Our reviewed movie today is not a movie, it is a tribute to the Indian audience. It tests there patience, incites snide remarks, endures the said remarks, and yet, somehow, with amazing determination, continues to play at the cinema halls. That a movie goer would rather suffer brain hemorrhage listening to the extremely cheesy dialogues than waste his money by getting out of the hall is a given; something the movie producers exploit to the fullest. And, like so very often in our country, the makers just make a very bad movie which they don’t even bother to edit, and make sure they have a good interesting trailer so that the audience gets hooked and comes to the theatres. And once there, they make sure the light is dim and the volume as low as permitted by the one or two freaks who are actually interested in the movie, and not in what the couple in the next row is doing. To be frank though, odds of that happening are really, really low.
Our topic for discussion today is one such ‘movie’, Maharaja, though calling it a movie is really stretching the term thin. It is like a humourless joke, a meaningless conversation, so much so that it is actually inspiring the dormant poet within me to come up with more such oxy-moronic metaphors. And the extent to which the makers have promoted bad acting, worse story, and pathetic direction is mind boggling. If India had the Razzies, the opposite of the Oscars in the US, given out to the worst movies and performers of the year, Our movie Maharaja would be a shoo-in. It wouldn’t win comfortably as much as romp home to victory.
Ok, a bit about the movie. This is after all a movie review. To what effect, though, is something beyond me, for you have to be masochistic to watch the movie after reading this review. So yea, Govinda is born to the King of some godforsaken land, and the king is happy beyond the earth. And then there is an evil uncle. I could just tell you what happens next instead of typing this, but I suppose that’s the kind of wayward behaviour my current state incites, what with all the yawning and the smiling at the same time I try to achieve. But yea, ok, past that stage. The uncle usurps the kingdom, and makes to kill the toddler prince, but a loyal governor replaces the prince with his own son, and sends the prince to live in the Himalayas with a sage.
And you know how sages in Himalayas are, what with all those powers, to melt metal just by looking at it, to call the animals of the jungle and be friendly with them. Regular circus antics. Our prince goes up into a fine young man, complete with pot belly and all, and completely muscular, but with muscles being muscles, they get shy and hide behind the flab. And at the peak of his youth, not a year early or late, in walks Juhi Chawla, a TV reporter, who wants to display our circus freak hero to the world. Then he realizes who he really is, and then starts the campaign to win the kingdom back. No prizes for guessing who wins….
Should you watch this film? Sure, life is a collection of mistakes, and it is counted by not the number of breaths you take, but by the times that you have your breaths taken away. Sounds like a sad toothpaste add, doesn’t it? But yea, it’ll take your breath away all right, and leave you coughing, wheezing and breathless. My advise, a movie to die for. Or after. Not much difference if you are watching the Maharaja.
No comments:
Post a Comment