Review: Nagraj Manjule's "Sairat" is a powerful tale of forbidden love.

(Contains gigantic spoilers, a lot of them.)

I don't remember the last time an Indian film left me dazed.

In February, Vetrimaaran's white-knuckled crime-drama Visaranai came close, but Sairat is a different kind of beast. It doesn't want to turn us into cynics right away. It takes its time, introduces us to its characters and its world, makes us fall and believe in true love. It is the kind of love that is rarely seen in Indian cinema: It blossoms from awkward glances and stares to letters and secret meetings. It thrives in its details and its optimism. Sairat treats love as a kind of delicate emotion, something that cannot be just expressed using a few words. Indian cinema has often simplified it through its modern 'rebel' version of love, where young guns profess their love for each other openly in an attempt to defy the social norms society has imposed upon them. Nagraj Manjule begs to differ. His version, the subtle one, is more relatable, overwhelming and joyous.

Sairat is, however, far from perfect.

It is a superbly written and decently acted romance that grabs you when it takes flight and then rams you into its stony realism. It is a bit of Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak, a bit of Alaipayuthey/Saathiya, and a bit of Ishaqzaade. And yet, with a lot working in its favor, Sairat doesn't quite manage to sweep one off their feet. It does manage to get its message across, courtesy a rare empathetic touch, and its treatment makes it different. I have always maintained that any director who has great empathy for his characters can never make a bad film, and Sairat is a prime example. Manjule, who often incorporates his observations growing up in a casteist society, has lived this story, has lived through these episodes, and now wants to tell us that story. It is a film that beautifully captures the details of small-town life, and of the hierarchy that exists within it. It begins with a young man running through the fields to catch a glimpse of the girl he likes, and when the canvas is expanded a bit after the story takes a turn, those fields are set fire to when he elopes with her. These fields hold a special significance. They begin with being an obstacle, something he has to cross to catch a glimpse of her, then become something of a comforting nest for them when they get involved. They can be themselves in the fields, and the fields shield them from the ire of the 'outer' world. It is a neat little detail. It helps develop their romance, and when the fields are set ablaze, a part of the romance ends. Now they have a world to face.

But till that moment arrives, Sairat, like Manjule's debut Fandry, seems content in being a charming love story. It has none of the occasional jabs of the former and none of its angst. It is hopeful, making us believe if only for a while that the world exists without the invisible barriers of caste. Fandry had this parallel, too. We see an ideal world of flourishing fields and radiant smiles, an ideal world, and then we see how casteism blots it. Fandry, where the lower-caste boy's anger at being made to face the hurdles of prejudice slowly builds till he finally snaps and lashes out, followed a similar trajectory. But here, Manjule does not want to make an out-and-out arthouse venture. Sairat is a decidedly mainstream film in comparison, with lush fields and blue waters glowing a bright yellow replacing the morose imagery of Fandry, and elevated by a terrific soundtrack from Ajay-Atul that throbs of energy. It is an interesting decision and a necessary one, for the second-half is the exact opposite of the first in its tone and treatment. The contrast has its own potent effect. Suddenly, the sheath of fantasy is lifted and what we get is a gripping story about two lovers on the run in a world that is a far cry from the one they chose to fall in love in. No more do the flowers blossom, no more does the sea shine golden. Tempers flare and the village is enveloped by fear and dread. We almost expect a gunshot to ring out somewhere or a knife to come flying out of a pocket. But Manjule shows us nothing of that sort. He milks the tension and leaves us with clammy hands.

So, in a way, Sairat emulates Fandry when it stops being a romance. There is simmering tension in every frame. It shakes us out of our reverie as we plunge into the grimness of the 'real' world. And here, we see in shrewdly placed details how different they had grown up to be. Take, for instance, the scene where they eat at a roadside stall. The boy drinks out of a tumbler spotted with dirt, enough to revolt the girl he loves. He has to buy her a water bottle and he still doesn't sip from it once she's done. He prefers the tumbler. It is a fairly obvious detail that suggests how their respective backgrounds have divided them over something as simple as a drink of water. In another scene, when they are shown a grimy shanty by a kindly woman, he sets to work immediately and silently to make it livable while she doesn't move. She complains of a pungent smell and the dust while he doesn't say a word. He has grown up and grown into a world of grimy shanties, and has fought for himself all his life. This is no different. He even cooks for them because she doesn't know how to. When she finally does, he doesn't approve of her efforts. The cracks in their relationship deepen.

That is the beauty of Sairat. While Hindi films often tend to show two lovers escaping the castle and from the clutches of the monster inside it, here is one that is more interested in what happens next. They have accepted each other, but will they accept the flawed versions of each other?

It is over this thought that the film's most masterful sequence is built. A petty rift between the two turns into a major argument when jealousy and mistrust circle their love. He strikes her suddenly, in full view of the public. It is their first real fight, we find, and it takes a lot out of both of them. They weep separately later. She leaves, but returns soon after to find him inconsolable and contemplating suicide. The scene's subdued emotional power is enough to reduce a stony viewer to a blubbering mess. It also does a great job of representing the film's chief triumph: We are watching something familiar but our reactions are exactly what the director intended to arouse. We just know she will come back to him. And she does. We feel inexplicably relieved. Since we have seen them go from strangers to soul mates, every moment they share has become ours, too. We feel responsible.

