Monthly Archives: December 2017

2017 media

The Most Annoying Media Stories of 2017

As a writer and journalist, I get pissed off when I hear terms like ‘Presstitude’ or ‘Paid Media’.

Not because I’m touchy about my field or such grand principles. But because these are lazy terms that put a cold blanket over the many earnest journalists, vernacular news agencies, and independent organisations.

Crib all you want, but the media in India has had a large role in weaving the fabric of our nation. In fact, in Shashi Tharoor’s brilliantly imagined The Great Indian Novel, where he fuses the Mahabharata with the Indian Freedom Struggle – Indira Gandhi is re-imagined as Duryodhana, the Emergency is the Kurukshetra war, and Indian media is Arjuna.

For every large media house that was created by leftover sperms from Mukesh Ambani, there are hundreds of independent media houses that strive to survive and bring out the truth. That strive to take on the powers that be, that lose lives and jobs in the process.

And yet, I can’t deny that the popular media houses in India drive me to insanity. In fact, it has reached such a level that I have stopped reading the newspapers, and deactivated my Facebook account. I follow the news on reddit (even though it has its biases), or the updates that Google provides on Google Now.

I passed out of my Journalism Masters in 2012. One of the assignments we were given was to track two newspapers for a week, and analyse the coverage of the news. I still have my assignments in my mailbox and even a few years ago, there wasn’t as much fluff in our newspapers.

As the nation jumped onto the smartphone bandwagon and Facebook/Twitter became a legitimate source of news. Ever since, there has been no barrier, no check on the floodgates. We have reached a stage in our consumption of news that a brawl between two actors grabbed more eyeballs than children dying in a hospital.

Here are the most annoying news stories of 2016, covered with aplomb by our media houses.

 

1. The Padmavati Controversy

It’s funny that the present government projected itself as pro-youth, pro-development – and yet it has failed to curb in death threats by parties affiliated to them. Every leader worth his saffron shawl began throwing death threats at the filmmaker.

What is absurd is that the controversy could have been nipped in the bud if it wasn’t awarded the kind of coverage it attained. But we know that anything pertaining to Bollywood in India is news-fodder. And the citizens are cows that will chew upon it, ruminate, and bring it out in a few days even though they haven’t fully digested what was served to them.

The Padmavati controversy is absurd on three basic levels – 1. Nobody has even seen the goddamned movie. So, nobody really knows what the film shows. How can you be offended by something that you haven’t seen?  It’s like me getting offended by Siddharth Malhotra’s acting skills – there aren’t any to begin with!

The second reason is that the filmmaker has clearly stated that the two leads don’t meet in the movie. They have no lines together, not even a single scene. Is it the idea that the evil emperor thought about the queen that offends these morons?

The third and most tragic reason is that Padmavati is not even a real person! There is no substantial proof of there being a queen like this. All the accounts of the queen are from poems and folklore. What next? We have protests for Tenali Raman and Santa-Banta?

What is tragic is that the government sat like a limp duck as the controversy raged on. Not one of our esteemed leaders bothered to assuage the fears of the filmmaker. Death threats, violence, vandalism – not a single arrest was made, nobody was held accountable.

And the media had a field day!

 

2. The Government’s Masturbatory Propaganda

2017 was filled with news and articles on how terrific GST was, on the numerous benefits of Demonetisation. And guess who the source was? The government itself!

Every single report that came from outside the country about demonetisation brought with it some criticism – ranging from mild to intense. And yet the government went on telling us how awesome its policies were.

This reminded me of all those ‘Khaana Khazana’ shows on television. Where Sanjeev Kapoor cooks up a dish, adds namak swaad anusaar, and then tastes the dish himself. Wah! Mazaa aagaya, Sanjeev Kapoor would exclaim, about his own dish.

 

3. Kangana Ranaut – Hrithik Roshan

It started as a kitchen fight, and become a national obsession. This was a topic that made me ashamed to be a journalist.

For more than a month, every single media house in the country went about publishing sordid details of the fight between Hrithik and Kangana. Open letters and closed mails, fan clubs and Twitter trends – you’d imagine for a moment that India had solved all its problems and had nothing else to worry about.

