Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)

Like a great looming shadow, so is Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. It's impossible to write a blog on Hindi movies without mentioning the film a kabillion times - if only because of its outrageously offensive Orientalism, and the fact that Amrish Puri is in it. Yesterday, after a full-on Harrison Ford bonanza of film-watching, which included much of the Star Wars sixology as well as the underwhelming What Lies Beneath, we watched Temple of Doom. It was like the "oogledy boogledy!" icing on a crazy cake.

The last time we had seen it, we were young, impressionable Harrison Ford worshipers who didn't worry about things like Orientalism and just focused on how glistening his biceps were. Now, older and wiser, we can say: his biceps are so shiny! And his chest...! Ooh, la la.

Many apologies. This is a SERIOUS review about a SERIOUS problem: the wrongness of Temple of Doom. Because, as one of our viewing companions noted, if the government won't let you film in their country because your story is too racist and your top-choice screenwriter refuses to work on it because he finds it "ugly and mean-spirited", maybe it's time to rethink the story? Apparently not, Spielberg and Lucas decided.

In Temple of Doom, which could be titled Indy Takes On Asia, we follow the continuing adventures of Dr. Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford, He of the Heroical Jawline), archaeologist, adventurer, stud. The story opens in China, where, after an unfortunate run-in with some Shanghai-based gangsters, Indy is almost poisoned to death, but saved by his sidekick, Short Round (Jonathan Ke Quan), and an antidote buried deep in the bosom of the blonde, vacuous Willie (Kate Capshaw, a self-proclaimed feminist - who knew!). Boarding the first plane they find, they fly off into the Himalayas, where the evil pilots parachute away, leaving them in charge of a plane without fuel. (An expensive way to kill someone, but no matter.) Indy and the gang are saved by the cunning use of an inflatable raft.


A KEY SCENE for worshipers of Harrison Ford's body. For the love of Harrison Ford, LOOK at that arm! That jawline!

After careening down the Himalayas, they flop into a river (the Ganges?!) and are swept into a poor, starving village. The despairing villagers inform Indy that one of their Shiva lingam stones has been stolen by the dastardly residents of the nearby Pankot Palace. Indy et al. assure the villagers that they will get their lingam back. After meeting the bespectacled, Anglicized "Prime Minister" of Pankot (Roshan Seth... who else?), eating monkey brains, beetle bums and snake-filled-with-snakes, the gang gets lost in the labyrinthine palace cellars. There, they witness a thundering, blood-smeared Kali worship session, complete with human sacrifice and Amrish Puri (yay!) in a feathered headdress. They also witness child slavery, and this is clearly not gonna fly. So after a very, very long and violent denouement, Indy gets the lingam back, curses Amrish Puri in his own Hindi ("Tum vishwas karte ho!" Harrison seethes, again and again), frees the children and manages to boost the village's agricultural yields in the meantime! Who needs the World Bank and Amnesty International when you've got Indy!?

One tiny point in this film's favor on the Sensitivity Scale was the moment when Indy, Willie and Short Round are welcomed to the village. Fed some paltry curry on a banana leaf, Willie refuses because it looks gross, and Indy starts to lose his patience: "This is more than these people eat in a week. Eat it. You're offending them and embarrassing me." We've actually faced some similar situations before (minus the demonic cult bit), and it's actually a nice little moment showing the inadvertent offensive behavior people can have, especially in places of poverty.

But that moment of enlightenment feels more like an accident than anything intentional.


When we go to India, we want (1) to have Roshan Seth greet us in spectacles with "PPCC, the eminent blogger?" and (2) chilled monkey brains for desert.

So: were we really offended by Temple of Doom? Is it really so SERIOUS? Its outrageously unrealistic representation of India is about as outrageously unrealistic (and in the same, zany, mish-mash aesthetic!) as the representations of the British in masala films like Mard or Kranti. A key difference is that, with confident and optimistic American-centric machismo, Indy just wants to help these poor north Indian folk... speaking not-Hindi... in a palm-treed village... by the Himalayas. That - this fuzzy feeling of wanting to help people - is already a lot more palatable for the PPCC than the underlying anger of Mard and Kranti, which uses the real historical problem of colonialism to make a film filled with racist violence and mutual ridicule. Of course, silly, racist Hollywood films and silly, racist Hindi films will probably have different tones (optimistic vs. pessimistic racism?) given the different historical contexts. Or are we being silly and racist?!

After all this talk, we weren't really personally offended by Temple of Doom. We knew what we were getting into. Because not only is it ignorant and, well, stupid, but it's also just bad. It does itself damage by the ridiculousness of its premise and presentation - over-the-top even for Indy! - and we're pretty confident that anyone of average intelligence who is older than 12 will recognize that you can't get your ideas about the world from the Indiana Jones series. Trying to apply logic or subtlety to Indy is like trying to make cheese ice cream: it's just not gonna happen! It won't work! What's more important is: does the stupidity and racism of Temple of Doom have possibly damaging consequences in real-life? We at the PPCC don't think so - apart from feelings of annoyance, like the caricatures of Americans in Karan Johar films - we trust in people to know that Indy is not really a good guide to the world. Are we too optimistic? Are we too optimistic because we're white? Do we sound like Harrison Ford when he speaks Hindi ("Row-kow!"
he tells people when he wants them to stop)? We'll let the reader लोग decide.

Janbaaz (1986)

Moral purists, beware: Janbaaz (Daredevil) is not for you. It is a raunchy, sleazy, anti-morality fable that is sometimes nightmarishly (sometimes hilariously!) anti-puritan. The heart and soul of the film - the lustful attraction between the thoughtless hedonist, Amar (Anil Kapoor), and the badass, hard-core Reshma (Dimple Kampadia) - is not very vanilla or even masala. It's actually a lot more... Rocky Road (da dum shhh - thank you, thank you, we'll be here all night). Rocky Road with a strong helping of 1980s tackiness and SLEAZE. So if you recoil from vile anti-heroics and dodgy fashion sense, stay away. If instead you are like the PPCC and you suspend not only disbelief but also moral indignance when watching certain films, then Janbaaz is a plain ol' hoot and a hog. Or should we say: (insert your own poultry-related double entendre here). We loved it! It was a spectacle of pulp! Gosh, Anil's good at those. We also think (drumroll) that what it's really really about is not the 1980s fashion of drug dramas, but the modern cult of Dionysus.


Your brain on drugs.


