Direction: Tanveer Ahmed
Cast: Ayaan Ahmed, Nauheed Cyrusi
Rating: *
Words in relatively chaste Urdu, most would agree, makes commonplace dialogue, even gibberish, sound like poetry. So goes a voice like Gulzar’s throughout this film, gargling what’s
probably meant to be Rumi’s works.
Colour tones change with every scene. Background score changes genres. Dubbing is never in sync; editing, abrupt.
A brooding dodo sits on a bench, looks up to the sky, peers down a terrace…. Every few minutes, he walks out of his main door, lands straight into a gambling or drinking den. A gun in each hand, he furiously shoots randoms down, wipes his mouth with his wrist later!
This prominently lisping revolutionary is curiously modelled on the evolutionary primate: bonded hair loosely falls over the sides of his forehead, the face is unshaven from above the lip and under the chin; he walks with a hunchback and casually mumbles, “Main khooni, peshawar khooni (I’m a murderer, murderer by profession). Before taking another life, “I die many deaths!” He does this “not for lust, fame, money or power,” you see.
He does this for you, the eternally ungrateful — his gun is the “shield for the people.” He has a promise to his dead father to keep: “to cleanse this city (Mumbai, of course) with all sincerity, love and humility!”
Rahul Roy plays that dead daddy. He’s a poet, and he knows it. He comes back to a more coloured screen for his cameo to repeat, “Agar daku Valmiki ban sakta hai toh Valmiki daku nahin ban sakta? (If a dacoit can author Ramayan, can’t a writer become a dacoit?)” Heady stuff.
The deranged son agrees, groans, “Mein sabse bada daku banoonga. Iss sheher ke Duryodhan, Kans, Ravan, sabko maroonga. Maroonga! (I’ll become the city’s biggest dacoit, will kill all villains).” This ADA group consists of other underworld type hammies with names like ‘D’Coshta’, ‘Akraam bhai’ and the lot. Gulzar-like voice resurfaces to recite garbled poetry. Background score switches genres again.
A R Rahman has had to compose music for this dumbness. His work in Hindi movies have been terribly uininspiring lately. He’s looked westward for his finest scores instead.
You can tell why. They fetch him Oscars and Golden Globe shortlists (Slumdog Millionaire, 127 Hours, Couples Retreat). His stuff here gets dumped into shoddiness like this (or Lakeer, or Yuvraj, or Jhootha Hi Sahi, why, even Delhi 6). The Madras maestro is clearly no more Bollywood’s number one composer. Which is fair. Sachin isn’t the best domestic cricketer either — he’s probably the best in the world. That’s where Rahman deserves to be — better for the world that way. “Mein sabse bada daku banoonga,” anyone?