I will digress a bit here. Because when my thoughts go back to the film's shocking conclusion that springs up rather abruptly, I feel both sad and confused. There's no doubt about how effective it was, considering how carefully and deliberately it had been constructed for maximum impact. (In fact, I couldn't help feeling the conclusion had been written first and the story was built around it once it was firmly in place.) It is cut from the same fabric as that of Fandry, only more cynical. The sight of bloody footprints signify a forlorn future. A life has been wrecked, and it had barely begun. Manjule wants us to know that the seed has been sown. And it all began when two people 'dared' to fall in love.

Sairat was arguably intended to stir up a fiery debate on how love is accepted -- or unaccepted -- in the modern society. And it does a remarkable job of provoking horror when all we did at first was revel in its vibrancy. The occasional unnecessary scenes aside, it is a brave film that deals with a touchy subject and tries just as bravely to be a commercial film. Let's just hope there's more to come while we relish this one.

(Not For Reproduction)

Review: Maneesh Sharma's "Fan" fails to fully explore its intriguing premise.

An obsessive fan uncannily resembles a star he adores. Think of the possibilities this one-line story idea can birth. In the hands of a filmmaker who loves to get creative, it could develop into a bizarre masterpiece. In the hands of another filmmaker who enjoys making psychological thrillers, it could be the film they had waited to dig their hands into. Why, then, should it become a perplexingly illogical thriller about a cocky and paranoid star chasing a heartbroken fan out to destroy the stardom he holds dear through two different cities? Maneesh Sharma's Fan becomes just that.

We get why Sharma chose to cast Shah Rukh Khan in this role. I mean, who else could it have been? The man's stardom knows no limits. His name that became synonymous with Hindi cinema two decades ago still amasses an enormous following wherever he goes. And it has been a while since we saw him clawing into a meaty role. (It has been nine long years since Chak De! India.) But it has been longer since we saw him as a nobody, not as the most popular guy in college, not as the son of an affluent father, but just a regular guy who gets lost in the crowd. A guy who picks up a petty fight with three aggressive men, a guy who loves just for a fleeting moment the idea of having a fan-following. Sharma and Khan, with writer Habib Faisal, create an utterly ordinary and likable Delhi guy (which, for some reason, is no longer easy to do in Hindi cinema) who is besotted with a man he watches every other month on the big screen. All he wants are five minutes with his "god."

I have never been a fan of Shah Rukh Khan, having only admired a few performances of his, but I have immense respect for him. The absurd extent of his stardom notwithstanding, he has proven time and time again that he can act, that he's more than capable of just romancing women on-screen or hamming it up as a villain in some tacky thriller. And once in a while when a turn like this from him comes along -- committed and unassuming, escaping the star persona that always seems to accompany him to the big screen -- it makes me want to get up and embrace it. It is an outstanding performance, one that reminded me of Frances McDormand as Marge Gunderson in Ethan and Joel Coen's Fargo. (May the cinematic gods forgive me for that outrageous comparison.) As his own biggest fan, Khan is willfully over-the-top, as McDormand also was in the role that fetched her an Oscar. But it is for a reason: the fan apes the man he sees on the big screen, his gait, the way he talks and conducts himself. And acting in Hindi cinema has always been only a bit shy of hammy. But underneath the theatricality on display, there's emotion. Khan imbues the character of Gaurav, the fan, with a naivety that makes us relate with him instantly. He's attracted not to the glamour of the film industry but to the man, Aryan Khanna, the star, who for him represents the industry. Who represents the rag-to-riches myth that Gaurav wants for himself.

In the first half, Fan does what we expect it to do. It gives us a fan right out of the many stories the papers run on a celebrity's birthday and paints his Delhi middle-class life using vivid details. When the story moves to Mumbai, where the admirer comes with a wish to meet his hero and present him with a gift on his birthday, we get to know him a little better. He's confident and foolishly audacious. He's not afraid to create a ruckus in order to get what he wants. (That means he will not think twice before bribing a man or even hanging out of a running train to quench his fanboy whims.) And yet he is vulnerable. He is emotional and sensitive.

There are a couple of nicely done sequences, like the one where Gaurav is momentarily stunned to see the star in the flesh and calls out to him, but his voice is lost in the uproar that follows when Aryan Khanna appears. But here's the problem: the approach is too simplistic. Using real-life footage, we see the magnitude of Aryan Khanna's stardom, but the film fails to cash in on it in the next moment. How can a superstar walk around with only four cronies? How can he not get mobbed when he is alone? And for how long could this go on? (But these mistakes, hardly worthy of attention in the first half, balloon into something graver and jeopardize the appeal of the story in the second.) The fan is coolly snubbed by his idol and is left disillusioned. Left to deal with the heartbreak. Sharma wants to make us fear a heartbroken fan. He sets up the clash neatly, developing both characters just about enough to give us an idea what awaits us.

And then the film nosedives.

To achieve the briskness and adrenaline rush of thrillers like the Bourne series (here's a timely question: Why?) that consist of many chases through alleys and rooftops and in its attempt to imitate something similar, Fan completely shuns logic and renounces its psychodramatic ambitions. At least the Bourne films earned those chases. Not only does it turn humdrum with an added splash of melodrama, it transforms into something far worse, something we didn't expect: a sort of half-baked commercial outing where the star gives a speech about why fans must carve an identity for themselves and not make their life be about someone they see on the big screen. We suspect the heavy-handedness has something to do with making it a more sellable product. Either way, the attempt to balance melodrama with action does not make for a very memorable setup.

