastical, the effects (most notably the sequence wherein a bull is tamed by the antagonist using his bear hands, pun intended) do not awe like they are supposed to. Instead, they come off as tacky. And thanks to the Censor Board's new shenanigans, we are supposed to live with a watermark in the lower left side of the screen that reads "CGI." Apparently, the disclaimer about animals not being harmed in the making of this film didn't suffice; mutilating a visually stunning epic is the way to do it.

Baahubali: The Beginning ultimately sets the tone for the conclusive second part like a prequel should, but I wish it were more understated and novel. It is groundbreaking, yes, and a film we need to applaud for its sheer magnitude and vision and courage, but those who seek something exceptional beside its technical accomplishments will most likely be disappointed. It sticks to conventional storytelling. It holds the power to spellbind but not the power to surprise.

Review: Avinash Arun's "Killa" is a mesmerizing examination of childhood.

It is fast turning into a year of debutants. 

So far, we have had Chaitanya Tamhane's Court and M. Manikandan's Kaaka Muttai that have left indelible impressions, that have given us plenty reasons to whoop, that have left us feeling exceedingly optimistic for the future of Indian cinema. That's a good enough reason to celebrate.

But there is one film, one sensational film, that stands out among these gems, the vanquisher. Avinash Arun's profound and intricately constructed debut, Killa, is the film of the year. And I'm not talking about Indian cinema specifically when I proclaim that.

I have always believed that the most difficult of all stories to tell involve deciphering children and their emotions, how their minds function, how they survey the world we live in. It's a complex subject to explore that is often incorrigibly simplified, but when done right, I find that there is no greater joy than looking at the world through the eyes of children. Arun's Killa does exactly what one would look for in a film about children: it presents children as they are. Emotionally complex, eternally buoyant and frequently misunderstood. No falsities, no oversimplification. Only sensitivity. 

It's a quiet, almost meditative and painfully poignant reflection on childhood, the earthshaking distress we feel when we are estranged from our friends, how venting our unhappiness on the world becomes our only source of solace in these times, not realizing that the world already has heaps of problems to deal with in the first place. The balance it manages to strike between humor and poignancy is superlative. Rarely has a debutant demonstrated such tactfulness. It's generously scattered with moments so charming, so impossibly funny -- one of the factors that contributed to the humor is how truthful the shenanigans the kids pull off are -- that I could not resist grinning. It's almost as if we needed reminding that to enjoy a film, it needs to speak to us by telling us something about ourselves, not through disposable gimmicks. 

While Arun takes his time building his world in affectionate detail in the first-half, subtly establishing his characters and the relationships they share, it's in the second-half that the film turns into something more than what initially met the eye. Strained relationships are skillfully and unhurriedly examined in wordless scenes, through mournful glances and furtive smiles, and a boy finally comes of age. In an empathetically crafted sequence, he realizes the worth of having a mother from the unlikeliest of people. A world in which he was a misfit, a home in which he felt isolated become a part of his identity and he gradually comes to accept them as his own. It is in the capturing of this exquisite moment that Arun won my salute. It's a passing moment that is difficult to spot, for it is ever so discreet, but its overpoweringly wistful effect is felt somewhere near the end. It's the kind of moment that turns great films into enduring masterworks.

It only helps that Killa is one gorgeously shot film. The lush hills, mud paths, rusty bridges and blue seas are characters in themselves, being as much parts of the protagonists' lives as the landscapes, contributing a great deal to the film's moody atmosphere. I doffed my hat to Arun's spirited camerawork that engages us swiftly into the small but devotedly composed world. The performances, from even the smallest actors in the briefest roles, are brilliantly multilayered, and the young lot does wonders. They carry the whole film on their shoulders and make it look like a cakewalk. Parth Bhalerao, perhaps the most recognizable actor from the young lot, is particularly miraculous. His brusque Bandya is a character of warmth and goofiness, but he manages to imbue him with a sadness that is hard to describe.

Killa, eventually, is a heartbreaking film. A hushed montage of the people and places we have come to know and care for plays in the final few minutes, and ends with a moment of great hope. In a film that is full of heart, it is the heart it aims at till fade-out. 

It hardly needs pointing out that it is the film to outclass this year.

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Review: M. Manikandan's "Kaaka Muttai" grapples with tragicomedy like no other film in recent memory.

