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With no prejudice, of course

THIS FILM comes with many professions of pleasure Gurinder Chadha's powers of storytelling, much like the Bennets, are considerable. And like Jane Austen, she can relate an anecdote with humour, laugh at acquaintances with spirit and familiarity. Also she can take the viewers from one scene to another with a boisterousness bordering on the dazzling. However, here truth falls short of fame - she may not tire of any conversation in real life, but her Bakshis - Austen's Bennets - fail to engage viewers with their talk, mannerism and laughter. And this Bride, with no prejudice fails to evoke anything more than an occasional smile. She nudges you, even teases you but never has you in thrall.

Aishwarya Rai might still flatter with the delicacy of her features, and it may not be easy for viewers to look at her for a length of time with composure, but the script is too thin for cinegoers to care for the beauty of the lady, and the lady for their admiration. As Lalita, she is adequate without ever promising to rise above a mediocre, very Hindi film-like plot, where a guy comes from the West, initially reserves scorn for Indian tradition - only for all the natives, except, of course the heroine, to fawn over him. And then he has a change of heart, only for the girl to question the morality of the West. You see half of the marriages made in heaven end up in a divorce in America!

Not really Austen

Add to that a quarter dozen other sisters, and a couple of sub-plots and you know why Austen would not have been too pleased to see this cine translation of her timeless work. This, despite Henderson's suitably studious Darcy, and a brave attempt at bhangra!

Yes, the film does start off on a bright note with Anu Malik's "Balle Balle" number having the zing reserved only for moments when challenged. There is a lot of untamed energy in storytelling, and some goody-goody moments when theatre veteran Nadira lets herself go as the mother of four girls keen to get them married off. But then we come across a roadblock which means the first half ends where it all began, with neither of the girls any closer to matrimony, or viewers to satisfaction. Too bad, considering Chadha does pick up the threads as the Bakshis head to LA - incidentally the film is called Balle Balle Amritsar to LA in Hindi - and London. There is a dash of drama, a little tug at the heart. But then the tumult of joy, the candour of expression gives way to affectation. And all the elegance of understatements comes too late in the day to save a film which is a sad mixture of imbecility and impoverishment - the script writer makes a neat fist of the former, and the director shows it when it comes to ideas.

Yes, all this might seem disrespectful to the memory of Jane Austen, and the considerable prowess of Chadha, but then resentment is hardly a becoming trait for the admirers of two women so richly endowed. No prejudice, it is just a sleight gone awry.

ZIYA US SALAM

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