What made Rob Reiner's Misery and Martin Scorsese's The King of Comedy, two films about obsessive fans reaching out to their idols, absolutely first-rate was that they made the most of their characters and settings. But if the likable and not-really-crazy antagonist of The King of Comedy was dumped in a Misery-like setting, things would understandably turn absurd. Fan does something similar. We feel for the fan, but it is hard to buy the fact that an ordinary nobody would go that far in his quest for vengeance. He needed a different, more reasonable story. And Shah Rukh Khan, too. He brought his A-game. Unfortunately, the script didn't rise to the challenge this time around.

(Not For Reproduction)

Handpicks: The 10 Best Films of 2015 -- Vol. II

I watched some wonderful films released last year in the last three months, and I have tried to include those that were a touch better than the good ones in this list. I still haven't seen some. And since April is upon us already, it might be too late to release another version. But if I may say so, please do not miss Jacques Audiard's Dheepan, Pablo Larrain's The Club, Pablo Trapero's The Clan, Anna Muylaert's The Second Mother and Stéphane Lafleur's Tu Dors Nicole. The buzz surrounding these films is pretty strong and they would make for compelling viewings. I can hardly wait to watch them.

I have divided this post into two sections. So, let's start with:

The Ones That Didn't Work:

(+) Victoria (Germany)

To say Sebastian Schipper's Victoria is impressively made would be an understatement, a mighty big one. The 138-minute crime-drama is shot in a single take with a committed bunch of actors who do a great job. And the camerawork is worth a mention, too. But here is the thing about one-take films: They drag. Things are left undercooked. Editing injects life into a film. For almost an hour, Victoria is tedious. It does get going soon, turning into a fabulous crime-thriller from a heavy-handed drama, but there isn't enough here to redeem some of its drawbacks. The emotional payoffs are abundant. Perhaps scissoring it would have made it a better film.

(+) The Revenant (US)

Alejandro G. Iñárritu's The Revenant is the kind of film that is conceived with the misconception that it will be unquestionably great if it ever gets made. In its 156 gruesome minutes, it does a lot to draw our attention to the fact that it nearly did not get made. And the idea that one should heap praises on it because they got to watch this gory spectacle is an idea that drives it. But The Revenant is a massive, massive disappointment. To be fair, it is a technical marvel that boasts of determined performances from the cast and jaw-dropping imagery (lensed to perfection as usual by Emmanuel Lubezski), but it does little to tell a good story. Repetitive, overstretched till it almost snaps and somewhat mundane, The Revenant tries hard to be as great a film as it thinks it is but never gets there. (Thank God for the 'bear attack' sequence to give me my money's worth.)

(+) Marshland (Spain)

Women get murdered in a small rural town and two homicide detectives who don't quite get along are sent to investigate the case. Does it ring a bell? If you have seen the fine first season of True Detective, chances are that you have seen flashes of Alberto Rodriguez's Marshland in it. Its moody atmosphere and fabulous cinematography are not enough to shake off the the sinking feeling that we have sat through all of it before. There are a handful of intriguing moments, of course, but it never manages to surpass or even rival the skill of its American counterpart. (If you haven't seen the first season of True Detective, this is well worth checking out.)

(+) A Wolf at the Door (Brazil)

Had it been done well, really well, A Wolf at the Door would have been riveting. It is riveting, to be fair, but when it gets to its stunning conclusion it is already a bit of a mess. An intricate narrative employed to tell the tale of a child getting kidnapped is not a good idea because the central plot thread might get lost in the shuffle. And that does happen here. Still, A Wolf at the Door gathers steam near the end and finishes on a high. But the devastating final blow we expected from it misses its mark. And that is disappointing.

Now that I have got that out of the way, here are:

The Ones That Did Work:

(+) Son of Saul (Hungary)

László Nemes' stunning debut is the closest thing to a modern classic I have seen recently, and also the best film of 2015.

(+) Phoenix (Germany)

An elegantly crafted film that drips with atmosphere and mood and offers affecting drama, Christian Petzold's Phoenix is an unusual revenge tale that concerns itself more with an individual slowly coming to terms with a betrayal than how that individual exacts her vengeance. With impeccable performances and a strong narrative structure, Phoenix is never less than masterful. And, of course, the fade-out moment is worthy of a salute.

(+) Theeb (Jordan/UAE/Qatar/UK)

What can be said of one of the finer directorial debuts of last year? Naji Abu Nowar's Oscar-nominated Theeb was always going to be a dark horse, but a rather magnificent dark horse it was. A deliberately paced small-scale epic, Theeb was absorbing and informative, vicariously transporting us to the unforgiving deserts of Jordan while allowing us a rare peek into the Bedouin way of life. Although Norwar had very little to work with here, he managed to produce an earnest, nearly flawless film that we are likely not going to forget anytime soon. That is more than what some directors do on fatter budgets, better production values and with popular faces steering the film.