I have always found movies about slum children or people who dwell in the slums to be slightly manipulative. Often in such films we are subjected to repeated and exploitative shots of the dreadful living conditions in the slums as a means to invoke empathy, and how this small world has been preexisting discreetly while we walk past it everyday. While Slumdog Millionare resorted to brash exploitation to stir up the compassion needed to invest into its story, Mira Nair's Salaam Bombay offered a more realistic and subtle picture. 

It comes as such relief, then, that Kaaka Muttai, one of the more extraordinary debuts one is likely to see this year, neither glorifies nor exploits poverty for sympathy, but tells an uncommonly charming story about two slum boys yearning to taste a luscious pizza with a lot of heart. In the process, as is inevitable and in a way obligatory also, it delicately emphasizes on the discrimination between the rich and the poor in India, and how the people involved deal with it. 

It's a tragedy, naturally, but director M. Manikandan is too shrewd an artist to fall for that stereotypical trap. He sidesteps the despair in his tale and shifts his focus to the optimistic bit, thereby delivering an uplifting adventure that has a gloomy undercurrent we rarely have to confront. It is a film that celebrates morality in a cruel world, and conveys this through the shenanigans of two boys obsessed with a snack that even the people who can afford to munch on it consider to be harmful.

It is the perfect recipe for a quasi-preachy film that would have characters delivering routine sermons, but Kaaka Muttai rebuffs that approach entirely. Through humor and heartbreak and tenacity, it teaches us a bit about the world we live in, a bit about us, and it never slips into the melodramatic territory. It is predictable, yes, but the most notable triumphs as far as films are concerned are those that follow a path from the outset that is foreseeable till its conclusion, yet it manages to win you over. Kaaka Muttai is one of those films. It reflects a world that we know, is inhabited with characters we might have met at some point in our lives, but it is its honesty that eventually sways.

While also commenting the effects of globalization on the country and on the mindset of its people, Manikandan's dense debut switches tones rather skillfully as it oscillates between tragedy and comedy. It's a film about a mother's desperation to bring her family together and her diminishing hope, about how she tackles the absence of a father figure in her sons' lives. It is a film about her concealed sacrifice. But at its core, it is a film about entrepreneurship. It's a film about the naivete of two lads when the odds are stacked against them and how they beat it with their steadying optimism. These layers form an exquisite blend that drives the narrative. Each scene is put to good use to sculpt either the characters or the plot, and with each passing moment, Kaaka Muttai reinvents itself. In many ways, that is a rarity. 

The allure of Kaaka Muttai, like most great films', lies in the little throwaway but carefully handled details. In one the scenes deep into the film, the boys unknowingly turn up in dapper clothes only to come up against a catastrophe, and their mother washes her feet on their brand new clothes as a means for salvation. In another, possibly the most vivid of all sequences, a rich kid offers them each a piece of pizza, which they initially gape at but then reject it as they take the offer to be an unfounded insult. The rich kid's confusion is both funny and evocative, for he's completely oblivious to what his actions have led them to feel. After all, he was doing that in good faith. It is marvelous how many perceptive details are crammed in each scene, and how relevant they are in shaping our impression of the characters. Perhaps, this is one of the copious things that I would go back to the film for.

But this film wouldn't have worked half as well if it wasn't for the fabulously understated performances. Admittedly, I'm not as well acquainted with contemporary Tamil cinema as I would have liked to have been, but this committed ensemble only enhances a fine script. The young actors at the heart of this coup have such a strong screen presence, it feels awkward to even imagine for a second who could have played their roles if they had not, and their scenes with Iyshwarya Rajesh, who plays their mother, are doozies. There is no better actor here; only actors who complement each other like actors should. 

My only gripe with Kaaka Muttai is that the story goes slightly awry in the second-half, almost surrendering the logical consistency it maintained throughout for some needless drama. But looking at the bigger picture, it isn't something that would tarnish the joy that it bequeaths to us. Some of the finest Indian films in recent years have been debuts, and Kaaka Muttai proudly upholds that tradition. It is absolutely wonderful.

  

Review: Zoya Akhtar's "Dil Dhadakne Do" is a brave attempt to revive a dead genre, but a feeble one.