What was even more shocking was that the entire issue was given slants of feminism.

 

4. Taimur breaking the Internet

Among last year’s useless controversies was the naming of Taimur. If Taimur the name should be avoided because the man was violent, so should Ashok and Parshuram.

This year, our media decided to splash us with images of Taimur breaking the Internet. The kid has broken the Internet so many times, you’d need Dr. Fixit to fix the Internet. At an age when he should be breaking toys and cutlery, the kid has been under constant media scrutiny. I fail to wrap my head around the obsession with star-kids in our country.

And don’t even get me started on the ‘hot’ pictures of teenage kids of stars. The abysmal lows that our media would stoop down to for a few extra clicks is truly depressing.

 

5. Varun Pruthi

This was not really covered by the media, but I need to get this off my chest.

Fuck Varun Pruthi.

The guy makes emotionally exploitative videos involving beggars, street vendors and children, and every single video has a single theme – Varun Pruthi the Jesus Christ. I clicked on one video by mistake and my YouTube page has been flooded with his shitty good-samaritan videos.

I find his videos cancerously preachy. And I fail to understand how the fuck somebody’s life is going to change if you give him 2,000 rupees! Varun Pruthi milks poor people’s sorrow to earn money on his YouTube channel. And what he promotes is not charity or service, but a new-age tokenism that is tailor-made for views, clicks and shares.

I want to watch a video where he takes a man suffering from AIDS and cure him of the disease. Or one where he solves the Iraq crisis by wearing a burkha. Fuck Varun Pruthi! Seriously!!

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As for me, the year has been lackluster at best. If you’re a subscriber of my blog, I’d like to apologise for my erratic posts. I got caught up with matters of the heart, and gave classic step-motherly treatment to my blog.

Also, I’m tired of writing posts on Bollywood films and stars. The Saif Ali Khan blog went viral and I ended up receiving a ton of hate mail from fans of Saif Ali Khan. Ek toh I didn’t know he had so many fans to begin with. And fans so passionate that they’d write hate mails to support their useless fucking star.

Most of my blogs are just rants that I type out after getting drunk and stoned. There is not journalistic depth in my rants, nor is there any valid point (except in odes to Jackie Shroff, of course!).

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As the last day of the year comes to an end, I am sitting in balcony and smoking a joint, reflecting on the year that whizzes past me with alarming speed. I am too old and unwise to resort to New Year Resolutions, having broken each and every resolution I chose for myself.

After years of pressure, I go back to some realistic new year resolutions this year. They are:

  1. I shall not murder anybody in 2018.
  2. I shall not win the Australian Open in 2018.
  3. I shall not masturbate to Sharad Pawar.

On Wednesdays.

Happy New Year. And thank you for reading my blog. I go on and on about myself without thanking you, dear reader! You are the reason these rants and rambles exist. Have a great year ahead! 🙂

*****

Tiger Zinda Hai

This Tiger Needs to be Endangered.

We Indians have a knack for knock-offs.

The heroes of our start-up revolution are essentially knock-offs of international giants – Flipkart, Ola and Campa Cola. Our films aren’t too different either. We like our own knock-offs of international heroes.

Which is why projects such as Tiger Zinda Hai get bankrolled. In the film, Bhai is Indiana Jones cum James Bond zyada Jason Bourne. Tiger Zinda Hai is yet another film made with a process to target a specific audience – Bhai’s fans.

Whatever their quality, Salman Khan’s films possess a truly unique quality. They are a throwback to unabashed fandom. To a time when you hooted and whooped and whistled when your star came on screen. Salman Khan is able to bring out single-screen reactions from a multiplex audience. It is a strange sight, one that I realised I’d secretly missed.

Bhai’s films are essentially college plays. Where the most popular, most-loved dude of the college plays the lead. What he does, and the story – are secondary to their best friend mouthing his lines and playing the role.