(+) 45 Years (UK)

Andrew Haigh's delicate meditation on marriage and the fragility of it is explored through the eyes of an aging couple whose relationship is about to fall apart when the past comes knocking. Bolstered by two of last year's most searing performances by Charlotte Rampling and Tom Courtenay, the sharply observed 45 Years beckons us to put ourselves in the shoes of its protagonists, and when we do it forces us to confront certain truths about us. For a small film, what it achieves is sure remarkable.

(+) The Hateful Eight (US)

Twice I have seen this film. And twice I have enjoyed the heck out of it. It is disgusting, yes. Indulgent, also. Maybe even unjustifiably lengthy and verbose. Furthermore, I have been told by some that they think it is among Quentin Tarantino's weaker efforts. To some extent, all of this is true. But The Hateful Eight, with all its drawbacks, is a grand vision, confidently conceived, and it is hard to dispute that fact although one could argue that it doesn't entirely earn that label. Tarantino's gift of creating characters that stay in our memories and giving them lines to say that we hear ourselves saying someday is on full display here, and he makes us envy it. With the legendary Ennio Morricone giving it the sound it needs, The Hateful Eight is a worthy addition to Tarantino's handsome oeuvre.

(+) Steve Jobs (US)

There is no other word to describe Danny Boyle's latest offering: electrifying. The Aaron Sorkin-scripted three-act Steve Jobs may well be a fictitious re-enactment of three of the creative genius' biggest moments, but it is fashioned like a giddily exciting thriller that is more about people trying to win at conversation than people trying to put generation-defining ideas into effect. On any other day with any other script writer we might prefer to watch people create and not talk. But Sorkin's superb writing, coupled with Boyle's sure-handed direction, bears the skill to create vivid characters and bring them to life.

(+) Bridge of Spies (US)

By the mid-2000s, Steven Spielberg had noticeably lost some of the sheen that made him one of the most regarded filmmakers in modern cinema. But that doesn't matter now. Bridge of Spies, while not being among his best and not even being close to being one of his best, is still a damn fine film. It has, among other things, like Mark Rylance's marvelous turn that towers over a veteran actor like Tom Hanks, Spielberg's undying optimism and the usual sentimental punch of a Spielberg venture. Which is surprising, since his last great film was Munich in 2005 and that was Spielberg at his most cynical. Bridge of Spies tramples on safe grounds, but delivers an oddly effective combination of suspense and sentimentality.

(+) Black Coal, Thin Ice (China)

One of the pleasures of watching a suspense film is discovering that we are actually in the hands of a clever storyteller who wants to keep springing surprises, and we surrender instead of trying to outwit them. In this case, the lasting impact of Diao Yinan's slow-burning suspense thriller about two detectives trying to solve an old murder case might have been a bit diluted owing to the romantic angle at its centre that takes up a substantial chunk of the movie's runtime. But it does not negate the sharpness with which this film is plotted. A film that, like any worthy mystery film, keeps throwing us off the rails about its real intentions. Does it want to be a sibling of Memories of Murder, also a detective film but one that expertly blends dark humor, tragedy and suspense? Does it want to be a melancholic romance? We can't say. But by the end, Black Coal, Thin Ice does more than what we expect from it: it convinces us that it was both.

(+) Room (Canada/Ireland/UK)

One of my biggest reservations before I walked into Room was whether director Lenny Abrahamson was the right person to helm or not. It wasn't unfounded, though. Abrahamson had last made Frank, a quirky tragicomedy about a group of wannabe musicians, and was perhaps an unorthodox choice for a seemingly claustrophobic nail-biter. But I need not have worried. Room is an extremely well-acted and efficient drama that cleverly sidesteps the trappings of its genre to deliver an emotional mother-son story under the guise of a thriller. But it is Jacob Tremblay (all of just nine, how extraordinary!) and Brie Larson who, by delivering sensational performances, elevate this indie from the sea of ones like it and make the experience unforgettable.

(+) Our Little Sister (Japan)

(Full disclosure: I'm a huge admirer of Hirokazu Kore-eda's cinema. So, I might sound a bit biased here.) In comparison to 2011's I Wish and 2013's Like Father, Like Son, his last two films, Kore-eda's new film pales, and that might be its only problem. But on its own, Our Little Sister is exactly the kind of gently moving, empathetic and optimistic film we have come to expect from the master filmmaker. Here, he explores with his usual flair and keenness the relationship people share when thrown in the most curious of circumstances, something brought about by fate. And it is the hope he injects into it once again that makes it so likable a film. Ultimately, though, Our Little Sister might be a tad ineffectual for it leaves things a little unexplored. But Kore-eda's touch is unmistakable. And that touch is quite something.

(+) Creed (US)

2013's Fruitvale Station introduced us to two remarkable talents in director Ryan Coogler and actor Michael B. Jordan. Creed does its bit to assure us that they weren't flukes. Resurrecting the Rocky series with style, energy and passion, Creed is a brilliantly made tale of loss and hope that packs a hefty emotional punch. What else, it sure is wonderful to see Sylvester Stallone reprising the role that made him a star, and a star he remains. While he imbues Creed with heart, it is the team of Jordan and Coogler who retain some of the original Rocky's energy and turn this comeback into both a respectful tribute and a standalone jewel.