Zoya Akhtar can be deservingly counted amongst the most exciting filmmakers working in the Hindi film industry today. She has a novel approach, always something interesting to say, beautiful to show, without ever banking on her cast entirely to make sure her audience leaves, content. Her contributions to her films are evident, even when she manages to cast prominent actors even in the smallest of roles, splurging on the minutest details. While her miraculous debut, Luck By Chance, was an affectionate, bravely grim and always insightful exploration of the functioning of the Hindi film industry, it was her second film, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, that she made known the kind of cinema she believes in. It is classic escapist cinema; glistening and scenic locales, a barrage of good-looking people at every corner of the frame who wear fashionable clothes but are strangely alienated in their own lives. 

Dil Dhadakne Do is a contemporary rehash of the genre that Sooraj Barjatya made his decades ago, but it suffers from the same problems that Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara did. It has a troop of affluent but mysteriously unlikable characters who say dull things, do dull things, have dull problems and grumble throughout the film in the hopes of solving them, but all of this against the backdrop of a lovely country. It doesn't help their cases much, I'm afraid, that these problems are boringly predictable, and neither does it help our case because our narrator here is a dog.

Dil Dhadakne Do kicks off with a voiceover explaining the milieu of each of our four protagonists, and setting up the plot that will go precisely haywire in the next 170 minutes. In the opening minutes, Akhtar cleverly stresses on the problems of each character without overdoing it, and we quickly have a clear picture of what's going on their minds. As the story progresses and finally boards a plush yacht, more and more characters join in, crowding the story as one would expect it to, but each character, each relationship is established rather skillfully. Romance -- furtive, open, expressive, subdued, developing, decaying -- is at the core of the story. People are either falling in love or out of it all over the place, and it gets on one's nerves at a point when it is hard to keep track who is chasing whom. But beside the multiple love angles here, there's also the familial problems that plague the family at the heart of all this. The family in question has a patriarch who is a millionaire but struggling to keep his company afloat, a self-made millionaire daughter who is -- I found this rather interesting -- among the world's ten best entrepreneurs as ranked by Forbes (that's a bit tall, innit?) but who is -- ouch! -- snubbed and overlooked by both her in-laws and parents, and a son who is the heir to the fortune but who wants to do nothing but ride planes. Of course, realism is not something to be found here.

As mentioned before, the story follows the same trajectory that Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara did three years ago, only with more simplified characters. It is hard to invest into their troubles emotionally, because these are not characters whom we love or empathize with but the story develops assuming that we are already buying into their grief. That is a major blunder. 

Until intermission, Dil Dhadakne Do is predictable but reasonably diverting, and the set-up promises a potentially fun second-half. But post-intermission, the story crumbles like a sand castle in a tornado.

There is a limit to how far one can stretch their story till it goes topsy-turvy, and how whiny the characters can get in successive scenes. But this limit is challenged so brashly, it becomes doubly difficult to care about anything any longer. The outcome of each parallel thread can be seen from a mile away, yet we are made to watch as each character struggles to cope with the decaying relationships in their lives. What was foreseen as a potentially amusing set-up swiftly deteriorates into a cluttered mess. Oh, where did the subtlety disappear? It vanishes completely, and everything goes -- painfully -- downhill from there. But the saving grace comes in the form of an adeptly executed scene where empowerment of women is broached. It is a shining star in the phase of the film where homilies on marriage and children are delivered at every turn. We will gladly lap it up.

The performances are nothing to speak of, except Anil Kapoor, Shefali Shah and Ranveer Singh who give performances so earnest, it manages to salvage the film marginally. But what salvation can be achieved in a film that promised so much, yet achieved so little?

In films that tackle dysfunctional families, it is necessary to create quirky characters that are genuinely affable and earn our sympathies, characters whom we can envision as or hope to be real people. Dil Dhadakne Do lacks that. And with an ending that is utterly over-the-top but thankfully not prolonged, it only becomes harder to care for these chicly-dressed but hollow mortals. 

This is not a bad film. It has a few bits here and there that are amusing, and a clever voiceover narration that is often introspective. But a handsomely-mounted film cannot redeem certain shortcomings. And the shortcomings are too many to turn a blind eye to. Reviving a dead genre isn't necessarily a bad idea, but it needs to be done right to be effectual. This simply is not.

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Review: The charms of Shoojit Sircar's "Piku" are simply impossible to resist.

One aspect I always admire about Shoojit Sircar's films, may it be the impressive Vicky Donor, the compassionate Yahaan or the gripping Madras Cafe, is his empathetic approach towards his characters. Sircar isn't one who approves of his characters being cardboard cutouts that we have to buy as human beings while using his flair to propel the story. He imbues them with real feeling, allows us to witness them go from being personae to people we know, and have always known. It is this compassion that sets him apart from his peers.

