KANK and some reviews

I haven't yet seen Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna, but been reading reviews of it. It turned out to be a very entertaining exercise, reading the reviews. The film seems to bring the best out of reviewers. I'm listing here a few of the delightful pieces.

Before the film released, an HT article said:

Recently, Ram Gopal Varma created a farcical flutter by announcing he was looking forward to KANK because he loves horror films.

I guess that kind of set the trend. One rubbed hands in gleeful anticipation and waited for reviews.

The NYT pretty much concluded that it is the eye makeup that made all the difference.

Soon Dev is lovestruck, and who can blame him: Ms. Mukherji’s eye makeup, which we get to observe in detail, is much better than Ms. Zinta’s.
...
As for the story’s central lovers, it’s never quite clear what Maya sees in Dev, whose emotional switch has only two settings, angry and morose. Perhaps that eye makeup is clouding her vision.

The Hindu's reviewer was taking in the details:

Everything is picture perfect: there is so much perfection it stifles free expression. When the actors shed a tear, it trickles down only up to a certain point on the cheek. When the hair gets unruly in anger, all the wayward strands fall at a certain angle.

Not to mention scores of bloggers who have some hilarious takes on the film. If you come by more of these, do let me know :)

Update
Abhipraya found someone else doing the same thing here. Lotsa links there. She also points me to this, where Neha Viswanathan says: "Karan Johar - Alvida Kehdo. Please."

:)

I'm back!

It's been so long since I blogged that now I seem to have starting trouble! Four days of travel and three days of entertaining guests, both preceded by preparing for both. That's what ate into the blogging time.


The weekend before Independence Day, we set out for Mangalore -- four of us, a black car, lots of snacks and a big green umbrella. The road was so good till Hassan that we made the distance in just about three hours. And then the nightmare started. There were almost no roads through the ghats. The roads seem to have been swept away by rain and the rest eaten up by the heavy lorry traffic. At turnings, we would come to a screeching halt because ahead, there would be nothing but a gaping hole.


But the route more than compensated for the state of the roads. The vast plains had been replaced by lush green hills. Blink and you miss a waterfall. And after a while, we were joined by a frothing brown river that roared on alongside all the way. Incessant rain, sometimes light and silent, sometimes hard and harsh, sometimes accompanied by a blanket of mist.

Suratkal was green. For a change (refreshing at that), it was a case of green eating into concrete, rather than concrete eating up green. Wild parasitic creepers spilling over tree tops, once well kept hedges and bushes growing in all directions, grass atop tiled roofs. Reason for absolute glee.

And the sea. I began the very trip with salty air swirling in my mind. Eventually the excitement hit such a high that no one around had much peace with me going "Let's go sea, let's go sea". Watched the sun go down, the lighthouse light up, the sand reflecting the sky.


Heading back to Bangalore, we made a detour to Belur. A large dark 800-year-old temple, wonderfully preserved, wonderful sculptures.

In four days, I got so used to open spaces and straight stretches of empty roads (the ghats excluded, of course) that the very thought of Bangalore was claustrophobic.

Free food

Was at this press meet today, and I watched as the PR lady used strong words to send away one journalist after snatching the press kit back from him. If that was a shock, what followed was more so.

This man is someone I have seen at 90% of the press meets that I have attended in the last one year. A well dressed gentleman who asked his questions in a very soft voice. Apparently (according to the PR lady), he turns up at every press conference in a star hotel and gives an obscure name as the name of the organisation he represents. Always a different name. And gives a fake number every time. Again, always a different one. And this time, according to the PR lady, he had given the mobile number of the chap who had called the press conference. If that is indeed true, some cheek that is!

I've been wondering why he does this. Maybe he was once a journalist and now is jobless and misses being a journalist and attends press meets for old times' sake. Or maybe it's the food. He probably likes the star-hotel food but can't afford it on a daily basis, and so attends the press meets.

A free meal. Could that be the motive? Day after day after day.

Anger

This Reuters report about the "wall of fury" in Philippines came out sometime in March. I thought of it today when I listened to a friend as she narrated an incident of "why do you want to file a complaint against him, it will be troublesome, let him be, forget what happened to you, you should have been more careful". And I felt such anger towards that man, for his perversion, his insolence, and the fact that he could actually get away with what he had done, the fact that at least 10 others thought it was best to take the easier way out by letting him off without any charges so that he could carry on with his dirty business elsewhere. "At least we won't have to deal with it."

The anger was painful. I wanted to punch that man as hard as I could, over and over again. I was restless, my palms itched. But what do you, apart from clenching your fist and cursing?

I need to smash a few plates.

A weekend in Bangalore

It's Friday evening. And one decides a movie would be a good plan. The newspaper is scanned, a quick Google done on reviews, a film zeroed in on. Again, newspapers are scanned for theatre listings, websites looked at for ticket availability, phone numbers collected. And then it turns out that though the film is playing in five different theatres, there is no ticket available. So one concludes, everyone in Bangalore must be watching Omkara.

Let's go out for dinner then. A restaurant is chosen, which in itself is a task. Getting there involves navigating Brigade Road. Choked with pedestrians, cars, cops, parking attendants. One concludes that everyone in Bangalore must be on Brigade Road or heading to Brigade Road at this point.

We reach the restaurant. It's full. A table in the next 45 minutes, that's the best they can offer. Let's try the next. Same story. So we try the next, and the next, and the next. So one concludes, everyone in Bangalore must be eating out tonight.

Finally head home, pick up a movie from the local CD lending library, pack food from the neighbourhood Chinese joint, and sprawl on the futon. Home is the place to be during weekends.

Chopped vegetables

A more common sight in our kitchen these days than it ever used to be. At least next time we need a gas refill, we won't have to explain to the gas company why we take so long to finish a cylinder...!