(+) What We Do In The Shadows (New Zealand/US)

This was a really risky proposition. With the number of vampire movies being attempted every year, it would be truly challenging to find something offbeat in terms of style and, more importantly, substance. But Taika Waititi and Jemaine Clement's bromance What We Do In The Shadows is a goofy and inventive mockumentary that is better than most vampire movies I have seen, and one that is reminiscent of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. (Although it doesn't quite touch the level of genius of the latter.) Ultimately, the film does overstay its welcome by a small margin, but it provides enough good-humored chuckles to be worth our time.

(+) Alleluia (Belgium/France)

Fabrice Du Welz's Alleluia is a feverish exercise in evil. It is easy to become repulsed by it, and it just as easy to get sucked into it. It is a wild, weird romance, full of passion and intensity and obsession, and it is told with unflinching determination. Loosely based on the true story of the Lonely Hearts Killers who achieved considerable notoriety in the late '40s, Alleluia is barely watchable but makes for a compelling viewing. Not for the faint of heart, though.

The Second Version:

The second version of my list of the best films of 2015, as it looks now:

1. Son of Saul (Hungary)
2. Taxi (Iran)
3. Carol (US)
4. Killa (India)
5. The Look of Silence (Denmark/Finland/Indonesia/Norway/UK)
6. Phoenix (Germany)
7. Spotlight (US)
8. Court (India)
9. Güeros (Mexico)
10. Mustang (France/Turkey/Germany) and Theeb (Jordan/UAE/Qatar/UK)

(Not For Reproduction)

Review: In Shakun Batra's "Kapoor & Sons," the waterworks go on for far too long.

My favorite moment in Mira Nair's excellent Monsoon Wedding is when the Indian family assembles for the crucial wedding picture. Although the "acting" isn't loud, we know for sure that suppressed tension is also a part of the picture; the family is disintegrating because some ugly truths had resurfaced the night before, and a picture seems to be the last thing on anyone's mind. Their faces betray a slight discomfort. The smiles seem superficial. It is remarkable how the animosity between the characters translates to the screen. Nair, always a master when it comes to capturing smaller moments that carry a larger impact, stages this sequence with great skill. Despite the fact that it only plays for a couple of minutes, it is positioned at the exact moment when Monsoon Wedding turns into a different kind of beauty.

This moment, the family portrait amidst a moral crisis, is replicated in Shakun Batra's Kapoor & Sons to a considerably lesser effect. The all-important buildup is done with some heavy-handedness. The timing of the scene is wrong. It is late. And that is not a good sign. (I had checked the film's runtime before I booked the tickets, and I checked my watch when this sequence came up.) The course of the film changes, as it should, following that. But this time, it doesn't feel right.

It must be noted that, at first glance, Kapoor & Sons showed plenty of promise. Batra, who had previously made the enjoyable Ekk Main Aur Ek Tu, is good, very good, with capturing those minute details that add meaning to the characters. In Kapoor & Sons, we get to see flashes of it. Early in the film, we see a woman supervising a plumber to fix a leaking pipe (probably signifying what is about to come), and suddenly, without warning, a seemingly trivial exchange of words with her husband swells into a shouting match with all the members of the family involved. Even the poor plumber is forced into it. We understand what is ruffling everyone's feathers. We know that the family wasn't a happy one in the past; this has been going on for quite some time. Without anyone stating it, we know that these shouting matches are a regular feature in this household. The execution of this sequence is adept. It conveys to us what it wants to convey, briefly introduces us to the characters and their issues, and how these issues unravel with this motley bunch would definitely make for an interesting premise.

Alas, the film stubs its toe when the bulk of so many developments becomes too much to handle. Batra lets the plot unfold gradually in the first half, but introduces another bunch of issues in the second, when the film ventures into overblown-melodrama territory. As a result, the ending takes a body blow. In an attempt to take each subplot to a respectable conclusion, the prolonged denouement does little to redeem some of the film's flaws. The unevenness in the film's tone -- from light and swift to heavy-handed and plodding -- becomes frustrating. The characters needed a breathing space which the film doesn't provide. We do get the usual airy moments that delight us; however, as the film progresses, they do not fit as well in the handpicked mood of the film. (Irrelevant question: Does overdone prosthetic makeup qualify as a "flaw"? Because here, it is especially distracting.)

It is interesting to see how Batra's craft has matured. Kapoor & Sons is ambitious and neatly packaged, and well acted, too, but there's something missing. Or maybe there's too much stuffed here than is necessary. Still, he is a genuinely talented filmmaker. His films, two as of now, speak of his conviction in his abilities and his earnestness to tell the stories he wants. There are a few sequences that exhibit his talent for building drama, but the failure to sustain it is the undoing of this film. And that's just disappointing.

(Not For Reproduction)

Review: Vetrimaaran's "Visaranai" is a chilling work that deserves high praise.

A few years back, I watched a compelling Argentinian film on television, Israel Adrian Caetano's Chronicle of an Escape, which told the story of a bunch of youngsters who are kidnapped by the secret military police and chucked into a detention center outside the city where they are routinely tortured for 'names'. The names of more youngster who are suspected of being 'anti-government', or just simply names of other people. If they don't croak, they will be subjected to various forms of torture till they do.

