The Hindu : New Delhi News : Yesterday once more at the theatres this week Cinema

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Sunday, Aug 05, 2007
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New Delhi

Yesterday once more at the theatres this week Cinema

A date with the past: While Gandhi My Father explores a sensitive father-son relationship, Naya Daur evokes nostalgia

NAYA DAUR

(At Delite Diamond and other Delhi theatres)

Nostalgia is nice. A heart enfeebled by an enervating wait longed for that good old magic again. The Dilip Kumar-Vyjayantimala pair rocked the nation to some of the best songs ever picturised on the Hindi cinema screen. Those songs that told you life is a paradise. That wonderfully unfolding romance when holding hands was the height of expression and a date by bed was never ever alluded to. The long wait for a return to those days is over now and B. R. Chopra’s ̶ 0;Naya Daur” dusted, revived and all spruced up in colour is here again for us in original.

The same joy of longing, the same mischievous flirtation. The silent expression of love through Vyjayantimala’s tranquil eyes, the brilliant voice modulation of the incomparable Dilip Kumar, who rode a tonga much, much before the horse came to be employed as a macho symbol by Bollywood. Not a suggestive word, not a micro second of vulgarity – girls here all wear full-sleeve blouses, no midriff showing, no chest heaving – just a love story set against the larger backdrop of a society in flux, the onslaught of capitalism that threatened to render the non-skilled workers jobless. And all this now in aesthetically blended colours.

Fine “Mughal-e-Azam”, K. Asif’s much talked about 1960 film, clicked in all colour, but why Chopra’s “Naya Daur”, a 1957 saga of the triumph of man over machine? Simply because the message still holds. Just sandpaper away the machine part. Replace domestic capitalism with globalisation, and you know what Chopra, no Nostradamus himself, said was a warning of the times to come. Malls and multiplexes springing up on green fields are the next stage of the machine age ushered in the times of “Naya Daur”, the 1950s, the peak of Nehruvian socialism. There is many a small tribute to a society where everybody contributed to the best of his deed and reaped according to his need. At one level, it is a lilting romance with the peerless O. P. Nayyar in magical form. He is a sorcerer with the beat. At another level, it is a call for egalitarianism, social solidarity. And both the facets are enlivened by Sahir Ludhianvi’s pen, now dipped in the ideals of the Progressive Writers Movement – “Saathi haath badhana….” – now soaked in colours of love, naughty, furtive yet never sinful – “Maang ke saath tumhara….”

Yes, there is “Ude jab jab zulfe teri….” too, a song way ahead of its time with the lady taking the initiative in a romantic inter-change of praises. Simple lyrics, profound meaning, backed up by a music score that has the rhythm of the tonga beats, the energy of a dholak, and a feel that tells you sorrow is the farthest thing from a heart in love. Not to forget Mohammed Rafi in “Aana hai to aaa….”, a bhajan that moved many a million. Or Johny Walker’s crackling side show as an urban journalist looking for his scoop in real India.

Add to all that a subject that is so very relevant today too: forget all those nasty jibes about the bus-tonga race. Look at the essence. The poor had to fight for their due then. They have to do the same today as one family spends in one evening at a multiplex what another does not earn in a month. The film could have been heavily edited for a modern-day audience with its compulsions of time. But remember it was made in an era which allowed the luxury of detail. They say tomorrow never dies. But yesterday lives on. In many forms. In naya daur. Many might have seen it in a little over aath aana back when it had a silver jubilee run as a black and white film. See it in colour now for a hundred bucks. It was worth the money then. It is worth the money today too.

GANDHI MY FATHER

(At Spice PVR, Noida; and Delhi theatres)

The Father of the Nation continues to be paid periodic visits by purveyors of dreams.

This time, though, director Feroz Abbas Khan has dared to touch on a subject of the Mahatma’s life nobody has ever alluded to in cinema.

He takes the glare away from the man who gave a new momentum to the country’s freedom struggle with the Champaran Satyagraha.

Instead, he is here as a human being, a man, father to millions of countrymen, who had a family of his own. A wife to take care of; and four sons. Among them was Harilal, the eldest, who realised to his dismay that the nation had deprived him of his father.

It has a most enticing of premises, and for large chunks it lives up to the expectations.

It is not easy to grow under a tall tree whose shadow casts everything under its shadow. Harilal – Akshaye Khanna in the most important role of his career so far – realises that being Gandhiji’s son is a blessing he cannot thank God enough for.

It is also a burden he never asked for. Now paying the price for his father’s ideals, now a victim of the inadequacies allowed to men born of lesser mortals. It is engaging as long as the focus is on Harilal finding his feet.

It is in the story-telling, the narration, that Feroz’s film suffers.

In itself every moment is packed with style and substance. Yet there is nothing to hold it all together.

The way the film moves it is like a series of small incidents, good enough by themselves.

But the missing commonality is jarring.

There is lack of drama, not quite enough of a punch. And a tepid pace.

The father-son conflict could be of any era but Darshan Jariwala as Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi in South Africa is a refreshing change from the stereotypes of Gandhiji we have got accustomed to. True his weight fluctuates throughout the film, from being on the heavier side to quite lean.

But he rises above the predictables about Gandhiji and etches a neat portrait. His body language, his silence speaks more for him than anything else.

Young Bhumika as Gulab, Harilal’s wife, is fetching in a cameo while Shefali gets into her role only at the fag end. Akshaye? He is disappointing. He does not modulate his voice enough, there is a flat pattern to his dialogue delivery, and except for a couple of scenes, he never allows silent expression to take over.

Good in parts, forgettable in others.

That is the mixed bag Feroz has churned out. Watch “Gandhi My Father” only for the honesty of its purpose, its aesthetics.

CASH

(At Fun Republic, Kaushambi; and Delhi theatres)

Director Anubhav Sinha’s “Cash” has reached the theatres after a week’s delay. We are indebted for the respite.

It is the kind of film that shakes your faith in the ability of our filmmakers to do anything more than a shoddy copy of some of the crasser films of Hollywood.

Sinha, who promised something with “Tum Bin” and did not exactly disappoint with “Dus”, falls terribly short.

This diamond heist involving guys with gelled hair, gals with spaghetti tops, a female cop who dances like item number girls, and a plot that has as many loopholes as there are berths in a passenger train, is a strict no-no. Shot in scenic Cape Town, it has style, chutzpah, zing. But it is all stylised.

All too artificial to sustain interest.

Moments of adrenaline pumping fare come with dollops of shallow stuff.

Do not spend your hard earned cash on this Ajay ‘Style’ Devgan or any of his mediocre cohorts stuff here.

SURF’S UP

(At PVR, Saket and other Delhi theatres)

Penguins are ruling the roost this summer. Hot on the heels of “Penguins: A Love Story” and “Happy Feet” comes “Surf’s Up”, a touching saga of the wingless bird that will move you.

Directed by Ash Brannon and Chris Buck, it is one of those documentary style films that will appeal to kids while not keeping the adults unhappy either. It narrates the tale of a penguin from Shiverpool – where else? – that cannot fly but can surf. And how! Cody Maverick wants to be the champion surfer, ahead of the rest. All this in a tribute to the king penguin who had visited his little isle once.

The focus shifts from Antarctica to milder climes but the race is on.

With small sub-plots and constant gags, it is the kind of fare pre-teen kids would lap up. Of course it does not have the universal appeal of “Happy Feet”, but with its technical wizardry, with its crisp pace, it is value for money.

The voiceovers by Shia LaBeout and Jeff Bridge help too. Rise and shine, watch “Surf’s Up” with kids. Good fun.

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