In Sirai aka Prison, Kathiravan (Vikram Prabhu) is a policeman involved with the escort of prisoners in transit. These escort cops must often rely on public transport, and during the entire journey they are responsible for keeping the prisoner confined and the public safe. At the beginning, Kathir is shown to open fire in a public place to stop an escaping convict. He is placed under enquiry. In the meantime, he takes on another escort job, of an under-trial Muslim boy called Abdul Rauf (a stunning LK Akshay Kumar, who reminds me of a young Basil Joseph).
Kathir's two teammates in the mission treat it more like an outing where they can drink and make merry. When they are caught in a public scuffle after one such carouse, Abdul is unsupervised in the bus. It gets worse: Even the rifle meant for guarding the prisoner is left behind with him. The cops chase after and catch up with the bus, only to find both Abdul and the rifle missing. It is at this cliffhanger moment that the intermission comes.
Sirai's second half deals with Kathir and his team meeting again with Abdul, and learning the circumstances that led to his incarceration. It is not a novel story; 70's and 80's mainstream Indian cinema was rife with narratives where an upright cop finds sympathy for a law-offender and they ultimately team up against the actual bad guys.But within this archetype, Sirai imbues its characters and situations with sufficient substance for them to engage the audience.
Abdul's situation comes about as a consequence of the communal divide in his village, and the opposition to his transgressive romance with the Hindu girl Kalai (Anishma Anilkumar). Supporting characters like Abdul's mother (Remya Suresh) and Kathir's wife (Ananta Thambiraja) show a welcome fire instead of being the stereotype doormats. I also loved that the Sirai did not feel obliged to have a climactic showdown reinforcing the cop's badasserie. This is a refreshing change from the ultra-macho 'my beard/dick biggest' leanings of today's masses-oriented cinema.
Of course, all is not great here. The second half of Sirai leans hard into sentimentality - sometimes to the point of obvious manipulation - with repetitive scenes of characters being oppressed or bursting into tears. Also, the visual grammar becomes unnecessarily jerky, insisting on cross-cutting flashbacks where a few lines of dialog would have sufficed to convey the information. It is as if the makers felt that the audience constantly needs to be shown stuff happening. But there is enough goodness here that flaws notwithstanding, Sirai is an excellent example of what I wish more mainstream cinema would aim for.
PS: The film is also an example of how using people born within the industry does not in itself constitute nepotism. Vikram Prabhu comes from an acting family that includes father Prabhu and grandfather the late Sivaji Ganesan. LK Akshay Kumar is the son of the film's producer SS Lalit Kumar. But both are so well-suited for their parts that you do not see them as privileged insiders denying more deserving candidates.
I'd first seen 10 to Midnight (10tM) on a pan-and-scan VHS tape in the mid-80's. I always remembered the image of the slasher, naked except for a pair of surgical gloves; effectively scary especially if, like me, you were well below the rating age at the time. Having the film on blu-ray gives me a chance to revisit and see how well it holds up now.
This is another in the long run of movies leading man Charles Bronson made with J Lee Thompson. J Lee had at one point had made celebrated war films Ice Cold in Alex, Guns of Navarone etc. But he was at a different phase of his career when he took up 10tM - the projects smaller in scope and lower in budget. 10tM is lower-tier for both him and Bronson, but not without its points of interest.
Bronson plays the tough old detective Kessler, on the trail of a murderer of multiple young women. Early on, the killer is revealed to the audience. He is Stacey (Gene Davis), a creepy young man with sexual dysfunction / fragile ego issues who takes violent vengeance on the women that reject his advances. The film is mainly a cat and mouse game between crafty killer and dogged cop. The interest comes from the cop's willingness to plant evidence to lock up Stacey, purely based on his conviction that Stacey is the murderer (Of course, since this is Bronson, he confesses before the trial to the judge, leading to Stacey's acquittal). Later Kessler copies the killer's stalking MO, humiliating him at his workplace. This is referred to in the climax where Stacey, after he is captured, screams about how Kessler's illegal actions forced him into a further massacre that leads to the death of at least 3 women when he goes after Kessler's daughter. The film ends on a note of vigilante justice in which it is left for the audience to wonder if the rule of law works both ways.
10tM is pervaded by a sleazy mean-spirited tone - I can't wholly disagree with Roger Ebert's review in which he says, "What is [Bronson] doing in a garbage disposal like this?". I think Gene Davis does reasonably well as the psycho-killer even though the script and Thompson's direction do not ask for any nuance from him. Bronson coasts along as he did in a million of his latter-day tough guy movies. The supporting cast is either workmanlike or outright pedestrian. The potentially interesting aspect of the the cop's ethics are never seriously called into question. This is a Cannon Films production, and very likely, the budget was not a generous one. Apart from the climax featuring a major police hunt with squad cars and a helicopter, there are no 'big' scenes, and it has a distinct DTV feel.
88's release sources its feature presentation from the same 4K restoration that was used on Shout Factory's North American release and also licenses the extras from that one. The widescreen 1.85:1 image is healthy looking and nicely presents Adam 'Terminator 1&2' Greenberg's cinematography. The DTS-HDMA dual mono track is good enough for the film's modest thrills and Robert Ragland's interesting synth score. Extras include a commentary track by Bronson biographer Charles Talbot and several featurettes, all borrowed from the Shout release.
And Soon the Darkness from writer-producer Brian Clemens and director Robert Fuest (the Dr. Philbes movies) is an effective 'missing person' mystery thriller. Clemens, famous for the vintage Avengers TV series (nothing to do with the MCU, kids), also directed the Hammer flick Kronos - The Vampire Hunter, which featured a James Bond-ish protagonist as opposed to their traditional puritanical heroes.
Pamela Franklin (The Innocents, Legend of Hell House) and Michele Dotrice (who I mainly remember as the long-suffering wife of doofus Frank in Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em) are two English lasses on a cycling holiday through rural France. With their comely looks and short shorts, the girls catch the eye of the local male population. Michele is getting bored of the lonely pedaling and not averse to a little attention, but Pamela is determined to (erm) carry on. This leads to a spat between the two friends when Michele decides to stay put in a lonely spot by the road, hoping for that young man on the motorcycle trailing them to make an appearance.
After hearing stories from the locals, a worried Pamela turns back for her friend only to find her missing. The man on the bike pops up again, behaving mighty suspiciously. Actually the whole neighborhood behaves suspiciously. While restrained in its depiction of violence or oppression, the film is a precursor to what would be known as the Backwoods Brutality genre. It helps that the girls are nicely rounded as characters; we do care when bad shit starts to happen to them in a foreign land. The film maintains the tension for a large part of the running time, even if it asks some of the red herring characters to behave in an unnecessarily cryptic/hostile manner. The climax isn't quite as explosive as one would have liked, but this was on the whole a good suspense flick.