It was easy to spot that Vetrimaaran's harrowing Visaranai, inspired from M. Chandrakumar's novel Lock Up, a true-life account of what he went through when he was jailed for two weeks, has a few parallels with Caetano's film. It opens with four Tamil migrant workers getting scooped up by the police one day for no real reason and taken to the station, and instead of being given answers, they are introduced to their newfound nightmare with a round of relentless, meaningless beating. Their cries go unheard. Their questions remain unanswered. When one of them tries to scamper, he is smacked across the face with a steel bucket. The resounding thunk is enough to send shivers down the spine. But the only difference between this film and Caetano's film -- which was also based on a true story -- is that the bad guys there had traces of goodness in them. And the good guys had hope.

In the first fifteen minutes, the mood is created with expertly built tension. A second round of carefully controlled bone-crunching beating follows. Then a third. Then a fourth. (The sound design is absolutely top-notch.) In between a round of whacking, they are untied and made to walk around the room just to prevent clots from forming in their legs. Their questions don't change. The cops want them to confess, but they are not given the details of the trumped-up charges they are being held for. They have no idea what they are supposed to have done. They are left to guess, which scares them even more. The punishments meted out to them become increasingly sadistic, almost playful, with the cops treating them like puppets. A ghastly kick in the face is an answer to an angry question. The dinginess of the station and the gloominess of their cramped cell signify the hopelessness of their situation.

Visaranai makes us cynical without ever resorting to tricks that filmmakers usually use to do so. We don't get out-and-out evil caricatures as the bad guys (the film does come close to creating one in one of its most brutish sequences), but quiet, mysterious ones. Strange as it may sound, their evilness has a justification. To them torture is just another way of life, a routine. A beating, though shocking, lasts only for a short period of time. They know when to stop. The film reinforces the idea of them being human by turning them into machines during the torture scenes: to them, it is a chore that they must carry out. They are not settling a personal vendetta against the victims, so the beatings are largely emotionless. This detail stands out among the many, many little ones that make up this miraculous film.

But what works in Visaranai's favor is the layered screenplay by Vetrimaaran which keeps unravelling through twists and turns, never letting the film become hackneyed. The first-half is mostly about the time the quartet spend in the police station, but it crosscuts between another sub-plot that simmers away gently and emerges as the core in the film's second-half. Each sequence has a purpose, even the ones where the protagonists are thrashed black and blue, because we need to be in a particular frame of mind for what the director has up his sleeve. Paranoia seeps in without invocation in the film's second-half, one of the film's smaller but significant achievements and a sign of how marvelous the film's screenplay is.

And then Visaranai has those occasional touches of irony and symbolism. The victims are assigned the task to clean a police station of the filth ahead of a puja, a detail so ironic that it amusing. Or like how every road leads to a police station from which they never seem to escape. Or that bit where they get stuck in a swamp and the police eye them silently like hawks. It is probably indicative of the flawed justice system the film seems to indict; we cannot escape it. The system will find a way to get back into our lives in some way. In a way, it is like a maze without an exit, as the protagonists learn with time and so do we.

Ultimately, Visaranai is a significant achievement. It tells us about the deeply sown seeds of corruption and power play between the levels in the system. It remains a work of great finesse. It doesn't ever impose or manipulate. And surprisingly, for a film with unsettling amounts of violence, it is never unwatchable. In the scene where the polite request to clean the police station is made to the victims by a cop they like and trust, we see a slight fear and unease creeping into their faces. It is a look of disillusionment. To them, it doesn't matter anymore who the good guys are. They don't trust anybody, especially a person is in a uniform. That look skillfully sums up what the film was aiming for.

(Not For Reproduction)

Review: Raja Krishna Menon's "Airlift" is marred by labored storytelling.

One of the things I loved about Ben Affleck's Argo is how, even when it took certain creative liberties and was comfortable in being a cracking evacuation potboiler, it distanced itself from exploring the melodramatic aspect of the story. The exceedingly smart script by Chris Terrio had enough meat to ensure that Argo worked without the histrionics that generally finds its way into films adapted from true stories, but it gave in to the temptation of lionizing its protagonist. Still, with the perfect blend of surprising humor and uncomfortable suspense, one could forgive that it bent certain facts to make for a more effective thriller.

Raja Krishna Menon's Airlift is no Argo. It doesn't have the sharpness or smarts or slickness. Instead, it trades whatever was good about Argo for sappiness. Although the real-life story it is adapted from is boggling in its statistics -- nearly 1,70,000 Indians were evacuated from Kuwait after Iraq's invasion of it through 488 Air India flights in 59 days in 1990 -- Menon's film fails to remind us of the sheer scale or complexity of the operation. Of course, there might be several reasons for this, the first being that he wanted it to be more about the people than the operation itself. The second reason might be that it falls victim to the itch of wanting to create a character who is the quintessential hero, a people's hero, a role model and therefore disregards the enormity of the rescue mission.

But I wonder: why was it necessary for the film to be a one-man show, a superhero film of sorts, when a simple telling of the actual operation, as intricate and astonishing as any, could have made for a better film?

