Movie Review: Kabul Express - Riding with the Enemy

(First published at Desicritics)

Kabir Khan's Kabul Express is the story of two Indian jouralists, Jai (Arshad Warsi) and Suhail (John Abraham), on a mission to interview the Taliban in Afghanistan's rugged deserts. Their chauffeur-cum-guide is the fiercely anti-Taliban Afghan, Khyber (Hanif Hum Ghum). Along the way, Jessica (Linda Aresenio), an American reporter latches on to them in search of a good story. The party is then hijacked by a Pakistani Pathan soldier (Salman Shahid), fighting disguised as a Talib, who forces them to take him to the border so he can escape to Pakistan. The film offers us vignettes of the region's politics through the goings on between these different characters.
Kabul Express was born of Khan's experiences filming documentaries in Afghanistan. The script is punctuated by some genuinely moving commentary on the absurdity and brutality of war. Take the scene, for example, when Suhail is doing his ritual push ups while a wide-eyed Afghani boy looks on, his back facing Suhail. Suhail playfully invites the boy to join him. When the child turns around, we see him holding crutches, having lost a leg to a landmine.

The comic exchanges between the characters over cricket (the Pakistani Pathan uses the pseudonym 'Imran Khan Afridi'!) and Bollywood - two facets that respectively divide and unite people of the region - offer us entertainment and a taste of identity politics. Khan succeeds in humanizing the warring parties, including the 'terrorist', making us refine some of our crude and simplistic stereotypes. Imran is the most author-backed character, with the track involving his daughter; his weary and defensive remarks, "I was just following my orders and doing my duty"; or his guilty twitches when Suhail mocks his militant version of Islam ("namaaz with a rifle by your side") and his warped sense of duty ("What sort of duty shames you in your own daughter's eyes?"). The scene where Imran is gunned down by soldiers of his own country beautifully captures his tragedy and the fickleness of politics (shades of Kubrick's Paths of Glory). How you wish the film had concluded with that scene instead of the wordy addendum.

Khan does not mince words in condemning shifty governments, and his fortitude is laudable. Unfortunately, the usually sharp commentary occasionally turns into filmy dialogue-such as Imran's mushy "we'll be friends in our next life" remark to Jai, or the narration at the end of the film. Also, the "Who started the war?" bitty between Khyber and Imran is straight out of Danis Tanovic's No Man's Land. And why does Jessica have so much make up on? Even Jai and Suhail sport spotless jackets and no signs of fatigue, while braving the dusty landscape for 48 non stop hours. The shot of Imran leering at Jessica's cleavage is, ironically, a cheap, distasteful stereotype in itself. All of this does somewhat dilute the film's impact.Salman Shahid brings a dignity and humanity to his character - no mean achievement if you're playing a terrorist. Hanif Hum Ghum too plays his part to perfection. Arshad Warsi's effortless dialogue delivery and his famous comic timing enthrall us as always. John Abraham is sincere, at best, and Linda Aresenio is somewhat better.

All said, Kabul Express is a brave, honest and intelligent comment on politics and war.
P.S. Do watch the making on the DVD; it has some informative, moving and funny stuff.

Movie Review: Namesake-The Shoes we walk in

(First published at Desicritics)