Visually the blu-ray is a marvel. During the opening credits, things are not so great, but immediately after, there is a remarkable jump in clarity, saturation and detail. The film might have been shot yesterday if not for the fashions, attitudes and the lack of teal filters. The lossless PCM 2.0 audio is fine too, easily supporting the modest requirements of the dialog and music score. Extras include two commentary tracks (one with the writer and director, and the other from film historian Troy Howarth) and a video piece by horror reliable Kim Newman. Newman gives his customary cheerful burble, trying to present the film as a 2nd generation British take on French inspirations from British film-makers like Hitchcock. He also goes briefly into the careers of writer Clemens, director Fuest and the two leads.
Based on a story by the famous Russian author Alexander Pushkin, 1949's The Queen of Spades (QoS) is a fabulist melodrama on the themes of want and greed. When the Russian captain Suvorin (Anton Walbrook) visits the clubs where women and wine are aplenty, and games of chance are played, he himself refrains from gambling. Unlike his rich royalty-descended fellow-soldiers, he must scrimp and save for his future. In his own words he cannot afford to 'risk the necessary for the lure of the superfluous'.
In a tome purchased from a rather sinister (one could say Mephistophilean) bookseller, he learns the story of a certain countess Ranevskaya (Dame Edith Evans), who after selling her soul to the devil, obtains the secret of winning at cards. He becomes obsessed with extracting the secret from the Countess, now aged and crippled, yet still a strong-willed dominating woman (and looking rather like a Queen of Spades). He decides to make his way to the Countess by seducing her ward Lizaveta (Yvonne Mitchell). Liza is an innocent, bullied by the Countess who uses her as a lady's maid, and not wise to the ways of wily men. She succumbs to Suvorin's (copied) passionate love messages and secretively admits him into the house.
Suvorin instead makes his way to the Countess' room, to beg her to tell him the secret. He first offers to take her sin upon his head, then threatens her with his pistol. The countess falls dead from fear, and a frazzled Suvorin runs to Liza's room where he confesses all. Disgusted to learn the true motives for his 'passion' and his role in the Countess' death, Liza asks him to get out of the house and her life.
Later, Suvorin gets (or imagines?) a visitation from the dead Countess, who gives him the secret of the winning cards (Three...Seven...Ace), on condition that he marry her ward. He tries desperately to mollify Liza but is soundly rejected. Armed with the Countess' secret, he draws out his life's savings and enters the club. In a febrile humor, he plays a succession of games, each time betting the total of his previous winnings. In the third and last game, when he thinks he has the winning ace, he reveals his card, only to find that it is the Queen of Spades. He has been damned.
QoS is less a horror film than The Innocents (1961), more a fevered melodrama with supernatural underpinnings. Incidentally, Jack Clayton who directed that one was associate producer here. Director Thorold Dickinson (who was apparently hired only a few days before shooting began) generates, through deep focus and shadowy corners (DoP Otto Heller), an atmosphere of eerie unease that surely inspired Clayton (as does the impressive production design, contrasting the Countess' overbearingly lavish homestead with Suvorin's bare quarters). Anton Walbrook and Edith Evans are the two main cornerstones in the cast, and they are terrific in their respective parts. I also love that Suvorin's greed comes from his hatred of his circumstances and the derision he faces from his more prosperous fellowmen at the cards table. If I have any complaint, it is only that in the quest for a more cheerful final image, the film focuses on its least interesting characters.
But if B&W gothic melodramas are your thing, then you definitely need to deal yourself this hand.
The disc boasts a terrific transfer, equaling Criterion's work on The Innocents, if we're talking B&W masterpieces. Comparing with screenshots of the earlier Kino Lorber release, I'd say the image is appreciably refined with better contrast and grain resolution. The lossless mono audio is clear, both dialog and the evocative audio effects (the scene where Suvorin hears the thump of the ghostly Countess' walking stick and the swish of her gown approaching his room is a sterling example). Extras include a commentary track, multiple featurettes, and archival audio interviews with the director. There is also a slim booklet included in the case. The slipcover is useless for me as it's the same front and back image as the inside cover.
Included in Cushing Curiosities, the lavish Peter Cushing centered blu-ray box-set from Severin Films, Cone of Silence (aka Trouble in the Sky) is a legal drama set in the aviation world. Despite his third billing after Michael Craig and Peter Cushing, Bernard 'M' Lee's experienced pilot is actually the film's lead. Known to go wholly by the rulebook, Lee at the beginning is subject to an inquiry after a botched takeoff on the new 'Phoenix' plane. He is sure he has done nothing wrong. The aircraft company and the Phoenix's designer (Noel Willman from Hammer's The Reptile displaying a palpable sensitivity here) are equally adamant that there was no mechanical failure or design flaw.
After he is docked for 'pilot error' Lee finds reprieve when flight trainer Michael Craig clears him after a rigorous examination in which he flies blindfolded. The rakish Craig is also developing feelings for Lee's dad idolizing daughter Elizabeth Seal. But where is Peter Cushing, you ask? Cushing makes an appearance shortly after as another pilot placed rival to Lee. Cushing's character has in some reviews of this film been described as a villain, but that's not so - he is merely a biased individual. He doesn't like the idea of Lee being allowed to resume flying the Phoenix aircraft and allows his prejudices to guide his assessment. It's a small but solid supporting character and Dear Peter gives it his customary good show.
After more takeoff scenes - the film tries to generate a "will-it-won't-it-crash" scenario each time Lee takes the wheel - there is another accident, and this time it's fatal. What remains is for Craig to go over the incident and reassess if Lee was at fault or there was another reason. The exact details were fuzzy to me, but the film seems to suggest that the pilot's rule book did not account for some specific conditions of weather and load, and pilots that followed it to the letter would actually end up botching the takeoff.
This stiff upper lip drama is a fairly mundane "programmer", but it's aided by a dependable cast of British actors - besides the aforementioned, there's Andre Morell, George Sanders and Marne Maitand. There are several shots of actual aircraft takeoffs that don't appear to be random stock footage. It's not the most exciting movie but it a pleasing solidity.
Severin's blu-ray transfer shows some amount of source print damage (lines, scratches), but has good contrast and looks organic. The audio in the dialog sounded to me distractingly boxy and clipped. Extras specific to the movie include a commentary track with genre film historian Jonathan Rigby and a short conversation with the now old Michael Craig (the movie was a routine job for the contract player, but he seems to have pleasant memories of the cast).
The bigger bonus on this disc is the trove of audio interviews with Peter Cushing at various points - The Guardian interview (which I think is the same one that was on Severin's 2011 release of Horror Express) is played over the film, while others are played over selected images / video. The most touching one for me was where he is talking about his home in Whitstable and about his life with and after his beloved wife Helen. If you were looking to these interviews to learn something previously unknown about Mr. Cushing or unlock any secrets about his character and method, you may be disappointed. But I found a certain satisfaction in the confirmation of my image of him as a dedicated professional, and a simple, kindhearted GENTLEMAN.
On a trusted friend's recommendation, I recently checked out Yavanika, a celebrated mystery drama by KG George.