To Menon's credit, things kick off reasonably well, but not before -- dear me! -- an exasperating and wholly uncalled for song sequence ten minutes into the film. Iraq invades Kuwait in the middle of the night, several are killed or rendered homeless, and brutality spreads its tentacles as far as one can see. Tension gradually seeps into the story as paranoia and dread blanket the streets, and the Indian people nurture a common dream to escape as the death toll climbs. The horrors of the invasion are brought to the screen credibly with fantastic production design and cinematography, and this perhaps is where Airlift gets it right first. The protagonist is etched carefully, his vulnerability and helplessness changing to horror first and then rage. His reaction to the bloodbath echoes how an ordinary person would, not a character in a Hindi potboiler. There is no tearing of shirts or a lightly patriotic tune playing in the background, or the usual emphatic delivery of punchy dialogue; there is uncertainty flickering in every frame. We are not sure whom to trust. Airlift conveys the feeling of world-weariness well. But the problems begin piling up when the relationships begin to develop -- or don't -- in ways that are more annoying than engaging, at least for a film that holds the potential to turn into a fine thriller.

As is always the case, the romantic angle here threatens to sour an otherwise pulpy plot. The arguments between the hero and his wife sound forced and there isn't a hint of chemistry between the two leads, but the songs between the two indicate love and longing. (Which prompts me to ask: why are we being force-fed the romance?) This particular detail of a wife disillusioned with her husband but seeing him in a different light afterwards stays till the end, and it doesn't serve to signify anything substantial. Or that of another little romantic angle that is thankfully kept understated but doesn't entirely justify its inclusion in the film.

But where Airlift really gets it wrong is in the characterization of some of the people involved. We are treated to caricatures in the form of an Iraqi major with a questionable accent spouting Hindi with flair, a grouchy South Indian cynic who doesn't stop with his questions and a casually disinterested politician who couldn't care less about the rescue. Some characters are intelligently written and the actors perform beautifully; the restraint and nuance they bring to their respective roles add to the film's dramatic power in the second half. (Kumud Mishra, playing a government official in a dingy office who eventually sets the ball rolling, is reliably excellent in a bit role.) But what is unfortunate is, scenes with badly-written characters that seem to give way to preachy speeches outnumber the ones that are terse but well-written. And in the flat-out sentimental and patriotic climax that could have done with less theatricality, we know the paths the film took would eventually lead to here. And we wish it did not. To expect a thriller and get a half-baked potboiler in return is akin to finding a slice of rotten tomato in a delectable salad. It won't spoil the meal entirely, but each bite after that would be a cautious one.

Airlift does get some things right, though. Akshay Kumar delivers one of his best performances in a role that, for once, didn't require him to be all sound and fury. But when our protagonist engaged in a fistfight with four armed and hefty Iraqi soldiers to save his people and still lived, I was done. I knew where that path led to. And it wasn't a very jolly discovery.

(Not For Reproduction)

Handpicks: The 10 Best Films Of 2015 -- Vol. I

Still plenty of films left to watch.

2015, for me, was a year of debutants. Some of the most promising efforts I saw had first-time helmers behind the camera, and I have mentioned as many as four in the list below. And then, there were some definite bummers, big and small. Hou Hsiao-Hsien's The Assassin was a gorgeous wuxia tale whose editing pattern was frustrating and rendered it inscrutable; Paolo Sorrentino's English-language debut Youth had both grandeur and flair, but was somewhat lacking; Matteo Garrone's Tale of Tales was riveting and imaginative for the most part, but flat and tedious in places. I don't know what to say about Jia Zhangke's Mountains May Depart. One can't classify it as a misfire, surely, but the uneven, ambitious picture made promises but didn't live up to them. But some niggles aside, these were films that offered more than what an average fare at the cinema usually does.

To the list, then. But first the honorable mentions, in no real order: Paul Thomas Anderson's Junun, Hou Hsiao-Hsien's The Assassin, David Zellner's Kumiko, The Treasure Hunter, Matthew Heineman's Cartel Land, Jia Zhangke's Mountains May Depart, Roy Andersson's A Pigeon Sat On A Branch Reflecting On Existence, Myroslav Slaboshpytskiy's The Tribe, Ronit Elkabetz and Shlomi Elkabetz's Gett: The Trial of Viviane Amsalem, Veronica Franz's and Severin Fiala's Goodnight Mommy, Alex Garland's Ex Machina, Paolo Sorrentino's Youth and Matteo Garrone's Tale of Tales.

Of the films that I saw last year, my favorites are:

10. Amy (UK) and Sicario (US)

I couldn't choose between the two. While Asif Kapadia's Amy expertly culled and stitched together events and tidbits from her life to give us a three-dimensional portrait of her, so tangible that it felt like each one of us knew her personally, Denis Villeneuve's taut thriller that he describes -- and rightly so -- as a "dark poem" dealt directly in high-quality tension. The impeccable craftsmanship that went into packaging the two films made it impossible for me to take a call. And if the two films were indications of anything, it is that their respective directors can do no wrong.

9. The Lobster (Ireland/UK/Greece/France/Netherlands)

There is absolutely no doubt that Yorgos Lanthimos is able to handle black comedies, drier than usual as they are, better than his peers. In The Lobster he demonstrates this to great effect. It takes us back to his world where impassive cynics rule, people are sophisticated beasts and violence is acceptable and somewhat mundane when it is carried out with neither the drive nor deliberation with which it should be. But The Lobster has one major plus point: it has got heart and humor, which is most unlike Lanthimos for he rarely makes accessible films. That said, The Lobster is still an acquired taste. But with his most commercial outing yet, here is a master filmmaker who proves once again that he can handle a fatter budget and a broader story with the same finesse that he does his indies without compromising on his style.