The gorgeous and (mostly) empowered Reshma (Dimple Kampadia).

Molding itself along the two-brothers masala standard, only with a filter of old school Miami Vice, Janbaaz concerns itself with the strange moral quagmire that is the Singh family. These people run the gamut of the usual Mother Theresa-meets-Gandhiji fare (a favorite of masala moral tales!) to... well, Anil Kapoor in full-on bastard mode. The father, Rana Vikram Singh (Amrish Puri), is an aging epicurean (small e) who finds his older, straight edge son, Rajesh (Feroz Khan), incredibly dull, and instead showers praise and encouragement on his permanently-in-a-stupor younger son, Amar (Anil Kapoor). On a night when Amar lurches home after snorting lines of cocaine and playing Russian roulette, father Rana laughs with gusto: "Bravo, son, well done!" What's an honest Stoic (big S) to do in this house of sin?

Well, poor, harassed elder son Rajesh asks himself this, again and again. A police officer in the Narcotics squad (Hindi Movie Irony Bell goes CLANG!), he toils in a sighing, hang-dog way under the moral contradictions of his father and the moral vacuum of his brother, still grieving over his lost love (Sridevi in a cameo) and getting no love from anyone - except maybe his similarly bewildered-lost-lamb mother (Sushma Seth).


Father and son yakking it up over the most inappropriate party stories.


See what Reshma can do to your Macho!

One day, a new element is thrown into the mix with the arrival of the strong, capable Reshma (Dimple Kampadia). Recently orphaned after her gambler father (a dashing Kulbhushan Kharbanda) was killed by the local drug gang (among them Shakti Kapoor), Reshma is more like Rajesh: serious, hard-working, living unhappily under a shadow of sin (she's an illegitimate child, something no one ever tires of reminding her), and she doesn't suffer fools gladly. Or, for that matter, lecherous fathers and wastrel sons. As Amar tries his usual come-on strategy of strutting around and making godawful double entendres, Reshma does what any self-respecting girl would do: she rolls her eyes, gives him a good slap now and again (including ramming pie down his throat in one of the most satisfying scenes) and even - interestingly! - shows him who wears the pants by unmanning him via his horse (appropriately named, "Macho"). And then - surprise! - she falls for him, or falls for something, and soon enough they're rolling around in the hay.

And it's all fun in the hay until someone gets a pitchfork to the back, and we find ourselves on the run with Amar and Reshma on the motorcycle and Rajesh following close behind. Throw in one disgruntled drug gang, and the fact that it's 1986, and you're in for some full-throttle, grenade-explosion, flame-thrower dishoom dishoom.

There's a word in Italian for what Anil Kapoor looks like in this film: "sbronzo". Basically, it means sozzled - but not just drunk, it means that sort of tanned, bleary-eyed, ravaged nose drunkenness found only in the most devoted long-term drinker. As he guzzles champagne for breakfast, snorts coke for lunch and knocks back Johnny Walker for supper, you can only imagine what Amar's liver must look like! That man may be young, but - thanks to Anil's constant blush and trademark scraggly stubble - it looks like it's taking its toll, too. A tough cookie like Reshma is just what this guy needs if he's going to live past 35.


Sbronzo! Not to be confused with "stronzo", which is, well, also applicable.

Which segues nicely into Reshma and the relationship: a more typical masala heroine would have fallen for the poor, quietly tragic Rajesh, not the jackass Amar. And yet Reshma falls for Amar! Is it his gracious charm? (Definitely not, he has none!) Is it his studly mustache? (Possible!) We actually think she falls for that glamorously tawdry Dionysus in him. For those not up on their Greco-Roman mythology, Dionysus (called Bacchus by the Romans) was the god of wine, women and theater. He had all sorts of colorful, grisly things happen to him (including getting ripped apart by the Titans during one of his various deaths) and he represents, in modern aesthetics (and thanks mostly to Nietszche's reinvention of him), that sort of loose cannon, unregulated, uninhibited and unintellectual art that comes straight from the gut. A good example would be Jackson Pollock: an alcoholic painter famous for a style where he used to fling, dribble and pour the paint onto the canvas.

So Dionysus - the original and most archetypal "black sheep" of Olympus - has an attractively rebellious anti-hero quality to him, and he has become - like the Byronic loner - a standard character found in various incarnations in various media (film, music, art, etc). Dionysus has long been associated with the primal, and the marginal strata of society - back in the day, there was the cult of Dionysus which was renowned for its frenzied, crazy meetings and shrieking female fans. So of course Amar - the Dionysus of Janbaaz - is (1) going to be a male chauvinist jackass whose sole motivations are satisfying base, primal impulses and (2) Reshma, a "marginal" of society (lady! tough lady who wears pants! illegitimate daughter!), is going to fall for him. Tellingly too, their relationship is all about lust initially - even from Reshma's side (as baffling as that may be considering Amar's fashion sense - off-the-shoulder sweaters! - and hairiness), a rarity in the genre. Things go a lot more Hindi when that initial attraction turns into the emotional investment of real love and Reshma becomes a helpless damsel in distress. But everything up until that point: pure, seedy Dionysian. And the point of this film and the source of its notoriety is, after all, its envelope-pushing seediness, not its somewhat deflated ending.


Dionysus and Ariadne?

A short interlude about the PPCC's critical philosophy

Now, just to preempt a comment that could be made: yes, we know that Feroz Khan probably wasn't thinking explicitly about Dionysus/Bacchus when he made this film. But that doesn't mean the meaning's not there!

We at the PPCC are followers of the "death of the author" school of thought - that is, we don't believe that the author/artist/filmmaker's intentions are the most valid interpretation of a text/art/film. Just because the author didn't consciously put something into his art doesn't mean it didn't end up in there anyway. To take an example, J.R.R. Tolkien intended Lord of the Rings to be a Catholic allegory, but he also ended up with a World War II allegory - something he fervently denied. Does this make interpreting Lord of the Rings as a World War II allegory wrong? Not at all! In fact, it would be silly to dismiss the idea, considering Tolkien's background and context. (For crying out loud, he wrote it during the war!) You can go even further: people have argued that Lord of the Rings is an environmentalist allegory. Indeed, ecocriticism - the interpretation of literature through the lens of environmentalism - is a very recent development that by definition relies on reevaluating older texts in a completely modern way - a way which was probably furthest from the authors' minds. Of course Shakespeare probably didn't mean to make King Lear a "green" play, but that doesn't mean a green interpretation is wrong or invalid. Quite the opposite! And it's one of many, many valid interpretations. The possibilities are really endless!