Yavanika is centered around a musical drama troupe, whose main tabla player Ayyappan (Bharat Gopi) suddenly goes missing. As he is a habitual drunkard, it takes a while for the other members to regard his disappearance in a serious light. When they finally do, an investigation is launched. Jacob (Mammootty), the inspector leading the enquiry, conducts a series of interrogations with the rest of the troupe, and other characters. He gauges their relationship and attitude towards Ayyappan, probing to see if any of them is responsible for his disappearance and possible death.
Terms like 'Rashomon Effect' have been used to describe Yavanika's story, but it's more like one of Agatha Christie's mysteries. You have a gallery of possible suspects, each giving their stories; the detective has to find out if one or more of them is lying. Struturally, much of Yavanika is narrated in flashbacks as Jacob reconstructs the character of Ayyappan and his equation with the other drama company members. Jacob's approach is to be confrontational: he accuses the subject of being behind Ayyappan's disappearance with the aim of breaking down their composure and getting them to blurt out information. This also serves as an examination of the other characters in the narrative. A similar approach was later adopted with Saswata Mukherjee in the Detective Shabor films.
Unfortunately, there is little subtlety in the flashbacks: From the very outset Ayyappan is a blackguard - a drunk lecherous chauvinist that corners and uses women for sex and to extract money from. His abrasive behavior frequently gets him into quarrels with the other men in the troupe, so they are suspect too. I have to confess that the lack of nuance in Ayyappan's personality makes the repeated flashbacks across the 2.5 hour running time a bit of a slog. There are moments of pleasure when the other characters reveal facets of themselves. The film has a large cast of recognizable names in the supporting cast and, within the script's limitations, they acquit themselves well. One striking bit is when Jagathi's jokester character reveals that he keeps making wisecracks because that's the only way he can cope with his life's miseries. While the central mystery isn't a particularly devious one, I liked the device of the play-within-the-film, in which certain events are foreshadowed in an oblique way.
Another interesting aspect was the contrast between Ayyappan's dominant stance towards his women and Jacob's equation with his wife - Jacob and his wife address each other as friends, he canvasses her opinion on the case and she is not diffident about rebuking his lapses of judgement. This depiction of equal camaraderie in a marriage certainly wasn't a norm in 80's Indian movies and is therefore refreshing to see.
On the whole, Yavanika is not as gripping or layered as I should have liked, but definitely interesting at least as a one-time watch. The full film in rather decent image quality is available to stream on Youtube with hard-coded English subtitles:
People of a particular generation based in Bengaluru city (in Southern India) will remember the
sensational case of Shakereh Khaleeli, on which this new mini-series is based.
Showrunner Patrick Graham, who had previously helmed OTT horror series
like Ghoul and Betaal, takes a documentary approach, interspersing
contemporary and archival interviews with re-enactments. I'm not usually
one for potentially sordid true crime TV series content, but since Dancing on the Grave was only 4 half hour episodes long, it seemed like a decent diversion before starting on something else.
Shakereh Khaleeli (nee Namazie) came of an affluent and prestigious
family linked to the Diwan of Mysore. She was married to Akbar Khaleeli,
a high-ranking Indian diplomat and bore him 4 daughters. Wherever she
accompanied her husband on his tours of diplomatic duty, Shakereh was
known as a brilliant socialite, beautiful, witty and sophisticated. But
during the late 70's Akbar went alone to Iran as India's Ambassador, it being around
the time of the Iranian revolution. It was during this period she met
Murli Manohar Mishra aka Swami Shraddhanand (SS). A godman-cum-fixer
type, SS inveigled himself into the Khaleeli household by way of helping
Shakereh with her business affairs. They set up a construction business
in Bengaluru. During this period Shakereh divorced her husband and in
1986, less than a year after, got married to SS. The move led to Shakereh's
estrangement from her family and former circle, who were aghast at the
idea of this glamorous, sophisticated woman from a high family giving
herself to a short stocky plebian who in their minds had undoubtedly
snared her with an eye on her property.
Just a few years later, Shakereh seemed to have disappeared. Her
daughter Sabah Khaleeli was at the time an in-demand model for ads and fashion
shows - I remember being wowed as a kid by a glam cover pic
of her in Femina (I am ashamed to say I only remembered the pic, and not
the article it was part of). When Sabah, who had rekindled communication with her
mum, found a sudden silence
at Shakereh's end, she repeatedly enquired with SS, but found that he
was fobbing her off with evasive answers about Shakereh being on extended holiday. In the meanwhile, he continued a
lavish lifestyle in the Bengaluru home. Sabah went to the police and filed a missing persons complaint. The
initial investigation was lackadaisical, frustrating her. Then things
then began to slowly move. Almost 3 years after the report of her
disappearance, Shakereh's body was uncovered as a skeleton buried in her
own backyard and SS was arrested for her murder. He was convicted of
the same, and sentenced to be harbored in jail till the end of his life,
a term he is still serving.
Apart from covering the investigation, mainly by interviews with the
investigating team and the legal authorities that worked the case, as well as journalists, the
series does some superficial psycho-analyzing about how a smart social
diva like Shakereh could have fallen prey to this ugly conman with
dubious charm. Was she that lonely or desperate during Akbar's tenure in Iran? Did SS
with his guidance of her business affairs, convince her that he could
help her have a greater self-identity than being a diplomat's wife?
There is talk about how SS claimed divine powers to grant her a male
child, and how it later led to quarrels between them.
Shakereh's direct family (mother Gauhar Taj and daughter Sabah) are only
seen in archival (90's) video footage. Some cousins and a nephew were
newly interviewed for this series. In an eloquent and politely outraged
manner (words like 'dastardly' roll unctuously off the nephew's tongue),
they express their dismay at how one of their own was ensnared and
brutally done away with by this lowly schemer, and insist that SS has only got
the minimum punishment for his heinous crime. During their speeches, it
repeatedly came to my mind, where were these family members when
Shakereh had been reported missing. Going by Sabah's old interviews it
appeared that she was running alone from pillar to post to get the police to
take her complaints seriously. They had essentially abandoned her for
daring to degrade their social standing with her poor choice in
marriage. It is when the series moves on to show the perspective of SS
himself that their current participation makes more sense.
Yes, SS is interviewed for this series, while still serving his sentence. In front of the camera, he
pleads not guilty for Shakereh's death (his lawyer claims that has always been his stance). According to SS, he found
Shakereh dead in her bed one morning when he carried in the tea; his crime , as he sees it,
was to go into an immediate panic about how her family and the police would perceive his role
in this matter. Instead of even calling in a doctor to ascertain
the death, he directly proceeded to bury her body in secret. By any
account this is a nonsense story. Shakereh was bundled into a specially
constructed box and buried inside a deep pit dug in the yard (ostensibly
for a tank). There is reference to evidence of fingernail scratches on
the inside of the box, and her fingers tightly curled around the
bedsheet she was buried in, indicating that she was likely alive at the
time of burial, in a deeply sedated state. Even as he claims to have
shared a deep bond of mutual love with Shakereh, there is no
corresponding warmth in his eyes. He seems a man ready to try anything
to see if it can get him a reprieve.