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If this were an article on The New Yorker, the Editor would have rejected it without a second thought. Ethically, I’m not qualified to write a review, as I was asleep for about an hour of the film’s runtime.

I’m not saying the film was solely responsible. I had spent the entire day chilling, and as Chunkey Pandey will tell you, chilling can get tiring too. I walked from Gachibowli to Indiranagar to eat keema pav. And then a friend graciously agreed to share some herb, and I walked into the hall happy and stuffed.

But the film played a substantial role in me falling asleep. Salman Khan’s movies might be a lot of things, but surprising is not one of them. You know that Salman Khan will charm his way into the heroine’s heart. You know that Bhai will win in the end, no matter how complicated or powerful the enemy is. Bhai will defeat entire armies with Katrina Kaif on his side. He can solve corruption by introducing some sort of 3-member Amway membership. Solve global warming while having sex with a polar bear.

I find that kind of predictability boring. But like all pieces of art, Bhai’s films are subjective and dopey.

*

Having dealt with the problem of Pakistani terrorism in the earlier episode of Strangest Things, Bhai is now happily married in a secluded European country and has a son. Like all Bollywood children, this kid is so sweet that you want to strangle him. Kids in Bollywood are wise beyond Yoda’s ears, dish out life-advice on love and belonging to their parents, and exist in a permanent limbo of cuteness. Their primary reason for living is to invoke giggles from the audience in their attempt to make the hero appear wholesome.

Bhai is going about his daily life fighting wolves and chopping wood outside his house, when he gets a call from RAW – Bhai needs to save the day. The only problem? Bhai doesn’t look like a top military agent anymore. He looks like the marwari businessman who owns the sweet-shop down the lane.

Bhai used to be fit at one point.

Salman Khan’s contribution to Indian cinema might not be of the cinematic nature. But if there’s one thing he has contributed to, it is in drawing attention to the fact that our heroes need to look fit. Before Bhai came on to the scene, it was okay to be frail and limp. Like Dev Anand, who like the answer, was always blowing in the wind.

Bhai in a still from the 1998 superhit - 'Body banaaya toh Acting Karna Kya?'

Bhai in a still from the 1998 superhit – ‘Body banaaya toh Acting Kya?’

At one point, the whole purpose of Bhai’s films was to show off his body. It was one of the primary tasks of filmmaking – Director, Producer, Cinematographer, Salmanbodyshower. But abhi Bhai ka paet nikal gaya hai. Also, he hasn’t wielded a gun for eight years, and has computers at home that track every single development taking place in RAW. Instead of being tried for espionage, his senior dismisses it with a pat on the back. Bhai smiles. RAW ne mujhe bhula diya, par main unhein bhoola nahi. The director comes in his pants.

This is a secret agent who is called ‘Tiger’ by everybody around him. His boss, his wife, his son. Even the friendly neighbourhood tigers call him tiger. He eats Tiger biscuits and applies Tiger Balm.

His team consists of Angad Bedi, who when he delivers a dialogue – is scarier than ISIS terrorists. There’s a hacker who uploads a virus using a program that says ‘Uploading Virus’ in big, green letters. After uploading the virus, he says ‘Yayyyy! Ho gaya!’ and pumps his fists. The secret code used by RAW is – hold your breath – ‘Tu tu tu…tu tu taara. Aa gaya dost humaara’. Right below ‘Dulhan ki bidaai ka waqt ho gaya’.  The villain of the film looks like the illegitimate child of Osama and Gaddafi. He speaks Hindi in a manner that could bring about Javed Akhtar’s early demise.

Be that as it may, the RAW likes its agents raw, and hire him to get back into action. The enemy is bigger this time. How big? Well, think of the biggest terrorist organisation in the world. ISIS, you say? Done!

Bhai enters the most dreaded terror organisation with a few friends and agents. His plan is to blow up the place, kill the leader of the organisation, bring a group of Indian and Pakistani nurses to safety. And show body.

What follows is truly mind-blowing. Bhai smiles and simpers his way to the desert to take on the most dreaded terror organisation. With tactical missiles and weaponry, through intricate search and rescue operations? Nope.