Before you think we're just critical theory anarchists who'll accept any interpretation about anything, we do have two rules. An interpretation is valid if:

1. It presents a genuinely novel, stimulating way of understanding both the text/art/film and, where possible (brownie points awarded), reality. For example, Film X is a meta-representation of Swiss cheese...
2. It does so in a convincing, rigorous way, using real evidence from the text. For example, ...because its plot is full of holes!

So basically the argument is important - as long as you've got evidence and facts (Amar is a wastrel, Dionysus is the god of wastrels, Dionysus was worshiped by marginalized women, a marginalized woman falls for Amar) then you've got a valid argument (Amar is Dionysus). The fact "Feroz Khan probably doesn't know that much about Dionysus" is just as important as the "Amar is a wastrel" fact - one doesn't cancel out the other. QED. Ta da!

Back to the review

Anyway.

In terms of performances, everyone is fine - with the real stand-out being Amrish Puri. Feroz Khan, who also directed the film, channels Manoj Kumar both in his directorial style and in his performance: he's the put-upon, quietly suffering, noble fighter for justice. The only problem is: we like it better when Manoj Kumar does it, perhaps because of his quirky, mumbling delivery style and nervous hands. Feroz, for however cute he is in an aging post-evergreen sort of way, seems to suffer from Frozen Face Syndrome.


Feroz's frozen face, item 1: Interrogating a drug lord.


Item 2: hearing something horrible has happened to a loved one.

Anil Kapoor has the more colorful role and basically hams it up. He's already played a rated-PG Dionysus for comedy value in Welcome, and he's always been very good at projecting maximum sleaze. Plus, his OTT performance style is perfectly suited to characters with tenuous grips on their serenity (and sobriety). Yay for Anil (again!)!


Dionysus doesn't feel too hot in chiaroscuro.

Dimple is new to the PPCC and, based on this debut performance, we give her two big thumbs up. In particular, she managed to find herself in a very feminist-unfriendly role - the girl who falls for the chauvinistic player and, later, the damsel-in-distress - and yet she manages to project strength, assurance and general badassness throughout the film. When she knees Shakti Kapoor during the dennouement - priceless. This girl doesn't need any help!

The standout performance though was Amrish Puri. He proved again and again that he could play the bug-eyed villain, but in Janbaaz, he gets a meatier role. The patriarchal Rana is a complex, contradictory figure: lecherous on one occasion and gently loving on another, a rebellious hedonist who becomes morally indignant about illegitimacy, and very, very flawed. But - like Anupam Kher in 1942: A Love Story - this was a role we could get behind, a role that gave an iconic villain a chance to flex some of those hidden acting muscles. It gave Amrish a lot of room to maneuver, and his gruff, morally ambiguous father figure was the best part of the show.

And finally, we should mention the aesthetics. Feroz Khan has taken a big lesson out of the Manoj Kumar School of Directing: hallucinogenic imagery (eggs exploding! hammers smashing into flowers! a cresting wave!) and INCREDIBLY BLUNT symbolism (wild, untamed stallions! the stud farm! passionate people literally catching fire!). He also seemed hell-bent on pushing the Hindi mainstream envelope. We all know about the roll in the hay by now, but there's also the overall theme of humanizing the immoral anti-hero and tough illegitimate daughter as well as the crazy amounts of on-screen drug use, violence and eroticism. This still doesn't get much further than an American PG-13 rating but it was, in a Hindi film, very unexpected!

Anyway, there's still more we could talk about - the Sufi presence was well-noted, and it would be interesting to compare Sufi and Dionysian aesthetics; also, Rekha's WTF cameo - but we'll leave that for another day. Today, we can only encourage you to enjoy Janbaaz, but please, watch responsibly.

Mr. India (1987)

MR. INDIAAAAAAA!!!

Honestly, the sub genre of "zany comic book movie where Anil Kapoor plays scruffy common man superhero who ends up saving India from the evils of Amrish Puri" is SO FREAKING AWESOME. Okay, so there have only been two films in this genre so far: the highly fabulous Nayak: The Real Hero and the similarly fabulous Mr. India. But it's great! They should make more! Indeed, Filmi Girl recently noted that it's high time for Anil Kapoor to step into some sort of superhero role - and we agree. But don't give the man a cape, just give him his mustache, a big ol' heart and some wacky hijinx - and behold the awesomeness!

Mr. India, for the two or three of you who haven't heard of this film, is about a scruffy violin teacher, Arun (Anil Kapoor, in a strangely appealing mullet). Arun's just a regular guy with a heart of gold, and he runs a makeshift orphanage in his massive house by the sea. With his greasy cook, Calendar (Satish Kaushik), Arun struggles to make ends meet, but, alas, sometimes the kids go hungry for the day (also, none of them seem to go to school). One day, after threats of eviction, Arun and Calendar hit on the idea of subletting the attic flat to perky journalist Seema (Sridevi). The only problem is - Seema hates kids! Hilarity ensues.


We need a chair like that. IN THE PALM OF OUR HAND, MWA HA HA!

Running tangential to this (relatively) normal plot, there is the evil Mogambo (an amazing Amrish Puri) who, with his evil henchmen - Daagat (Sharat Saxena), Teja (Ajit Vachani), Captain Zorro (Gur Bachchan Singh), Dr. Fu Manchu (?!), and evil English Mr. Wolcott (Bob Christo) - plans to destabilize, subjugate and destroy India. "MOGAMBO... KHUSH HUA!!!" ("MOGAMBO... IS HAPPY!") Mogambo often bellows in that wonderfully bug-eyed way. But as happy as Mogambo is, the job is still not complete: he needs the legendary Invisibility Formula™! And who should have developed this formula but... Arun's late father! When family friend, Professor Sinha (an unexpected cameo by Ashok Kumar!), manages to deliver to Arun the Invisibility Bracelet™ - well, you can just imagine the wackiness which goes down. Arun, now armed with invisibility and a new name, Mr. India (!), becomes a champion of justice and a major thorn in Mogambo's side. Much, much hilarity ensues.