True, there are discrepancies in the prosecution case, which his lawyer points out. In the
video captured at the time SS was led by the police to the crime site
after being made to confess, he is seen to pull the keys of the house
from his own pocket; they should have been part of sealed evidence
when he was called in for questioning. The lawyer points out that is
this a break in the chain of evidence, and suggests that the police
could have easily used the keys at some previous juncture to plant sedatives in
the house. Any criminal, he insists, would have discarded these
sedatives in the 3 years after Shakereh's disappearance; it's a fair
point. My own view is that although the police did get the right man,
they knew the material evidence they had was purely circumstantial and
may not be sufficient to obtain a conviction, hence 'bolstered' their
case with some planted evidence.
The legal machinery may have also been under a lot of pressure by the
family because Shakereh had made a will naming SS as the beneficiary. If
he was not unequivocally convicted, he could make a claim for
Shakereh's estate over the rest of her family. He had already made money
off selling pockets of her land around the house, using the power of
attorney she had bestowed on him. Still, there is the question, when
so many habitual criminals with multiple murder crimes are given pardons for good behavior? Especially after more than half his life has been spent behind bars, and
there is little likelihood of his posing a danger to society now, why is
he being held without any hope of compassionate pardon? Surely
he cannot, as a convicted criminal, hope to lay claim on the assets for
which the crime was committed.
In terms of the making, I would think that the 'series' could instead
have been a single 80-90 min documentary. In his groundbreaking Thin Blue
Line docu-drama Errol Morris showed that re-enactments of incidents
could be a powerful tool. Here, the re-enactments are extended to
completely trivial and petty footage, a cheap shot at raising drama. Not
the film-makers' fault, but the almost sneery nature of the relatives
currently interviewed annoyed me, and I wish they had been questioned
more strongly about the family's desertion of Shakereh, which led her to
becoming an isolated lamb, easily hunted down by the wolf in disguise.
The only place I got a genuine sense of grieving for this brutal crime
was in the archival footage of Sabah and Shakereh's mother (former Femina editor Sathya Saran talks about the pain she always saw in Sabah's eyes).
Still, if you're interested in this piece of shocking true crime history, it's only a couple of hours of your time in all. Showing now in India on Amazon Prime.
Over the course of a week, I finished watching this 6-episode mini-series called The Devil's Hour (TDH, currently showing on Amazon Prime). It can be loosely described as Silence of the Lambs meets The Sixth Sense meets Groundhog Day. Check the Vlog to see my take on it. If you prefer reading to watching, the full transcript is given below the video:
Our protagonist Lucy (Jessica Raine) is a social worker and single mother who balances her job of counseling assorted abuse victims with a troubled home-life; her son Isaac (Benjamin Chivers) is a cipher, almost always silent, and curiously devoid of any emotion. While Lucy's husband Mark would like dearly to get her back in his life, he is far less enthusiastic about the son; with cruel sarcasm he refers to the latter as a "psychopath in the making".
Lucy also has a senile mother who watches television with the power off and talks to people that aren't there. And oh, it appears that Lucy wakes up every night exactly at 3.33am. This is evidenced by a bedside clock that glows a ridiculously bright purple; to me the bigger mystery here is how she manages to fall asleep with that light in her face.
On another story-thread detective-inspector Ravi Dhillon (Nikesh Patel) - whose schtick is retching at crime scenes and listening to the Beach Boys while studying them (hold on!). Along with his intensely Scottish cop buddy Nick Holness (Alex Ferns), Ravi is on the trail of a random series of murders and abductions, which hint at a diabolical serial killer. Together they discover that the murderer is in some way connected to Lucy and Isaac.
These two tracks are frequently interrupted by a series of scenes set at an unspecified time in an interrogation cell, where a bruised Ravi and Lucy are talking to a rather sinister, murderous looking character called Gideon (Peter Capaldi of Doctor Who fame).
The overall tone of TDH is what I call "Netflix Dark" - the characters have intense obsessive personalities and dark secrets, the crime scenes are gruesome and if a character smiles, you can be sure that smile will be wiped out before long. That said, it is not all misanthropic and it does have a sense of humor, which goes some way to making the atmosphere less miserable. It also helps that the actors fit their parts really well. Jessica Raine is empathetic as the single mother protagonist, but special mention must be made of child actor Benjamin Chivers, with his beautifully modulated depiction of the almost android-like Isaac. Capaldi and Nikesh Patel also embody their parts well.
For most of the season, TDH's narrative jumps around in time in a manner that is distracting, without making itself clear. Individual episodes have some strong moments but there are also seemingly random dream logic segments. It is in the final episode that the underlying concept is revealed, for which the clues had been strewn before. Without going too far into spoiler territory, this is where the Groundhog Day element dominates in a very far-reaching way. It calls for a significant suspension of disbelief, and renders certain characters and sub-plots less important than they initially seemed. How much that conceit appeals to you is a matter of individual taste. I thought it was decent, and they did go for a bold downer ending, which is not a return to status quo.
On the whole, TDH can be described as somewhat cliched and contrived. But it is also nicely polished and frequently effective. Fans of mystery/horror dramas might want to check it out, and it's only 6 hour long episodes.
I Start Counting (1970) is basically a Hitchcockian plot by way of kitchen sink realism. Specifically Shadow of a Doubt (1943), in which a young girl suspects her charming uncle of being a murderer, seems to have been in the mind of novelist Audrey Lindop when she wrote the 1966 book that became this movie.
Early teen Wynne (Jenny Agutter) is a adopted Catholic girl in a working class family who have just shifted home, because their old neighborhood is slated to be razed. Despite the mother's warnings she repeatedly visits the abandoned old homestead, finding comfort in old memories. Wynne also has a huge crush on her almost 20-years older stepbrother George (Bryan Marshall). She fantasizes romantic scenes with George and follows him about like an attention-seeking puppy. Her attempts to please him are rewarded by remarks like "You're a funny little biscuit". Wynne's ardor is so dominant that when she becomes suspicious of George being the dreaded serial murderer of young women in the neighborhood, she works to destroy the evidence she finds. This causes some conflict with her Catholic conscience. The other major characters in Wynne's life include her rebellious drug-taking second brother (Gregory Philips) whose collection of newspaper clippings of the killings may be more than idle hobby, and the saucy best friend (Claire Sutcliffe) who may be competition for her crush's attentions.
I Start Counting is not bad as low-key suspense dramas go, and Jenny Agutter shows fine form as the conflicted teen, but I found it underwhelming. Unlike the sensational promise of the posters, there's a tame TV movie feel to it (it's shot on 16mm, I think, and has that grainy diffuse look). The emotions are very on the nose, and it doesn't really grip you or get under your skin the way a Hitchcock film could, when he aimed for that. Helmer David Greene leans on the working class style opting to tamp down the drama. Some visual motifs like the White Rabbit doll on Wynne's bed are interesting (a metaphor for her Alice-like journey through the strange Wonderland of adolescence?), but under-developed. There are no bravura suspense sequences of the level that Hitchcock would have concocted. Basil Kirchin's score is prominent and unusual in its incorporation of sitar and tabla with jazz elements, although sometimes it also distracted me from the on-screen proceedings instead of underlying the action.