8. Mustang (France/Turkey/Germany)

Deniz Gamze Erguven's fine first feature is an incredibly intimate and quietly haunting study of growing up in a conservative society. Bookended by two stirring sequences, both buffed to perfection, Mustang draws from Erguven's own childhood. She suffuses this tale with deep empathy, opting for a calmer approach to the story instead of grappling it bluntly. And that's a good thing, too. The result is a film undoubtedly more powerful as a drama than an angry social commentary. By the end, I was left to deal with a lump in my throat.

7. Güeros (Mexico)

Alonso Ruiz Palacios' debut throbs with the energy and creativity that could make it the best film of any given year. But here's the problem: it suffers from a special kind of disease that I call "Screw You, I'm Brash," a disease that has ailed many a filmmaker, especially debutants. Palacios doesn't concern himself with keeping his story taut, and one can't help but wonder whether it was deliberate. Güeros is meandering, supremely indulgent but consistently inventive and immersive. Political anger brewing in the backdrop of a story of three slackers out to find an aging rockstar whose album had given them something to live for shows a lot of promise from a debutant, and Palacios exhibits a knack for injecting life into every frame. What it did was it took me back nearly ten years ago when I watched Walter Salles' fantastic The Motorcycle Diaries for the first time, a film similarly trembling with youthful energy. Güeros is an excellent film by any standard, but the tragedy is, it could have secured a higher spot on this list but did not. And the answer to why not is the film itself.

6. Court (India)

Chaitanya Tamhane's debut was, for lack of a better word, surprising. It showed the conventional Indian movie-goer who is so used to seeing courts being a place for theatricality on-screen how insipid they really are, but that doesn't count as an achievement. The real achievement here is Tamhane's observational visual style that detached us from the characters emotionally, thereby allowing us time to soak in the tiny details. Court is not for everybody; alternatively frustrating and compelling, it encourages its viewers to ruminate on its characters and their lives instead of sniffing around for a plot. With the aesthetics of an European art house fare, Tamhane risked tricky waters to deliver a dryly humorous, keenly observed and challenging character study, and succeeded.

5. Spotlight (US)

Tom McCarthy's film, a sure-fire frontrunner at the Academy Awards in February, takes a delicate, important story and squeezes magic out of it. Never losing momentum or sight of probably thousands of significant details cramped in its vigorous two hours, Spotlight leaves one rapt, hanging on to each word spoken as the story unravels in grave whispers and phone calls. And we ascertain the breadth of the chilling story because McCarthy doesn't soil it with unnecessary melodrama but, much like his protagonists, tackles it with the urgency a story like this demands. And when it ends, one can't help but look up the entire case on the Internet if they aren't already watching the film again.

4. The Look Of Silence (Denmark/Finland/Indonesia/Norway/UK)

In 2011, Joshua Oppenheimer gave us a documentary on the Indonesian genocide that was unquestionably the most provocative of this generation with The Act of Killing. Bone-chilling, difficult to watch and sure to leave one dazed by the end, the documentary was one many wouldn't and didn't return to, me included. With The Look of Silence, the second part in the two-part documentary on the genocide, Oppenheimer delivers another gutting documentary on the extermination of many millions, this one less horrifying in comparison, less aggressive in its arguments but retains the potency of the first. And like The Act of Killing, he boldly turns us into hostages of our own imaginations. Masterful.

3. Killa (India)

There is one thing Avinash Arun's brilliant debut did for me, which is rare for a film at least in my opinion, to do so. No matter how many times I watch it, it always drowns me in my memories of a place I knew as a kid but have never known as an adult. It shows a place of the past that exists nowhere but in our memories and then makes us want to live in it. One could say that Killa plays the nostalgia card better than most movies released this year, and it is in how it engulfs you with its lush imagery and humble storytelling that makes it so remarkable a film.

2. Carol (US/UK)

One would have to purposefully scan Todd Haynes' new film many times over to find a fault with it. Carol, adapted from Patricia Highsmith's novel, The Price of Salt, is a rare specimen; there's nothing that should be any different. Haynes captures the blossoming romance between two women in cursory glances and unspoken stares with such sophistication that it hoists the film to another level altogether. Each composition is immaculate, each actor outdoes themselves. This is filmmaking of the highest order. Abdellatif Kechiche's poignant Blue Is The Warmest Colour broke new grounds in 2011. Carol is right up there giving it company.

1. Taxi (Iran)

Those who are acquainted with Jafar Panahi's fight against his artistic decay will surely acknowledge the devastating brilliance of his latest. Those who haven't, well, will find something to admire in this filmmaker's unwavering determination to keep going on a path choked with hurdles. Like 2011's This Is Not A Film and 2013's Closed Curtain, Taxi is more of an angry social commentary on the attempts to quash an artist's creative energy than a conventional feature film, but Panahi, with the restrictions imposed on his creativity, isn't painting on a small canvas anymore. This is an ambitious effort that skillfully captures the gravity of the problem that he faces while introducing us to the common faces in Tehran, where he is driving a taxi and picking up conversations with his passengers. And like his last two ventures, this one too underscores his frustration at his creativity being sealed off. In one particularly poignant scene, his niece wants to tell him what she has learnt about making "distributable" films. But he does not wish to listen beyond a couple of points. The moment's translation to the screen deserves not only our sympathies but also our outrage.

(Not For Reproduction)