Now, the reason we group Mr. India with the later Nayak is because both films are superficially comic books stuffed full of ridiculous moments, yet within both pumps a real, earnest heart. They don't tease or undermine the very real problems that the hero has to tackle (even if, okay, those evils are embodied by the cackling Amrish Puri, who Western audiences will recognize from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom). Corruption, adulterated foods, poverty, drug smuggling - this stuff really happens, and the filmmakers know it. And even on a micro level, the emotions are played straight. Robots or pot people might be lumbering by, but the emotional core is genuine. For example, in both films, tragedy strikes and the hero loses someone close to him. And, in both films, thanks partly to Anil Kapoor's awesomeness and partly to the director's wisdom, the scene is played straight - it just really is sad. In fact, we're a little embarrassed to admit this, but we actually cried when it happened in this film.

Yes, world, we cried during Mr. India.

Moving speedily along, it's a little difficult to review a film that's already a cult classic - how can we say anything new? Instead, we can point you in the direction of BollyBob's, Carla's, or Prof. Lutgendorf's review. They've covered everything. So what can the PPCC offer?

Uh...

Well, not much! You just have to watch this film. If you don't find yourself smiling like an idiot through most of it, you've probably got some adulterated heart of STONE. Some of the major selling points are:

1. The orphans!


Awww, group cuddle!

The PPCC has a not-so-secret fantasy to one day have a brood of children, just a big ol' pile of them, pound puppy style. Lucky Mr. India's already got that! And goodness, these children are wonderful. We especially loved the ones who breakdance throughout the entire film (they're electric!) and the slightly nerdy sidekick.

2. The meltdowns!


Anil Kapoor; what does the scouter say about his power level? It's OVER NINE THOUSAAAAAAAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Although we joined the Anil Kapoor Fanclub because of a relatively subdued scene (and no, we will never stop finding opportunities to plug that song), we've gotta say he works his mustachioed magic most in the moments when he just flips out like some demented nutcase.

3. The filmmaking!

Hey, Shekhar Kapur's Shekhar Kapur. This is the guy who made Masoom, Elizabeth, Elizabeth: The Golden Age and The Four Feathers. This film may have been lo-fi, but the filmmaking technique is so smart that - man, we totally lapped it up! You'd think a sci-fi fantasy with low production values would only be worth a snicker, yet so many of the scenes - like the one where Arun discovers the invisibility bracelet for the first time - were exhiliratingly zany.

4. The songs!


From the fun medley.

Ahhh. The epic Laxmikant-Pyarelal medley which Prof. Lutgendorf rightly calls an "operatic duel" was faaab, as was Sridevi's fantastic comic timing in the Miss Hawa Hawaii song (or, as the subtitles call her, "Miss Breeze Breezy"), or the cheekily horny Kate Nahi Kat Te Yeh Raat (complete with an invisible roll in the hay and excellent Drums of Eroticism - similar to the Sitars of Sex).

5. The ass-kicking heroine!


We love it when Sridevi goes, "Heeeeee!" in that airy falsetto.

Sridevi had to work pretty hard to earn back our affections after Lamhe, but she succeeded - what with her impromptu Charlie Chaplin impression, eating the fruit from her own fruit hat, or just generally kicking various henchmen's butts, she was great!

5. The sequel?!

Is it true, internet?! But without Shekhar Kapur directing?! Well, either way, we're obviously going to be there, first show, first night.

The PPCC... KHUSH HUE!

Vijeta (1982)

We had high hopes for Vijeta (The Victor). It sounded right up our alley - early 80s Shashi! Govind Nihalani! parallel cinema! minority religion! - and we're happy to report that we were not disappointed.


If we were more informed, we would draw parallels with Top Gun... except we've never actually seen all of Top Gun.

Vijeta tells the story of young Angad Singh (Kunal Kapoor, real-life son). As his mother, Neelima (Rekha), describes him, Angad is an Angry Young Man. He has just failed out of another boarding school, much to the consternation of his stern father, Nihal (Shashi Kapoor, real-life father), and he is angst-ridden, aimless and toying with the idea of suicide. Home is a toxic place, where Angad's parents engage in nasty arguments - the residues of Nihal's past infidelity - and the battle lines are drawn - Angad sides with his mother, resents his father.


OMG and anyone would resent this guy. Shashi is excellent as the horrible pater familias.


Oh, Holden! Hang in there!

It takes a visit from his maternal uncle, Arvind (Om Puri), to kick-start Angad's adulthood. Arvind, with his ruler-straight posture and meticulous precision, is a military man. After being shown around the warboat Arvind works on, Angad is inspired: he wants to join the air force too! While his mother and grandmother (Dina Pathak) agree to the idea, Angad's father is adamantly opposed. After more oppressive tension, Angad is finally allowed to go.

The rest of the film follow his slow awakening and maturation as he transforms himself from an emo punk into a responsible, sympathetic and brave young man. In the final quarter of the film, India goes to war with Pakistan (it's 1971, apparently?) and, after several tragedies, Angad's rite of passage ends on a bittersweet yet hopeful note.


A gorgeous, slow, Zen tracking shot. Just perfect.


Angad's three buddies, each a religious rep - Hindu, Muslim, Christian. The guy on the right, K.K. Raina, was fab!

Now that plot summary doesn't really do justice to what is a considerably more complex and interesting film. We'll try to mention the major themes we noticed, but obviously - being non-Indian and with a tenuous grasp of recent Indian history - we can't cover everything, as we probably didn't get everything. And unfortunately our usual guru on all things Hindi cinema, Prof. Philip Lutgendorf, hasn't reviewed this yet.

Fathers and their children. If Angad's Growing Up is the foreground theme, then Fathers is the background. While the plot centers on Angad, it is bookended and constantly informed by the story of his father, Nihal. In the very first scene, a sleeping Nihal suffers a flashback to Partition-era Punjab and we see that most of his family was murdered in the rioting. The last scene, likewise, features the resolution to Nihal's plotline. In this way, the movie's a lot like the great Mississippi Masala, where the child's coming of age is cast against the broader historical angst that the father brings with him.


On-screen, off-screen father...


...and son. We at the PPCC love visual parallels like this. Sigh!

The relationship between Nihal and Angad is one of the film's big emotional hooks. Initially, Angad is full of resentment for Nihal's past infidelity and Nihal's treatment of his wife. Indeed, Nihal is a very flawed man: he is the self-pitying patriarch, throwing his weight around, quick to remind everyone of how hard his life has been, and, when that doesn't work, using the slow poison of guilt. Argh! The arguments between Nihal and Neelimi were painfully evocative, mostly because they were so real. Expect no masala melodrama with which to emotionally distance yourself! Instead, the film works to show you how alienated father and son initially are (see also the themes of religion), so that, in their moments of closeness, it's all the more poignant. Alas, expect no masala-style weepy reconciliation either. Sigh.