Given the modest production origins, the 2K restoration video on the BFI blu-ray is good. There are, I assume unavoidable, source limitations of brightness and density fluctuations. Audio is generally clear with a bold edge to the score. Optional English SDH subtitles are provided, but they may be on the smaller side for some people. Of the extras, which are plentiful, I have so far only seen the Jenny Agutter interview, in which she talks about her experience of making the film (It was a happy shoot with an enthusiastic director and some very helpful co-actors).
Trivia: Phil Collins has a one-scene appearance as an ice-cream vendor whose entire dialog, when asked if he has Neapolitan Tutti Frutti, is "Eh?"
It might seem like I'm doing a bait and switch with the title of the new Rajkummar Rao film, when this is actually my opinion for the Telugu original starring Vishwak Sen, which came out in 2020. But it's not just the name that is carried over. Going by the trailer of the Hindi remake, even the content of the films seems so identical that, slight differences in actors aside, I suspect you would be having a photocopy experience.
Vikram (Sen / Rao), the lead character of HIT (which stands for Homicide Investigation Team), is the investigator you have seen in a thousand modern detective shows. He ticks the columns of being (a) a brilliant but morose anti-social chap with (b) past trauma that gives him nightmares / hallucinations and (c) is is tasked with a case that has personal ramifications and threatens to burst his bubble of sanity. Vikram is so pathologically obsessed with the job he refuses to give it up even when his therapist warns him that his 'vitals' are failing, but the moment he takes a sabbatical on the insistence of his forensic scientist girlfriend Neha (Ruhani Sharma / Sanya Malhotra), she goes missing. Her disappearance seems linked with that of a young girl Preethi, who vanished one day after her car broke down on the highway. To find Neha, Vikram plunges headlong into cracking Preeti's case (for some reason, even though Neha disappears directly after digging up forensic evidence on Preeti's abduction, no one else thinks of connecting the two matters). Meanwhile he repeatedly gets stress-triggering flashbacks of a past trauma in which he is unable to save a girl being killed. I won't spoil it for you, but the reveal of the mystery calls for some serious suspension of disbelief, and characters acting in a manner that far exceeds their motivations.
Even with the cliches and contrivances, HIT has its moments of interest. Vikram gets so caught up in tracking down Neha he doesn't care about risking the lives of suspects. His superior officer (Bhanuchander / Dalip Tahil) uses him like a gifted bloodhound and indulges his eccentricities (though a botched narc test crosses even his line). There is an intriguing sequence of events early in the film showing Preeti's encounter with a disheveled cop Ibrahim (Murali Sharma / Milind Gunaji) who offers to drop her after her vehicle breakdown, and when she goes missing makes some forays towards tracking her, but a chain of circumstances lead to his ignominious suspension and the overlooking of crucial evidence till Vikram picks up on him later. At least in the Telugu version, the writing is solid in this segment and Murali Sharma's under-playing is a joy to watch. I actually wish the film had been more about this guy because...
For me, the lead character was a cold fish. I think a good deal of this has to do with Vishwak Sen's acting so perhaps the Hindi version fares better. True, Vikram is supposed be psychologically fatigued, but there is zero emotional register in Sen's performance. Even in the writing the relationship between Vikram and Neha is a vacuum. Given that he refuses to share his past trauma with her, and doesn't seem one for cheery small talk, one wonders what apart from their work draws them together. That seems a bigger mystery than the one tackled in the film.
2013's Mumbai Police has, up to a point, a decent mystery plot about a cop who lapses into amnesia in an accident just moments after informing a colleague that he has cracked a murder case. Now without those memories, he has to re-solve the case.
Antony 'Tony' Moses - played by Malayalam cinema's action hero Prithviraj Sukumaran - is the cop. At the beginning of the film, we see him tell someone on the phone "I've got the culprit". Moments later, a falling refrigerator from a van ahead forces him to veer and his car overturns. When Tony awakes, he has no recollection of who he is. Only his senior officer and friend Farhan (Rahman), who was on the other end of that call, is dealing with him. Farhan informs Tony that he was on the trail of the killer of their mutual friend Aryan Jacob (Jayasurya), a cop shot dead on the very stage he received a gallantry award.
Armed with only what information Farhan can share with him and his own instincts, Tony must start again at square one. In a script contrivance, Farhan asks Tony to conceal his amnesia from everyone, including their own colleagues in the force. This leads to some awkward moments for our protagonist. Also, it would seem that there are people bent on thwarting Tony's investigation, even if it means killing him.
Prithviraj is not the most versatile actor, but fits a certain badass hero / arrogant anti-hero niche. In this lead part, he gets a little more depth than the typical masala movie he is known for. A series of flashbacks makes us privy to the events prior to the amnesia loss, and we get an interesting contrast in Tony's nature before and after the accident, almost a different person in several aspects. The bulk of the film is a police procedural in which Privithraj follows up various threads - and associated red herrings - before the solution dawns upon him.
Without spoilers, the resolution of the mystery is where the film completely threw my suspension of disbelief. It makes a mockery of how amnesia affects a person's basic identity and is executed with zero sensitivity, making me want to clout the writers (credited as Bobby and Sanjay) and director that came up with this rubbish. It also relies on an offensively contrived series of circumstances that undo the - rah-rah moments notwithstanding - layered build-up of the investigation that had been depicted till that moment. Put simply, it's a lame and disappointing conclusion that leaves a bad aftertaste after a promising beginning.
Raudra (roughly translating as scary or horrible), which I stumbled upon on Amazon Prime, seems to have been birthed by the success of the Marathi culture inspired Tumbbad. While that film was a near masterpiece of modern Indian mystery-horror, presenting a fantastic fable of human greed with incredible visual and textural detail, Raudra sadly does not match up.
It is not made explicit, but the story seems to be set sometime in post-independence India (possible the 60's or 70's) in a remote Maharashtrian village. Trambak (Rahul Patil) enters the village as a census taker and arrangements are made for his accommodation at the crumbling vada (mansion) owned by the acerbic Nanasaheb (Deepak Damle). Nanasaheb is a dominating figure both at home to his wife and daughter, and for the villagers. Daughter Mrunmayee (Urmila Jagtap) is young and pretty, and sick of her father's oppression. She seems to find in Trambak a sympathetic ear for her complaints, perhaps even an escape route from her current existence.
Apart from going about his census task in the most halfhearted manner accompanied by buffoonish local aide Bando (Anil Padvankar), Trambak seems quite interested in the regional legends, and it becomes apparent early on that this is not mere idle curiosity. He is in quest of an old temple he claims to be of a family deity. Mrunmayee posits that the information he seeks may be available in an ancient book of records carefully guarded by her father, and volunteers to steal the book for him. Even after stealing the book, they have to contend with solving the riddles contained in it to decode the location of the temple, which is said to house an ancient treasure.