By using neend ki dawayi and paet kharaab hone ka dawa.

Yes, dear brothers and sisters. Film is stranger than truth is stranger than fiction.

Mind you, this is the most dreaded terror organisation in the world. These are the dudes who assembled a team of fearless fighters from across the globe,set up a state-nation of their own, and even produced nuclear missiles. But in their quest for perfection, the insipid fools had overlooked the disastrous effects of paet ka dard.

Many years ago, Gandhi countered the might of the largest army in the world using non-violence. Much like Bapu, the Brother of the Nation goes about his mission armed with Angad Bedi and Dabur Hajmola.

He also rides a horse and fires a rocket. While riding the horse. He shuts down a rabid wolf by saying ‘Sshhh. Bas. Bahut ho gaya’. And the wolf falls asleep.

You know a film well and truly sucks donkey-balls when Katrina Kaif is the best actor in it. In spite of her Neptunian accent, she manages to look like the only professional in this film (apart from the VFX guys who created Bhai’s abs, of course – those guys worked extremely hard in every film!).

*

By the end of the film, the enemy has been vanquished, and Aman ki Asha has also been restored. Having killed two blackbucks with one stone, Bhai returns home, ready to be called for the next mission.

I’m told in the next film, Bhai will solve climate change by masturbating in the Great Barrier Reef. Or he could solve water scarcity in Mars. Mangalyaan se aage Mangal hai.

It’s a good thing that ISIS has been defeated by the Iraqi forces. That they will not be able to watch Tiger Zinda Hai. For even terrorists are human beings, and can only tolerate so much humiliation.

Bhai is bhai, man. Critics and reviews and dopehead bloggers don’t make a difference. Go ahead and watch the film if you have to. Or don’t if you don’t want to. Bhai is sniffling and grimacing and grinning his way to the bank.

Oh, wait. It’s his driver.

*****

chetan-bhagat759

The Hatred for Chetan Bhagat in India

I’ll admit I have hated Chetan Bhagat ever since he chose to become the voice of the generation.

I have lambasted him on my blog a number of times (back in the days when I would wake up in the morning, smoke a joint and shoot off blogs). I hated his annoying, all-knowing attitude, his IIT-IIM White-Lightning face, and his knack of reducing the complex problems of the nation into simplistic solutions reminiscent of Govinda-Kader Khan movies.

And yet, my hatred for him is his annoying public persona, his elevation to some sort of public intellectual on the basis of his novels. Over the years however, I have softened towards the man.

Primarily because in the years since, I have been a struggling author myself. Every year for the last three years, I do acid in the month of January and plan out the book for that year. I spend the next 11 months toiling and wrestling and struggling with that book. I then send it out to publishers in December and get rejected – year after year, every year.

So I get the pain. I don’t condone Chetan Bhagat’s public persona and opinions, but the utter hatred for the man has baffled me.

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I have noticed two distinct traits in how we Indians consume art.

1. Overdose: If something works, there are a hundred clones of that genre. Take for example all those authors who wrote books called ‘I had a love story’, ‘You had a love story’, ‘We all had a love story’, Modi had a love story’, ‘Can love happen  twice/thrice/746 times’.

We take a winning formula and churn it out till we are up to it in our necks. That is the

reason why Shah Rukh Khan still plays a lovelorn romantic hero. It is the reason why our singers spend their entire lifetime singing a particular kind of songs. It’s the reason that as a nation (with all our diversity and languages), the only kind of music we have is film music.

2. The phenomenon of ‘too massy’: If something becomes too popular (meaning it seeps past the urban minority and reaches out to Tier-II, III and rural areas), it is considered crass and distasteful. This happened to Govinda’s movies, Comedy Nights with Kapil Sharma, and Reliance Jio.

In a nation that suffers from a crippling inequality of wealth, anything that is consumed by the masses is automatically assumed to be cheap and crass. The same happened to Chetan Bhagat and his books too. Till about 2008, he was being hailed as a game-changer, someone who finally spoke the language of the masses, about issues that a newer India could relate to. But as soon as he become a nation-wide phenomenon, he was deemed too ‘low-market’. 