The second most important father is the air force instructor, Verghese (Amrish Puri). Our young Angad falls in love with Verghese's daughter, Anna (Supriya Pathak), and there is much hero-worshipping of Verghese by everyone - Anna, Angad, the other fighter pilots. He's like a father to his air force students, and he is generally a great guy: stern yet sympathetic, strong, blah blah. Basically he juxtaposes starkly against the relatively selfish and somewhat spineless (wait 'til you hear his excuse for the infidelity! it's very WTF) Nihal. However, the film's ultimate message seems to be an acceptance of flawed human beings. Nice.

Religions. Most mainstream Hindi movies that we've PPCCed are primarily from a Hindu perspective, with Islam, Christianity and Sikhism playing supporting, stereotyped roles. It was very refreshing to see a movie told from a Sikh perspective. While the usual Blunt Hindi Movie Pluralism is present - Angad's fighter pilot buddies are a Hindu, a Muslim, and a Christian - these guys aren't caricatures. Furthermore (and interestingly!), the second most prominent religion in the film is Christianity.

Another way in which religion is used is to create more distance between father Nihal and the rest of the family. While Nihal's nightmares show that he used to live as a devout Sikh, when he wakes we see that he's shed the dastar and wears only the karra bracelet. His secularism is emphasized further: he's a bit boozy and he works on (self-described) "low-grade" films featuring cheesy Western song and dances. Meanwhile, Angad has been raised devout, and Neelimi sings devotional songs at dawn and listens only to classical Hindustani.

Flight. It was cute to see a movie about growing up using flight as the main symbol. Angad's departure from the nest becomes literally all about learning to fly, and one of the pivotal scenes is when he takes his first solo flight. It's one of the sweetest and most inspiring moments in the film, and we can only thank Govind Nihalani for letting the plot slow down so we can admire the gorgeous cloud kingdoms with Angad. This sequence also ties in with the theme of fathers, and it's very affecting overall.


Angad's first solo flight, which is a great sequence. Another director who loves the motif of flight: Hayao Miyazaki.

Modern India. If we have any criticism of this film, it's that the canvas is very broad - with discussions on war, rioting, Partition, patriotism, death and so forth - and some scenes (such as the very protracted battle sequence in the end) could have been cut to leave space for more domestic, small-size bliss. Director Nihalani spends a lot of time in the beginning establishing the domestic reality of Angad and his parents, and the camraderie of the air force academy. Yet the latter half of the movie begins to get more and more large-scale, until all its themes are just bursting at the little plot's seams!

Similarly, the dialogue becomes progressively more and more large-minded, with pilots, fathers and wives-to-be all discussing heavy-handed issues like death and bravery over their tea. We think the film was far more effective when, instead of talking about these things, the characters did what real people do - petty arguments, easy-going chat - while perhaps thinking about the larger issues.


Also, another criticism: Rekha's arc begins importantly but becomes progressively overshadowed by the father-son bonding, which seemed a bit unfair.

But we can't really complain. Nihalani is an excellent director. He is humorless - both Vijeta and the previously PPCCed Droh Kaal are serious films tackling weighty subjects - but he is also humanistic. At least, we like it when directors take the time to build up their environments via small, human details: the morning devotional song is a perfect example, showing us Nihal and Neelimi during their morning routine. Nihalani's use of dreaming and foreshadowing is also excellent.

All the performances were very good, though the PPCC wouldn't say they were something to name your first-born after. Kunal Kapoor was very charismatic as the earnest, soft-spoken Angad, and everyone else - Shashi, Rekha, Om Puri, Amrish Puri - was solid, though sadly not mind-blowing (which we always hope and expect them to be). Overall, Shashi was very effective as the tyrranical and fragile Nihal - it's always a treat to see him play these darker roles! - but there were some moments that left a bit to be desired (the opening nightmare of the Punjab rioting). Or maybe we're just WAY too used to Shashi's Shocked Face, which we associate immediately with Masala Shashi. Surprisingly, we think a stand-out performance was K.K. Raina as Angad's fighter pilot buddy, Wilson. Raina takes this peripheral role and really fleshes him out - just watch his body language during the cricket match, it's great!

Just like it's impossible not to wonder about the off-screen relationship of Raj Kapoor and Nargis in Chori Chori, it was hard not to wonder how much of the father-son relationship in Vijeta was informed by reality. In particular, at one point Nihal exclaims, "You want to show me your principles. I've sold them cheaply, I've compromised. I make low grade films. But I slog all day to give you a better life!" Well, gosh, that could be Shashi talking himself! And Shashi ji, there ain't nothing wrong with "low grade", populist cinema - heck, some of it's transcendental!

Kalyug (1981)

In his review of Shyam Benegal's Kalyug, University of Iowa's Professor Philip Lutgendorf notes that

...KALYUG will not really work for viewers who are not already conversant with the [Mahabharata's] main story of the relationships and conflicts between two rival sets of first cousins. A hastily-sketched family tree in the opening sequence lays out the main characters; their epic parallels are immediately apparent to those in the know, while their sheer number can only overwhelm the uninitiated.

The PPCC is unfortunately entirely ignorant regarding the Mahabharata; hence, if you are looking for an incisive, intelligent commentary on Kalyug, you would do better to read Prof. Lutgendorf's review. If, however, you'd like to hear the impressions the film made on someone who couldn't distinguish between Dhal Raj and Bal Raj and Bharat Raj, you've come to the right place.


Early 80s disco. We could understand that much.

Shyam Benegal is a PPCC Approved Director. Back in the day, when we knew nothing of Shah Rukh Khan and the glories of mainstream Bollywood, we at the PPCC were art house puritans. We would watch only that which starred Naseeruddin Shah or Om Puri, and, if Shyam Benegal was directing, the movie earned an extra star. As is the nature of things, we've now come full circle - guided back to the capable artistry of Benegal via our most recent faux husband, Shashi Kapoor. Kalyug was Shashi-produced and Shashi-starred, and we must shamefully admit that this time, we bought it because of Shashi's name on the cover, not Shyam's. Sorry, Shyam.