While promising in outline, Raudra disappoints hugely in execution. Writer-Director Ravindra Shivaji's screenplay is lackluster and contains glaring exposition lapses. The MacGuffin of Nanasaheb's book is a clumsy one - given his innate craftiness, it seems unlikely that for so many years before Trambak's arrival he would not have made similar deductions. Worse, the film is unable to set and sustain a pace. Instead of a carefully constructed ebb and flow as Trambak follows up various clues, we get a jerky stop-start narrative. Characters are drawn with far too few shades to render them interesting. Mrunmayee could have been an layered personality, but as portrayed here (both by the writing and Jagtap's unskilled performance) is rather shallow.
Technically also, Raudra is a mixed bag. The decaying vada is an apt setting and there are some atmospheric shots (Swapnil Kedare). But several other parts of the film appear prosaic and the music - both songs and BGM - overbearing. Apart from a nicely intimidating Deepak Damle, the cast is not particularly impressive. The film is just not able to sustain a specific mood, essential for this kind of story. The worst is saved for the climax. I really don't know what they were thinking here. Perhaps they wanted to make an impact with its abruptness, but it feels as though they stopped there on account of a total deficiency of ideas on how to finish off the story.
Looking up the entry for this film on IMDB, I find a very favorable rating and almost uniformly gushy user reviews (LINK), but my own experience left me quite cold.
Before The Sixth Sense (1999), in which 11 year old Haley Joel Osment talked to ghosts, there was Lady in White (1988) where 11 year old Lukas Haas talked to ghosts. And there is a 11 year gap between these two films, talk about coincidence.
Of course this is where most of the similarities end. The Sixth Sense was a deliberately tamped down, brooding journey while Lady in White is steeped in the cheeriness of 80's Hollywood. Where M. Night Shyamalan's film immersed you in its atmosphere by being perversely restrained, Lady in White smacks you in the face with archetypes so broad they appear manufactured.
The film is set in early 60's still innocent America where Lukas Haas' Frankie is a small town schoolboy and the youngest child in an Italian-American family. This is of course the sort of small town where everyone is a neighbor, all shops are adorned with the names of their proprietors and the church is full on Sundays. This is also the Italian-American family where first gen migrants grandpa and grandma constantly bicker at each other in Italian (there's a running joke about grandpa sneaking smokes), widowed dad dotes on his sons and saying "damned" or "bloody" is considered unacceptable swearing.
When Frankie is locked inside the cloakroom after school as a prank on Halloween, he sees the ghost of a young girl playing out her death. There is also a shadowy intruder that comes to retrieve something from the grate in the room, and when he comes across Frankie, he attempts to strangle the boy. After being revived by his father, Frankie comes to hear of a series of child killings over the years; he also discovers that the first victim Melissa is the ghost he saw in the cloakroom. In due course, Frankie discovers that the spectral Melissa's search for her mother is related to the dreaded "lady in white" that lives in the cottage adjoining the seaside cliffs. He decides to help Melissa "find" her mother and unravel the mystery of her (and the other children's) death.
A lot of Lady in White's charm is tied in to its lead star Lukas Haas, who thankfully embodies the combination of innocence and tenacity of his character without coming across as precocious. Under LaLoggia's careful direction of Haas, you can believe Frankie's bond of affection his family, his penchant for imagination (early in the film he is called on to tell a spooky story in class for Halloween) and his desire to do good by Melissa.
But for me, the film does not succeed as a whole. The script is packed with too many horror film cliches and subtlety is sorely lacking. The tone of Lady in White is wobbly - the juvenile comedy interludes with the grandparents and the general squeaky-clean treatment would have made for a family-friendly PG affair, but after a point, the film suddenly shows us a rather graphic shooting and some intense child endangerment scenes. The identity of the killer is all too obvious, but the manner in which Frankie discovers it is unconvincing. Worse, the dependence on dated and awkward optical effects to depict the supernatural phenomena becomes a distraction, especially during the climax which looks amateurish.
Given the positive reviews I had seen from reliable sources - including Roger Ebert and Richard Scheib [Moria Reviews] I was hoping to be a good deal more charmed by this ghost story than I eventually was. But it does have its engaging bits, Lukas Haas being the most prominent of them.
A dedication at the start of Thupparivaalan salutes Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes and 'the mercurial' Jeremy Brett. But the detective hero of Mysskin's movie owes more to the rude arsehole of the Robert Downey Jr. interpretation. 'Action' star Vishal is Kaniyan Poongundran, the archaically named moody sleuth that 'rebels at stagnation' (in the hero introduction scene he stomps all over his book-lined apartment, petulantly demanding to be given a challenging case). He behaves like a perfect tyrant with almost everyone, but most notably his 'Watson' Manohar (Prasanna) who seems a loser with no life of his own.
Kaniyan takes up the case of a schoolboy whose family dog was murdered, but the matter quickly escalates to a more sinister degree, involving a gang of assassins-for-hire (including a near-unrecognizable Bhagyaraj) who come up with some truly outre ways of carrying out their hits. The plot is all over the place, but Mysskin's writing delivers some ingenious fun moments, like when the killers carry out a Rube Goldberg scheme of offing a target with the help of nitrous oxide aka laughing gas - this would not be out of place in a Denny O' Neil - Dick Giordano 70's era Batman comic (for some reason, all mentions of nitrous oxide are bleeped out in the soundtrack, as though they were threatened with legal action by the gas manufacturers). Kaniyan's incongruous golf cap and ascot - standing in, one supposes, for Holmes' deerstalker and pipe - and the throwaway references to Tamil pulp fiction detective Sankarlal and Stanley Kubrick raise chuckles as well.
Thupparivaalan becomes less interesting in the bigger picture. The villains bandy a generic ruthlessness (the leader takes a coffee break in the middle of chainsawing a corpse, whoop-de-whoop), the 'HERO' action scenes and location hopping chases lose the idiosyncratic touch (although one of them ends in a memorably crazy Seppuku sequence). Also, Kaniyan's treatment of the token romance (a simpering Anu Emmanuel) is risible. But even while commercial, this film has more of the Mysskin personality than his Mugamoodi and is a decent watch for fans.
The story of Aarkkariyam (made by cinematographer turned director Sanu John Varughese) is set during the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic. Married couple Shirley (Parvathi Thiruvothu) and Roy (Sharafuddeen) are driving down from Mumbai to be with her aging father at his home in rural Kerala. We learn early on that this is a second marriage for both of them; Shirley has a daughter from her previous relationship, now studying in a convent boarding school some hours away from her father's home. Shirley's father Ittyavra (Biju Menon) is the typical old-school backwater "Lord of the Manor", a man who for so many decades has nurtured his backyard and farmlands, and for whom old age is an unwelcome, if also inevitable burden. He is taciturn and sometimes crotchety, but dotes on his family. He is also deeply religious, a trait that echoes in Shirley.