Most people I meet actually don’t hate him for his opinions, but for his writing.

These are mostly urban, elite, youngsters who were brought up on Hemingway and Prost, and grew up to echo the opinions of everybody else around them. 

I don’t even know where to begin with this argument. Writing, like any other art form, is highly subjective. There’s no real saying about what’s good or bad. Some of the greatest literary epics – from Grapes of Wrath to Moby Dick to A Catcher in the Rye were panned by critics and readers.

This is even shocking in a nation like India where knowledge of English Literature is a direct reflection of the social capital that you enjoy. Your taste in books is ‘better’ because of your upbringing – your parents, school, the company you keep. It does not make you wiser, or more tasteful, it just makes you a privileged fucking snob who chooses to piss over other’s tastes

About 10% of India’s population speak English. Out of those, these people are about 5% – the ones with access to books and literature. And yet, the sheer snobbery when it comes to Bhagat and his books is appalling.

To mock the themes of his books, the idiotic stereotyping is one thing. But to say that the English/grammar in his book ‘sucks’ – I’m sorry – makes you an elite prick.

 

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Chetan Bhagat might not be a literary force de majeur, but he has encouraged millions of Indians to pick up a book and read for pleasure. Before Bhagat, a book by an Indian author cost above 350 rupees, and a small jar of Amrutanjan Pain Relief Balm.

As someone who mails publishing houses every year with a manuscript idea, I have a fair idea about the industry – a gigantic incestuous family that churns out shit year after year. This is hardly a new phenomenon and legendary Indian writers have had a problem with this hackneyed Indian publishing industry that is reeling from a 70 year colonial hangover. Manto had his own share of problems, as did RK Narayan – who self-published his books after years of frustration.

Indian publishing houses put the ‘prof’ in ‘unprofessional’. There are no prompt responses, no acknowledgment of acceptance. You are supposed to shoot in a mail and wait in the darkness for months at end. Try getting a phone number and pinging/calling (something that would be considered alright in any other industry) is looked down upon.

And in spite of all this attitude, the kind of books that are published are not worth wiping your shit with. And Chetan Bhagat cracked this market.

Hate him as much as you want, but young India is reading his books. They don’t give two shits about Vikram Seth and his unsuitable balls, or Arundhati Roy cribbing about the state, its mechanisations and the colour of aliens’ underwears.

First generation Indian English speakers are free of the colonial burden of Indian literature and are picking up Chetan Bhagat’s books. His works are accessible, relatable and palatable.

 

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Which is why I smiled when my Tinder date complained about Chetan Bhagat books. She went on about how she thought he was ‘disgusting’, and wished that Indians would read Neil Gaiman and Murakami instead. Sure thing, Little Princess. I quickly asked for the cheque and looked for the exit.

I assume she thought she was being remarkably different – a cut above the rest. While all she was, was an intellectual five point someone!

*****

 

Suggested Reading:

Forbes’ Article on Chetan Bhagat and his impact on Indian Literature 

 

My own blog where I discuss how Chetan Bhagat’s solutions are reminiscent of David Dhawan-Govinda movies.

New York Times article titled ‘How English Ruined Indian Literature’ – a different perspective on the same issue. (which I thought was rubbish, but I’m trying to be unbiased here! 😀 )

 

project_quotes____troy_ending_by_panca21

Dealing with the Death of a Hero

Over the last month, a number of my heroes have been buried in public consciousness.

It’s a phenomenon that has been in place over the last few decades, but the nature of the Internet has accelerated that process in the last few years. It’s something I like to call ‘Death by Internet’.

Where accusations surface, and articles are put up, hash-tags are created, till the personality eventually apologises for the mistake, and his career comes to a grinding halt in a few hours. It happened to Kevin Spacey, and Woody Allen, and Louis CK.

They were all my heroes. They were all artists who enriched my life in numerous ways, people who I watched and heard and read over and over again. These were people who inspired me to be better at what I was doing. People I looked up to, in a mix of admiration and envy.