Don't quite understand what's happening, but check out the hottie and the cute teacup.


And what was all this about?

Anyway. The plot. We didn't really get much of this. As far as we could tell, there were two, vaguely related families - the Puranchands and Khoobchands. Both families owned big-shot engineering firms, and, as is the style of movies featuring cut-throat competition among engineering firms in 1970s India, poor Shashi Kapoor was stuck in the middle. Everyone was related to each other except for poor Shashi, who was an outsider and a loner, kept around only because of his zest for business. Many scenes of the three Puranchand brothers arguing and Shashi looking awkwardly excluded ensued.


Blah blah, I am a brother, the plot is moving forward, something is going on...


...I also have motivations, as I am on the phone yelling a lot. I, being Rekha, am also an important character. Why, though, I do not choose to explain.


No one listens to me.

Until it was revealed that Shashi was related to someone after all! This being revealed a little late, when the business rivalry between the two families has now turned bloody and claimed two lives, leads to some anxiety on Shashi's part. Many scenes of angst ensued.


Oh my God, angst.


Angst.


And yet more angst.

This is all very understandable, as scenes of funerals preceded the scenes of angst, hence implying that Shashi's life was in danger. The end, which comes after several dragging scenes of yet more ambiguity, is bleak and hopeless. Even Kulbushan Kharbanda, who was playing Bal Raj (or was it Dhal Raj?), the hedonistic, fun-loving brother, was reduced to monotone seriousness.

But let this not influence your decision to watch this movie, PPCC reader! In fact, let this review be only a reflection of our ignorance, because there were so many moments in the film which seemed significant, even to us, that surely there must have been whole oceans of thematic undercurrent. Consider: throughout the film, Kulbushan's character repeats, "This is the limit!", while another character says repeatedly, "Well, what's happened has happened." What are these two mottos supposed to represent? Were they snatches of a mantra from the original Mahabharata characters? What did they signify? Similarly, Prof. Lutgendorf's review mentions that, in the original, Shashi and Rekha's characters were supposedly lovers. In Kalyug, this is represented by a single scene in which both characters are captured by a video camera together at a party. This should demonstrate how only a viewer who knew to look for shades of the original could really understand and appreciate this film, perhaps both in how it adhered to the original's plot and how it re-envisioned it.

In terms of performances, everyone was fine. Shashi was restrained and angsty for much of the film, very unlike his boogying mainstream trademark. Rekha had very little to do, other than appear bitchy, something which was never explained. Raj Babbar as the eldest brother was wonderfully Zen-like and calm, but we've never actually seen anything with Raj Babbar (apart from his brief appearance in Umrao Jaan), so maybe he just is really Zen-like and calm. Kulbushan impressed us very much again, since we've now seen him run a lengthy gamut of emotions (and we've also been thinking how good he was in Jodhaa Akbar). That one brother guy from the first photo was decent, though also kind of a jerk (why?). Oh yeah, and Om Puri appeared briefly as a union leader, but then was hit by a stone and disappeared.


I am an anchor of familiarity, but unfortunately a stone is on its way.

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995)

We defy anyone to have a better ending than Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (The Bravehearted Gets The Bride, or just DDLJ). We defy anyone to supress their juicy, cathartic, crocodile tears at the last scene of DDLJ. This is Shakespearean stuff, man, except the Bard was never this epic. This is the rousing conclusion to Dvorak's New World sympthony. This is spectacle, this is extravaganza. This is shameless, reassuring cliche. This goes where even Disney movies fear to tread. It's the type of scene that we've all seen before, or think we have, many times, and yet it's so emotionally satisfying that we could watch those last few minutes again and again.

And again! Hailed by many to be the best of '90s Bollywood, the vehicle that launched Shah Rukh and Kajol to super-fame (as well as their famed onscreen chemistry), analyzed for its themes of emigration and longing for Mother India, DDLJ is superficially like many another Bollywood film. And yet it's been playing in some Bombay cinemas for over 12 years. What's the magic? you ask. Damned if we know! All we know is that there is something magnetically charming about this film. It's the ultimate plastic escape, yet it rings strangely authentic. It's the bog-standard story of star-cross'd opposites attracting, yet it all feels as fresh and exciting as the first time we fell in lurrrve. It's satisfying in a comfortable, endearing way.


The requisite wedding song extravaganza!

The film opens, improbably, with Amrish Puri standing in Trafalgar Square. Daily, this Indian emigre feeds the pidgeons amidst a grey, drizzly London and dreams of returning to his sun-drenched Punjab. Meanwhile, his daughter, Simran (Kajol), has dreams of her own: akin to Romeo's (or the West Side Story's Tony) prescience, she knows she will fall in love soon, but not yet with whom. We, of course, know it's going to be with the rich, boozing party animal, Raj (Shah Rukh Khan). Both youngsters ask their fathers if they can go on a month-long Eurail trip in continental Europe with their friends. Raj goes to celebrate his recent failure of college, while Simran is allowed to enjoy her last summer of freedom before her inevitable arranged marriage to a Dad-approved good Indian boy (who, of course, totally sucks).

As soon as the train rolls out of King's Cross station, Raj and Simran bump into each other. And continue to bump into each other all through Europe as the two groups of friends explore France and Switzerland. At one point, Raj and Simran are accidentally left behind. Left with no one but each other, they team up and make their way, first by rental car and then by foot, across Switzerland in order to find their friends. The initial awkwardness melts away and, with the help of a Cognac-filled night on the town, a bond of genuine affection forms between these two rambunctious 'opposites'.


Our favorite song.

The affection grows and, by the time they find their friends and return to London, they've both fallen into, yes, love. When Simran confesses to her mother that she's found the literal man of her dreams, her father overhears and angrily precipitates their departure for India. Raj hears that Simran's returned to the Punjab to marry her betrothed and, encouraged by his romantic, sentimentalist father, he flies off to catch her. He arrives just in time for the wedding preparations and then, since he is a traditional, elder-respecting guy despite the outward hedonism, decides that eloping is out of the question and instead works to win Dad's seal of approval.


The most famous song and main theme. This is turned into a cartoon for the DVD.

What can we say? The love story is anything but unconventional. Instead, what's interesting about DDLJ is it's treatment of the diaspora; some have argued this inspired a whole wave of 'modern Bollywood' where traditional Indian values, instead of being undermined in alien environments (London, NYC) are reinforced and treasured. And Indians abroad are anything if not truly Hindustani at heart - Raj certainly keeps reminding us of that by, well, saying it aloud many times.