As the couple integrate into the daily routine at Ittyavra's - having meals together and sharing the household chores - she is anxious to find a means of bringing her daughter home at the earliest. Roy has financial worries as well, what with the lockdown leading to his
imported goods consignment indefinitely stuck in the customs hold. To help out his daughter's family, Ittyavra comes up with the plan of selling off his property, and giving them a part of the money while shifting to a more manageable apartment. There is one slight hitch, as he casually reveals to Roy when Shirley is not around: He has long ago buried a body in the kitchen yard, and the skeleton needs to be destroyed before it is excavated by any builder that buys the property.
Aarkkariyam may be described as a moral mystery. The question that Roy (and the audience) has is, who is this dead person and why was his body buried in secret in the premises? Common logic would suggest that he get the story from his father-in-law, with whom he appears to share a relationship of trust and respect; after all the bonding between father and son-in-law is a core element of the film. But in a not very convincing conceit, Roy becomes withdrawn and secretive, opting instead for an exercise in tracing clues through a series of conversations with strangers in some way related with the tragedy. Rather than as an organic progression of the script, it is as though the writers (Sanu John Varughese with Arun Janardanan and Rajesh Ravi) felt that having Ittyavra directly spill the beans would not be sufficiently cinematic in a drama that is already conversation-heavy. The manner in which they attempt the circumvention leads up a convoluted path that only adds (pun unintended) 'dead space', without sufficient payoff.
But while the film errs on the side of rambling in trying to tell a measured
tale, it is not guilty of unnecessary dramatics or that dreadful habit
of superfluous twists that destabilize the narrative. When the truth is shown to Roy, it is not some earth-shattering moment. There is a quiet confession and an equally quiet laying to rest of an old burden. Without obvious sign-posting, it gives a beautiful underpinning to the actions and beliefs of the involved characters and helps us understand them better as people.
Apart from the aforementioned meandering tone during Roy's 'investigation' I thought there was an excess of external intrusion into the setting by way of Roy's interactions with his Mumbai friend Vysakh played by Saiju Kurup (Also, they speak to each other in a puzzling mix of Malayalam and Hindi, which I have never seen Malayalees in Mumbai do). These could have been pared down and perhaps Vysakh could have been reduced to a less frequent voiceover, just my thought. My other bugbear was with Sanjay Divecha's score. He is an excellent jazz musician for sure, but this movie has too much underscoring, to the extent that I got annoyed with all the guitar twanging. I would have preferred for it to go the other way, keeping non-digetic music to a minimum.
Even with these issues, there's a warm humanist streak in Aarkkariyam that beautifully shows in the writing and performances, and makes it worth recommending at least as a once-watch. Beyond that, well, who knows?
Nizhal starts with the depiction of a high-speed automobile accident on a
rain-swept road. The mishap is seen from the point of view of a bird on a tree.
This begins one's misgivings with the film. The makers thought they had
such a brilliant idea in this perspective that they persisted with it
despite having an egregiously goofy CGI bird that takes all attention
away from the incident.
But the outline that follows shows good promise. A magistrate John Baby
(Kunchako Boban) is involved in the accident, which is also revealed to be
instigated by him. When he comes out of hospital he is wearing a
nose guard shaped like a superhero-mask, and sees dark clouds and rain
showers even on perfectly sunny days. Gloomy John then hears of a
schoolboy who out of the blue comes up with a murder story during a class
activity. The unnaturally specific details provided in the story intrigue the
magistrate who wants to meet with the boy (a spunky and charming Izin Hash). This of
course means getting past the resistance of his protective single mom
(Nayantara, looking always like she had dressed up for a photoshoot and
was impatiently waiting for it to begin). By this interaction John Baby
discovers the threads of more than one crime. The bigger question
of course is, how is the boy getting intimate details of dark deeds from a
distant past that no one around him knows about?
Intriguing, isn't it? For some while, Nizhal does feel like it could go
to interesting spaces - one scene, where the ex-flame of a long-ago
murdered man uncovered by John Baby suggests that the spirit of the dead
man has communicated the details of the crime, is superbly done in its
understatement. But there is also a lot of (ha!) dead air in the
script. I understand the desire to not be just a "point A to point B"
narrative, but the detours and pauses need to be interesting. Here
scenes are unnecessarily broken up and subplots go nowhere (a
routine with a bumbling snoop following the magistrate is so pointless
it could have been easily snipped off). There are numerous asides to
John Baby's magisterial job, probably meant to suggest how his daily
life goes on despite these events, but they mostly show him looking
distractedly into space or at his phone. There's an even more egregious still view of Nayantara 's character
staring at (I kid you not) the desktop wallpaper of her Mac. This is not my idea of
interesting visual drama. The lead characters are one-dimensional; even
John Baby apart from his "rain visions" doesn't have a real arc. The
eventual resolution when it comes is unforgivably lame - It reminds me
of the numerous Satyajit Ray myster/horror short stories that ended with the
protagonist waking from a dream because the writer couldn't figure out
how to take the story ahead.
A mystery adventure can work two ways - either be plausible or be
entertaining. Some great movies do both. Nizhal, interesting bits
notwithstanding, is not satisfying on either count. It does not earn its
runtime and there's a distinct feeling of being let down at the end.
This is but a pale shadow of the movie it could have been.
Louis Malle's debut feature begins with a phone call where a woman (Jeanne Moreau) is
planning with her lover to bump off her husband (who is also his boss),
then meet with her at an assigned rendezvous. The lover carries off the killing, after he surreptitiously reaches the boss'
chamber by climbing a rope with grappling hook, and rejoins his
colleagues as they quit office for the weekend. But when about to drive
off he realizes the rope he used is still hanging. To remedy the lapse, he again
rushes into the building and is going up the elevator when the
caretaker shuts off the power, leaving our man trapped inside.
Outside, his car is stolen by a blowhard delinquent and his girlfriend,
who take it for a joyride. They find a gun in the glove compartment, and
thus begins their own journey towards violence. Meanwhile, the woman
waiting impatiently for the lover that didn't show up, trawls
through their familiar haunts hoping to get news of him, only aware that
she saw his car being driven away earlier with another girl in the
passenger seat.
In terms of rational plot, Elevator to the Gallows is not always convincing. If the
woman is having a secret affair, how is it that every bartender in town
knows who she is going with? That would have been difficult to
hide, especially from a husband who seems to be involved in arms dealing and some form of
espionage. The behavior of some of the other characters also seems to
be decided more by where the plot needs to go at a given moment rather
than be an organic expression of their personality.