It all begins when a train to Jamshedpur meets with an accident, leaving few survivors. One such survivor is the young and bookish Ashok Ganguli (Irrfan Khan). Only minutes before the accident, while he is reading Nikolai Gogol's The Overcoat, Ashok is advised by a fellow traveler to 'pack a pillow and see the world'. Once he recovers, he does just that and heads off to the 'land of opportunities'.
A few winters later, Ashok is in Calcutta to pick his bride. The first time we see Ashima (Tabu), she is blissfully lost in her riyaaz, singing to her heart's content. When Ashok and his clan are over to 'see' her, she secretly tries his shoes on-a metaphor that will recur throughout the story. Ashok's shoes fit Ashima beautifully, and she is more than willing to walk in them half way across the world to New York. Though the novel has Ashok studying at Harvard, Mira Nair uses New York. This is perhaps a calculated cinematic license that allows Ms Nair to use shots of the Brooklyn bridge (or was it Manhattan?) in NY and the Howrah bridge in Calcutta to bridge the two cultures. So many times in the film, we cut from one bridge to another and it takes us a split second to realize that we've crossed cultures: another effective metaphor. Before we move on, I must mention my favorite shot in the film: a close-up silhouette of Ashima's hand, waving goodbye through a window as Ashok fades away in the snow. The scene is a poignant pointer to what will follow.
Ashima and Ashok have two children: a son and a daughter. The son, Gogol aka Nikhil Ganguli (Kal Penn), grows up to be a much taunted teen, what with his namesake being a psychotic, suicidal writer. Despite his father's many attempts at connecting with him, Gogol is determined to shake this baggage off, and has his name changed to Nikhil. What he's really looking to shake off, of course, is his identity. But that's never easy. No matter how hard he tries to avoid his parents and blend with those of his all American girlfriend Maxine (Jacinda Barrett); no matter how hard he tries to be Nick, life (and Ashok, of course) will keep reminding him that he is Gogol.
The first such reminder is a touching one: Ashok tells him that the reason he named him Gogol is, in fact, that train accident. Ever since then, Gogol has been associated, in Ashok's mind, with the gift of life. Upon learning this, for the first time Nikhil appreciates why he is Gogol to Ashok. Alas, the second reminder is a rude shock. A few days into his semester at Ohio, Ashok suddenly dies of a heart attack. Nikhil walks into Ashok's empty hotel room in Cleveland, and steps gingerly into his dead father's shoes. And the meaning in the metaphor dawns upon us: Ashok, we realize, was always comfortable in his skin. Hence, to walk in his shoes is not to be him, but to be your self. Nikhil's transition, though, is not yet complete. Maxine now reminds him of everything he is not: she shows up in black in a house where all the Indian mourners are in white. And even though she takes off her shoes (metaphor intended) before stepping into an Indian house in mourning, Nikhil's own guilt pushes him to the other extreme. In true Hindu mourning fashion, he shaves his head off and breaks up with Maxine. But there is a silver lining: when performing his father's rites, he calls himself Gogol. Later, his marriage to the Bengali-British Maushami (Zuleikha Robinson) is destroyed by her infidelity (by contrast, his sister's American husband will continue to love her), making him see, at last, the true middle ground of his bi-cultural identity.
In life and in death, Ashok proves to be the guardian angel for Gogol and, of course, for Ashima. He protects them in the best possible way: by forcing them to be independent. Note Ashima's post facto rationalization that Ashok went to Ohio just to teach her how to live alone; when, in fact, we saw him a few scenes back, urging Ashima to accompany him. Ashima, walking in Ashok's shoes, lets go of Gogol and moves back to Calcutta. And the film's concluding scene rhymes with Ashima's opening scene: we leave her, as we first met her, blissfully singing her heart out in Calcutta.
Irrfan Khan pours his heart into the character, managing to move you to tears and make you smile; so that when he is gone, we, too, miss him. Kal Penn is a protagonist for all seasons. From snubbing his father as a head banging teenager; to breaking down at his dead father's empty, crumpled hotel bed; and everywhere in between-he is at ease and in character. Tabu graces Ashima's role, effortlessly growing from the playful lass to the restrained woman(note her shock when she hears of Ashok's death).
Mira Nair's adaptation of Jhumpa Lahiri's book works because she captures that elusive Holy Grail of adaptations: the book's spirit. The languor of the film sits well with the large canvas and the setting (who ever heard of a fast-paced Bengali life?) The metaphors and lyrical touches (note the classic boatman's song in the Ganges) give the story a poetic feel. The seamless interspersing of shots between India and the US, and the evocative, intimate flashbacks capture the immigrant experience wonderfully.
Throughout the film, Nair sprinkles the vagaries of both cultures with humor: note the red chili powder in Rice Krispies, or the funky wedding night song ditty between Maushami and Gogol. The skin show in their first sexual encounter, however, is gratuitous. Nair and cinematographer Frederick Elmes don't paint the two cultures in strikingly different hues, thus preserving the seamlessness of cultures and the universality of the story (Ashima, we're reminded, means one without boundaries). Nitin Sawhney's background score is rich with ragas. But above all, Nair's actors stand out for their authenticity in costume, make up and mannerisms (note how Ashima hums, as singers often do). True to their particular milieu, they tell us the universal story of finding peace in the face of tragedy.