The performances are uniformly energetic and charismatic; Shah Rukh and Kajol are at their bouncy best, and yes, The Chemistry is there. The cinematography is clever and enjoyable. We particularly liked the scene where the Punjabi maidens flock past a daydreaming Amrish Puri as he slo-mo feeds his pidgeons. The songs have rightfully become classics, with the above Tujhe Dekha even making a comical appearance in Shah Rukh's later film, Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna - except this time it's his son who assures Simran that he's coming. Our only criticism is for showing us this land of wonders which contrasts so painfully with our plain ol' reality.

Droh Kaal (1994)

There are unhappy movies. And then there is Droh Kaal.


Tea, Inspector Puri?

While the glory days of the Indian Parallel Cinema were in the 70s and 80s, and, by the 1990s, most of the stalwarts had gone on to brighter and more Bollywoodized things, they all came back together in 1994 for one last huzzah. One last horribly realistic, morally ambiguous, very cheaply-made huzzah.

Droh Kaal is an exploration of terrorism and corruption in India. Much more serious than our previously reviewed Gangaajal, it tells the story of policeman Abhay Singh (Om Puri) who, with the help of his police buddy Abbas Lodhi (Naseeruddin Shah) and his boss Inspector Pathak (Amrish Puri), goes after a group of local terrorists. They send two undercover agents into the terrorist cell (one of them played by that hot guy from Devdas) and meanwhile capture the terrorist leader. It's known that there are some traitors within the police force, secret informants for the terrorists, and so it's a constant struggle between intelligence and counter-intelligence. Om Puri spends a lot of time brooding over who he can trust. The violins screech very loudly as cars drive down streets at night.

So far, so standard.


"I wonder who I can trust."


Certainly not this guy.

And for the first hour and a half, it's a slow build-up of cliché tension as the terrorists put pressure on Om Puri to turn informant. But then something happens, which we cannot tell, halfway through the film which makes everything ONE MILLION GAZILLION TIMES MORE FASCINATING. And from then on, we basically just covered our eyes and cheeped nonsense phrases, begging our beloved characters not to turn that corner or go down that road. Yes, the movie picks up amazingly after a certain plot point, and suddenly everything takes on a much realer sense of moral ambiguity and gravitas. We were on the edge of our seats. For real. And the end - whoo boy.


Naseer insists on wearing the most horribly puffy jean jacket. Sleeves rolled up. Oy.

Need we even say the acting is brilliant? No, we need not. So we'll move on.

Apart from the REALLY INTERESTING THING WE CANNOT MENTION from above, there are other very interesting trappings of modern, New Wave Indian cinema. For one, there is kissing. Yes, kissing. The relationship between the protagonist and his wife (Mita Vasisht) is portrayed maturely and sensitively; it was almost oddly romantic amidst all the hustle and bustle of counter-terrorism.


Awww.

The presentation of terrorism is also fairly interesting, considering this was made pre-9/11, though most of the main points are by now very familiar to us (poor men who become swept up as pawns in a highly ideological, ruthlessly violent game, unable to escape; the cracking of policemen under pressure). That said, the movie does do a very good job of showing just how hard it is for police officers to resist the temptation to be corrupt - the movie portrays it not so much as a "temptation" as rather moral blackmail.

If we have a criticism, it's that the movie drags very much so in the beginning, and one scene in particular - where Om Puri and the captured terrorist leader stand in the woods and have a long-winded debate on their ideological differences regarding the role of violence in the state - could have just been cut, please. The movie's most powerful contribution to the genre is its second half, portraying the impossible choices Om's character must make, and it is that half that deserved more emphasis.


Hot guy from Devdas, woot woot. Can I get a heeeeeya.

Mandi (1983)

First, we really must share: when we took the rental copy of this movie with us, we stood in our door and sniffed. Something smells naff, we thought. Is it us? We smelled ourselves, and found no such stench. We smelled our clothes, our shoes, various dark corners of our room. Nothing. But there was certainly something which reeked. It was with alarm that we realized it was the DVD case which stank of human sweat. Buzzuh? How sweaty do you have to be to leave your stench on plastic? Unfathomable.

Anyway.



Don't sweat on my DVD!

It's time for some parallel cinema! We decided to watch Shyam Benegal's Mandi, which literally stars everyone and their mom: Naseer, Shabana, Om, Amrish, Smita, Kulbushan, Saeed Jaffrey and even the guy who played Don Abbaji from Maqbool.

Mandi tells the story of a brothel and all the various people who frequent and work there. Shabana Azmi plays Madame Rukhmini, queen mother of the courtesans. She is the center of the story around which the other characters rotate. There is the youngest prostitute and Madame's darling, Zeenat (Smita Patil), loved and envied by the other girls, who falls in love with a noted politician's (Saeed Jaffrey) son. There is the sleazy yet likable photographer (Om Puri) who finds every opportunity to snap a dirty picture. There is Phoolmani (Sreela Majumdar), the latest acquisition and a deaf-mute, and then there is Tungrus (Naseeruddin Shah), the brothel's resident bitch, who also says nothing during the day but then gets plastered at night and screams at the stars. And yea, all is well in the world.



The sleazy photographer and his prostitute girlfriend. Sometimes things are out of focus.


Naseer doing what he does best.

Enter Mr. Gupta (Kulbushan Kharbanda), who has recently bought the property on which the brothel resides. He seems friendly enough, even dashing. But there is trouble a-brewin'. Trouble in the form of social workers (damn social workers) who, parading under the banner of morality, declare that the brothel must be destroyed. Brothello delenda est! But no, the girls cry, this is our livelihood. Clearly the social workers don't care, the damn hypocrites. Better starving in the street than selling your bodies for money.



A surprisingly handsome young Kulbushan Kharbanda.

Mr. Gupta ji has a plan though. He sells some land out in the middle of the boondocks to the girls. They are sad, but something's better than nothing and off they go. Once there, Madame Rukhmini meets a hairy yeti-like Amrish Puri (are you loving this movie yet? I am) who tells her she is standing RIGHT on the grave of a famous saint! Pray to him! Pray to him! Madame Rukhmini prays for riches, and soon, lo, the town moves out to the boondocks to be closer to the brothel. The social workers are frazzled. The brothel thrives.


Shabana and Amrish! Praying for cash.