I have always believed that a film tends to get immeasurably and mysteriously more enchanting when the director has great empathy for his characters.

Piku might just be Sircar's best yet, and though it evidently lacks a coherent story -- not that it needs it, really -- it finds a great deal of warmth in a dotard's gastric troubles.

If crowd-pleasers are the need of the hour, this sure is one to laud. Like an old-fashioned auteur, Sircar uses quaint locales of New Delhi that have a quiet dignity and populates it with his characters and the subtlest of details. The nuances are often so marvelous both in the art design and performances that one doesn't really need to take the effort to dig into this concoction; Sircar manages to fling us right in the middle of the morning troubles of a familiar Bengali family by skillfully manipulating a terse conversation. A waspish old hypochondriac and his daughter bicker over his diet and his imaginary constipation problems before she heads off to her office, but it is enough to brief us about the relationship they share. Juhi Chaturvedi, also the screenwriter of Vicky Donor, pens this brisk opener that probes gently but deeply into their lives, and never presents us with a shallow sequence as the story matures into something more dense. It is writing of the highest order. Each scene is utilized to flesh the characters out, bring out a detail we had not noticed about them and acquaint ourselves with them better.

Although Piku toys with the familiar here, it has the rare quality of being entirely unpredictable. Essentially a heartwarming father-daughter story, there's a gorgeous sequence early into the film where Bhashkor, the sullen old man, has too much to drink and begins frolicking in the middle of the night. His daughter, at first reproachful but then can't help but smile at the sight, regards him silently as a parent would regard their child from the door of the room, heads back to her own and twirls around for a bit. Volumes of sentiment is captured in a few seconds of subdued imagery, and it made me want to cheer loudly. Like the film itself, it's a celebration of the imprint of childhood inside each one of us, and the sudden feeling of realizing its existence.

And these magical bits keep dropping.

There's a likable madness about the old man, but the daughter panders to his every request even when she feels it's a waste of time. When the film transcends briefly into the road-movie territory, he begins singing and she joins in discreetly. To an outsider, it seems like a dysfunctional family trying to keep to itself, experimenting with the very definition of conventional, but to them it is a routine they have been maintaing for a long time. Sircar's and Chaturvedi's triumph here is that the audience is never made to feel as if they are scrutinizing an unorthodox, reclusive family. To make Piku a noteworthy attempt as an offbeat comedy-drama, the quirky potential of the story is never exploited. Instead, it is treated as one would treat a more conventional drama that involves an eccentric family.

Sircar only plays to his strengths here. He has the ability to keeps a carefree tone throughout, even when the characters discuss some rather weighty themes, and employs very little to no melodrama to make an impact. The scenes do not linger longer than it is necessary. This tautness gives Piku its zing that even a well-cut thriller rarely provides by burning through a bag of tricks. This is old school filmmaking.

The performances need to be exacting, carefully spontaneous and multilayered to make a film like this work, and the cast performs small marvels. This definitely is the most well-acted Hindi film of the year till now, but there is an actor who stands out among them all. Amitabh Bachchan, the veteran who is probably in the most diverse phase of his career currently -- and what a fine, fine career he has had! -- turns Bhashkor into one of the most winsome characters I have seen in Hindi films recently, and each moment of his screen time is one to cherish. He's gullible, acid-tongued, delightful, chatty, unapologetically proud of his heritage and overly protective of his daughter, much like any 70 year-old senile person, and Bachchan's earnest, flawless performance is one of his very best. He pulls off each variation fantastically. Bhashkor's silent acceptance of his daughter as the mother figure in his life is handled with real delicateness, and Sircar deserves pats on his back for that.

My only grouse -- and this is only nitpicking -- is that a film like this needs to be shorter, not as prolonged as Piku is. And it drags a wee bit towards the end with repeated but admittedly amusing conversations tackling the different ways a person can defecate, but their very presence does not serve any purpose.

Ultimately, Piku is nothing but a crowd-pleaser that hinges on nostalgia and pits enjoyable characters against each other to fulfill the void of entertainment. And in that respect, it is a smashing success.

As if the scene featuring an intoxicated Bhashkor dancing wasn't enough to soak up, there's a sublime sequence at the end that shows him cycling through the teeming, pastel streets of Kolkata. I would pay a fortune to be at the place where the idea for that sequence was conceived.

(Not For Reproduction)