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Kevin Spacey

I had watched a few of his films earlier, but it was during my Masters that I truly discovered the genius of the man. We were assigned a task to watch a film, write about it and give the professor our opinions on a few subjects.

I happened to watch American Beauty and was blown away by the man. As is my habit, I looked him up and started reading about the man. I learnt of the cult status that he enjoyed, and how he kept his private life intensely private. I learnt about how he never gives interviews or appears on social media.

Over the next few years, my admiration for the man only increased. There is something about the way Kevin Spacey essays his characters. Unlike lesser actors *cough cough Aamir Khan cough cough*, he doesn’t need to resort to gimmicks like physical transformation or makeup. His face was a canvas. His eyes were tools.

Kevin Spacey was not an actor. He was a ghost who inhabited the souls of the characters he played. Watch him curb a smile as he is being driven to the field in the climax of Se7en, or the chameleon-like calmness with which he switches in The Usual Suspects. There was something Kevin Spacey did with his self that no other actor managed to do.

And yet, when he was accused of sleeping with young boys, his response was a sheepish, cheap ploy. It was disheartening and unbelievable at the same time; the kind of apology you’d expect from an Arjun Rampal, from a Suneil Shetty.

And yet, he did it. He decided to come out in the open about being gay, hoping to put in a final performance for the world.

I was never an actor, but Kevin Spacey’s films encouraged me to write. They encouraged me to scratch beyond the obvious surface, to explore the darker, sinister side of me.

 

Woody Allen

Even if Woody Allen didn’t make a single movie, his place in popular culture would be cemented simply through his stand-up work. The pioneer of the shy, under-confident, awkward comic – Woody Allen is consistently ranked in the Top 5 lists of the greatest stand up comics of all time.

His movies have made me marvel at the man. Beguilingly simple, and yet disarmingly complex – Woody Allen’s movies were always about two people talking to each other. The settings could be present day Rome, or 19th century Paris – his films were driven not by set-pieces or graphics – they were stories narrated by tormented characters. I spent a good part of the previous month going through his movies, and they never fail to impress me with their brilliance.

And yet, the accusations against him are horrifying. That he would molest a young girl, that he would take pictures of the adopted daughter of the woman he was dating, and then go on to marry her – was this the tormented artist, or a twisted human being?

 

Louis CK

It won’t be far-fetched to say that Louis CK was partly responsible for me becoming a stand up comic. I had participated in a stand up competition and went with a fucking PPT!

A friend of mine pinged me saying he loved the fact that I was doing a Ricky Gervais (I’d no clue who that was!), and that I should start watching Louis CK. The next few weeks were spent in watching his videos on loop.

The manner in which he turned his misery into humour, his demented desires into punchlines – there was a morbid beauty to Louis CK’s work. While most comics adopt the ‘I’m a stud’ persona, he took self-loathing to the level of an art form.

The allegations against Louis CK have been floating around the comedy scene for a long time now. So I wasn’t particularly saddened when he was outed, but it’s heartening to see that his apology was the most honest, the most earnest.

 

Mohammad Azharuddin

I have written about the impact of Azharuddin’s match-fixing scandal on my life earlier.

As a child, you are blind to statistics and logic. You worship people because you heard someone praise them. Mohammad Azharuddin was my first real heartbreak. My family, never one to back off from an opportunity to drill sorrow into my life, taunted me for months about the match-fixing scandal.

I remember weeping in my room. The scandal had shattered my beliefs, broken my heart, and twisted me in ways that are difficult to describe in a blog on a cold winter morning.

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How does one deal with the death of their hero?

How does one grapple with the fact that the person they worshiped all their lives is a monster? I have spent many a sleepless night pondering about this. I wish I could say that it is easy to separate the art from the artist – but I know that is hardly true!

Has it changed the way I look at these people?

Nope! I still enjoy Woody Allen’s movies, I still marvel at Louis CK’s sets.