In keeping with the style of the Parallel Indian Cinema of the 1970s and 1980s, this movie is as gritty and real as mainstream Bollywood is overblown. It combines the moral vacuum, vignetty feel of the excellent Chakra with the topics of Umrao Jaan (and Naseer as a brothel slave, again). Although it's technically billed as a comedy, it's a bit more balanced: on the one hand, a smirking satire of self-congratulatory morality (the social workers are pretty despicable); on the other, just a meat-and-potatoes glimpse into the lives of these people.



Smita and Saeed! All our favorites are in this!

Everyone is, of course, excellent - this movie's like a showcase of The Best, and we highly recommend it as an introduction to Indian art cinema. Shabana Azmi is wonderful as the domineering, melodramatic Madame, while Smita Patil convinces as her naive, adopted daughter. If we have a criticism, it's that they're a bit too close in age to be playing such a relationship, so the behavioral differences seem a bit exaggerated to make up for it. The men are great as well: Naseeruddin Shah playing on his strengths of emotional vulnerability and, in this case, likable idiocy, while Om Puri preens and struts in the kind of role he rarely gets. The rest of the usual suspects - Amrish Puri as the mendicant, Kulbushan Kharbanda as Mr. Gupta, Saeed Jaffrey as the sleazy politician - are great fun, though peripheral. Aditya Bhattacharya, who played the young lover of Zeenat, was notable.

China Gate (1998)

There are so many versions of this story. A motley crew of ragtag ragamuffins, fallen from grace, perhaps a little elderly, are called to undertake a suicidal mission in the name of regained honor. The crew usually ranges from seven to twelve members, and bandits or Nazis may be involved. It goes by various names: The Seven Samurai, The Magnificent Seven, The Dirty Dozen, and now, finally and gloriously, China Gate.


I count eleven. Is Twelve the dog?

Well, if you've seen one of these movies (and hopefully you saw Kurosawa's Seven Samurai), you've seen them all. There's the Stoic Leader, the Hothead, the Young One, the Comic Relief. There are melodramatic moments where the past is dragged out, there is no help from the outside and much tension on the inside. Most of the characters go out in a blazing glory during the final battle scene - if they don't just all blow up together - and usually it's our favorite character who dies first or most epically.

But let's be thorough. Colonel Puri #1 (Om Puri) decides he can't take the shame of being a disgraced soldier anymore, and the only way he can cope is by killing himself. But lo! A young, distressed woman barges into his home with a horror story involving her father (a noble but sadly deceased police officer) and some savage bandits out in Eastcabum Nowhere, India. Won't Col. Puri help, pleeeeaze? Of course he will, it's something to live for. And dare he hope for it, that fleeting glimpse, that taste of... honor?! GASP. Col. Puri goes for it, calling up all his old army buddies. These include ten other balding, soft-around-the-middle men ranging from 45 to 65 years of age. Colonel Puri #2 (Amrish Puri) is the authoritarian father figure with a shaved head and bad ass. Major Gurung (Danny Dezongpa) is a hard-nosed ranger type who always walks around in Crocodile Dundee gear. Major Gupta (Kulbhushan Kharbanda) is a businessman. But wait, someone important and very famous is missing! Of course, it's Major Sarfaraz Khan (Naseeruddin Shah), who's having trouble selling his garage (he's strapped for cash thanks to an upcoming Big Event). Once the crew is assembled, and a dog and Random Young Man beg to join in, they ride off to Eastcabum on their mission: Mission Kill Bandit Save Town Regain Honor!

The rest is predictable. Young Man and the distressed, young woman fall in love. The gang of ancient soldiers bumble and fuss, not achieving very much, while Major Hard-ass tries to whip them into shape. The bandits run around, villagers scream, vultures endlessly circle. After three hours and NO SONGS, we have our first casualty, and the movie's interest value drops by one-fourth. Then the grand showdown in town, and... well, I'll let you watch the movie to see whether the bandits really are defeated this time.


No singing for three hours?!


This is Jagira, the bandit leader and villain. He talks to vulture. Nice curls.

The major pro of this movie is the fact that there are so many major pros in it. Naseer, Om, Amrish, Kulbhushan. All our old favorites, it filled us here at the PPCC with a warmth of familiarity and affectionate loyalty. Sure, if this was the only movie we had seen with Naseer, Om, Amrish or Kulbhushan, we at the PPCC would probably not be fans of any of them. But thanks to Masoom, Sparsh, Chakra, and even that punk-ass Orientalist gob, we were just happy to see them again, all together, so happy (if briefly). Oh joy, we could bask in the glow of Om's beautiful voice, Naseer's lovely emo, Amrish thinking we're all fools. Such a happy celluloid family!

Another major pro of the movie is that it's an action movie, and Bollyaction brings video game sound effects and many indiscriminate explosions. So much fun.

Now onto the major drawbacks. First, there is no song except the mega-famous Chamma Chamma, and that comes far too late in the film when we at the PPCC had already guessed what grim plot twist was ahead. Second, although we are heathens sometimes and actually thought The Seven Samurai was just a bit overlong, this movie still made us realize how many galaxies away Kurosawa's film was in terms of emotional depth. China Gate opens with the lines: "Our humble tribute to Akira Kurosawa", and we could not help but feel a little bad that it was, indeed, such a very humble tribute.


Naseer leads children on pony rides. His character is the Angry (Older) Man who's good with kids. Do I sense shades of Toshiro's character in Seven Samurai? Yes indeedy, they just transplanted the Young Man's personality onto the Older Hothead for this one.

The best part of the movie, for us, was actually the fascinating tension between Col. Puri #2 (Amrish) and Major Khan (Naseer). Although this may be painfully obvious and even a little trite to South Asian viewers, it took us a few moments to go, "Hey, wait, Puri is a Hindu name, Khan is a Muslim name... oooh, I get it now." (Also the fact that Puri is indeed Puri and Khan is played by a Shah, it's so fascinatingly meta. Praise the meta!) Yes, China Gate decides to tackle the Big Problem of Hindu-Muslim relations as a subplot. When Col. Puri and Major Khan tearfully reconcile after pouring their hearts out about lost family members to anti-other-religion rioting, we at the PPCC were moved (and a little surprised). When, in the next scene, Major Khan affectionately corrects Col. Puri's pronunciation of a Muslim dish, we even felt a tear approaching.


Finally, some singing! Some dancing! Even Amrish cannot help but join in.