But it does not matter much because Elevator... is a film of style and
attitude, and it delivers that in spades. Even when I am not convinced
why, I can endlessly watch Jeanne Moreau walking the chiaroscuro
Parisian streets at night with a smoky, downbeat Miles Davis trumpet in
the background (the score is astounding, and reminds me of one of my
favorite albums - Sunset Mission by Bohren & Der Club of
Gore). Everyone is perfect in their parts (look for Lino Ventura turning
up later as a detective). This may have been Malle's first fiction film
(before this he worked on documentaries with Jacques Costeau), but his
style is bold and consistent. Henri Decae's luminous B&W photography
captures the claustrophobic confines of the elevator (and in a
pulse-tingling moment, the shaft) and the gritty streets of Paris with
equal flair, and Leonide Azar's editing is deft. Elevator... is a film I
suspect I will be revisiting several times just to soak in its
irresistible brand of elegant melancholy.
It's late at night. Our protagonist Aravind (director Jayaprakash Radhakrishnan himself) is sitting alone at his computer, Salman Khan mask covering his face and boxers at his ankles, indulging in a risque webcam chat with a masked woman. The woman insists on them both unmasking, and he obliges. Then Aravind's wife furiously bangs on the door, and he yells back about being busy servicing "US clients".
On the next occasion, he gets a chat invite from another female ID. When he signs in he finds himself face-to-face (so to speak) with a bald-headed man who for a long time only identifies himself as Yohan (Anand Sami, malevolently effective). Aravind tries to back off, but the bald stranger insists on speaking. What he wants is for Aravind to watch as he kills himself.
These are details best not gleaned from any article you read before watching the film, because the strength is in their unfolding before you. Suffice to say, our stranger nurses a deep festering grudge against Aravind and his like, the voyeuristic purveyors of online prurience.
Lens is a curious journey. On the one hand, Aravind is a not very sympathetic protagonist, at least virtually cheating on his wife and scared of facing the consequences. On the other, the manner in which Yohan psychologically ball-squeezes him can induce squirms in many of us, depending on the extent of our specific online vices - whether we consume/share pornography, indulge in cybersex, or behave like those Bois Locker Room groups. The film in most part avoids being a generalist rant against online porn, choosing to address the question of which of these are in themselves crimes, who the victims are, and who the perpetrators are (and to what degree).
The way Lens is executed is not an unqualified success. The screenplay could have certainly been tighter. The scenes outside of the interaction between the two antagonists in their individual surroundings could have been done without. The expository backstory is conventional to the point of banality. Performances are adequate, rather than exceptional (Sami's Yohan is the best of the lot). But even with these mis-steps, it is an interesting experiment, which may be inspired by but does not ape previous films. It is also a warning that we have to constantly take stock of our weaknesses, and consider the cost, inadvertent or otherwise, that we and others have to pay to indulge them.
My recent guilty pleasure was the family-friendly Bengali
mystery adventure Durgeshgorer Guptodhon (Secret Treasure of
Dureshgarh). A sequel to Guptodhoner Sandhane (Hunt for the Secret
Treasure - reviewed HERE), this one is practically a re-tread in a different location.
The basic formula of the Guptodhon series is this:
1. At some point in Indian history, typically in the wave of some regional conflict, one of the lesser known historical
figures hides / bequeaths a fabulous treasure with some pal (this is
explained in an attractive animated panaroma at the beginning of each film).
2. Said pal is an eccentric who, after hiding the treasure in some Rube Goldberg style secret vault in a romantically named place (here it is Bonpukuria village), hatches a series of cryptic clue messages in
the form of rhymes and lyrics. In time, the significance of said
messages is forgotten by the family (Sherlock Holmes fans will recall a story called The Musgrave Ritual, which would appear to be the progenitor of all such premises). 3. Enter our Three
Investigators protagonists, led by Sona-da (Abir Chatterjee), the
archaeologist-historian who dresses in smart sports suits and handily
beats up goons. They start figuring out the clues, while some slimy
villain with an eye on the treasure periodically ambushes them till the
climax where all ends well.
Durgeshgorer Guptodhon adheres strictly to the formula and has some sloppy writing where
some red herring dealings are never explained. There are major
contrivances, one involving a kid called Kucho who you want to murder
immediately. But with its fun quasi-historical premise unveiling less known cultural mores and non-cynical innocent-minded tone, Durgeshgorer Guptodhon is comfort viewing for people who liked Guptodhoner Sandhane and in general fans of the Feluda movie
adaptations (better than some of the Sandip Ray ventures). Like with the
first film, the cinematography is pleasant, (especially the shot of the
Durga procession moving across the fields) and composer Bickram Ghosh
does an excellent job with the story-advancing songs and background
score (he also did wonderful work for Har Har Byomkesh and Byomkesh Pawrbo).
It was my weakness for the old-school YA-friendly detective adventure, which eschews cynicism, gruesome violence and tortured psyches, that led me to check out Guptodhoner Sandhane (GS) aka Hunt for Hidden Treasure. GS is Satyajit Ray's Feluda by way of National Treasure. Kollywood's favorite sleuth actor Abir Chatterjee, after having played both Feluda and Byomkesh Bakshi, now dons the part of Subarna Sen alias Sona-da, a history professor from Oxford (represented by overcoat and muffler scarf) with a penchant for solving puzzles, and when called for, fisticuffs too.
Sona-da accompanies his food-obsessed lawyer nephew / companion Abir (Arjun Chakrabarty) to the 350-year old family mansion in Manikantapur village (Oh, these delicious Bong names!), where they find both clues to a hidden ancient treasure as well as mysterious nocturnal sightings. Teaming up with Abir's childhood-friend-now-chirpy-lass Jhinuk (Isha Saha), they set out to solve the mystery while also facing the unfriendly advances of a local politician-goon Dasanan (Rajatabha Datta) who is out to get the treasure for himself. The movie also has cameo appearances from Gautam Ghose and Arindam Sil.
GS is not some scintillating exercise in detective movie-making, but it's good comfort food (and I'm not just referring to the sight of the tasty Bengali dishes shown). There's a smattering of fictionalized history; the treasure is supposed to have been originally the property of prince Shah Shuja, the son of Mughal emperor Jehangir who fought (and lost) with both Dara Shukoh and Aurangzeb, before he fled to Myanmar. The light-hearted tone and the honoring of the family-friendly spirit in which Ray wrote his Feluda spirit keeps the proceedings pleasant and easy to watch. The setting of the family mansion and adjoining ruins is well-realized with some nice night-time photography.
GS could have fared better in the writing. There are too many A-ha! moments that muddy the detective aspects of the story. It also suffers from making Sona-da omnipotent. If our historian puzzle solver can also biff-pow bad guys, what's left for anyone else to do? Abir is mostly reduced to a gluttonous scaredy-cat buffoon, making you wonder why the curious and plucky Jhinuk would have anything but contempt for this friend. A more even spreading of the heroic qualities among the leads would have led to a complimentary dynamic between our desiThree Investigators.
But it does well enough as an easy-to-watch on a lazy afternoon family-friendly mystery adventure, especially for fans of the Feluda stories. Apparently there's a sequel called Durgeshgorer Guptodhon, but from my initial impressions it seems to be almost identical to the first film.
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