Perhaps we are wired to only take the best from the people we love. Woody Allen taught me to stay true to my voice, Louis CK to embrace my demons. Kevin Spacey’s astonishing talent still makes me stare in awe, and Mohammad Azharuddin…fuck that guy! Fucking piece of shit!

*****

 

 

 

Recommended Reading:

Mohammad Azharuddin and the match-fixing scandal

‘The Last Jedi’ is Chandrakanta in Outer Space

When it comes to books and movies, I’m a bit of a cultural parasite. If something is popular, I’ll watch it even if I haven’t been seeped in its cult. On most occasions, this has paid off. I happily dived into the GoT cult, and now spend every single day cursing and blessing George RR Martin. I had read the Harry Potter books because of the hype around them, slowly passing on the virus to my friends like a sexually transmitted disease.

And yet, in spite of all my urges and tendencies, I have never been able to warm up to the Star Wars franchise. I know, I know!

I know that when the films came out, they were revolutionary and cutting-edge. I understand that the films changed the way we look at space films, and created a genre called ‘space opera’. I understand that the film gave us legendary characters like Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia.

And yet, I’m sorry. I have never been able to invest in the series. I have watched all the films in the series, and I have found them tacky. The graphics don’t hold up after all these years (kindly have a look at 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)), and for someone who grew up in India amidst dramatic family sagas, the entire ‘soap opera in space’ doesn’t do it for me.

In spite of this, I have watched the movies. Right from fighting off sleep through the tepid Episodes I, II, III in the 2000s, I have tried my best to invest in the films, and yet, I couldn’t. I understand it isn’t fair to assume that my choice is the definite word on the films. And yet, how can not one of the films impress me? Not one in the list of nine films? Really??

But as humans, we survive on hope. And I decided to go ahead and watch the latest episode of the space opera.

 

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It was the worst film of the year, and I say this after watching the suicide-inducing Munna Michael and Raabta.

It’s difficult to point out a single flaw in a film that has flaws the size of black holes (I’m trying to use space terms to fit into the gigantic cult that the film commands!). The actors have the screen presence of boiled potatoes. Their lines are delivered like stoned high-schoolers rehearsing for the annual play. The young actors who have been entrusted with carrying the legacy of the movies are (and there’s no nice way to say this) severely incompetent.

In fact, they’re so bad that the film has to fall back on a 66 year old Mark Hamill and a 60 Carrie Fisher to deliver the acting chops. You know an action film is doomed when sexagenarians have more sex-appeal that 20 year olds!

Since the film knows it commands a loyal legion of movies, it gives two shits about logic or common sense. When Leia gets blasted away, she flies for a while in outer space and hops back to life. Clearly, usne script ko mooh mein leia.

The villain of the film is killed abruptly with more than an hour to spare. Two of the characters connect to each other through some sort of tantric-space healing technique.

What annoys me the most is 20 year old Indians claiming to be a die-hard fan of the series. Really? How bad is your Fear Of Missing out?? And can we spend a minute to talk about Chewbacca? How the fuck is that red pubic hair costumed creature supposed to be cute? As if looking at that abomination is not good enough, Disney went ahead and added some cute animals for cheap giggles.

Chewbacca: Putting the 'Chew' in 'Chewtiyapa'.

Chewbacca: Putting the ‘Chew’ in ‘Chewtiyapa’.

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Out of curiosity, I checked out the reviews of the film and was shocked to found that it has been rated 93% fresh. That shook me a little. Perhaps there was something about the films I didn’t understand. May be my tastes, my cinematic aesthetics weren’t the same as most people in the world.

And yet, this is what I will say. The film is Chandrakanta in outer space. Naugarh-Vijaygarh mein thi takraar…and nobody gives a shit, yaar. If the same film was made in Hindi, it would be lambasted to outer space. But it’s a Hollywood film, so our heads will automatically twist and stuff itself into our asses.

The latest Star Wars movie is a nostalgia whore of a movie that counts on people trying to fit into a cult that was created long before they were born. In many ways, the Star Wars cult like religion.

You try your best to fit in. Logic and reason do not matter. And if you tell people you hated the movie, people will look at you like like there’s something wrong with you.

*****