Directors Cut...

Yet another bad movie; this time in Malayalam... 'Pokkiri Rajah'. With a name like that, I was not expecting a 'Benhur'...' but is it not prudent to expect a minimal level of sane entertainment...but nooooo. This movie falls into a genre called 'stupid'. Not comedy, not action, not sci-fi, no ... this is a 'stupid' movie... At a video library, this is the movie you would get if you asked for a stupid movie... Now why did I watch it...!!! aah...!!!

a gun shot...


In our movies, a gun is a novelty item to be displayed often but seldom used. In the movie 'Lelam' M. G Soman takes a gun from one of the baddies and casually suggests the origin of the make. "Germana... allyoda?" now that was kinda cool, there was a godfather like charm and style. At the other end was a Suresh Gopi movie, where they seemed to loose or find the bloody Pivoting Knot or whatever of an AK 47 and do some crap with it. The presentation seemed odd and the whole gun affair was an overkill. I believe all our actors should read through Jeff Cooper’s gun usage techniques before grabbing one.

Anyhow, the most we can expect with a gun, is for the hero to display his expertise in ‘Tanju’ and grab the gun from the villain in a supposedly swift move which is shown in slow-motion. The confused villain has now lost his only gun. 

I think it has been quite a while since a gun shot was fired in a mallu movie. Especially during the final stand-off. Even if our hero has a gun, he resorts to fist fight… A classic example was Keerthichakra... Mohanlal was responsible for the death (on screen...) of that Tamil actor and widowed his wife, the good looking girl.

Our actors, heroes, rather superstars, have this intense desire to personally beat up all the antagonists; the villain, his side kick, his concubine, her mother and any cops in sight, unless, he himself is a cop in which case there will be a bad cop who gets beaten.

Now all this physical exertion calls for some sound physique which could portray the appearance of strength, stamina and athletic ability. But far from that, our heroes are usually fat, chubby, fair, globoids who wallow all around the screen.

Mollywood & Kollywood; 

In Indian, especially South Indian movies, the usual strategy of fighting the villain is by deploying some long, senseless, rhyming monologues which somehow manage to tire the villain who always appears to be hurt and shows his true sensitive side after the dialogue monologue ends… or the villain does not comprehend the meaning and seem confused... Sometimes, the villain would retort with an equally long senseless sentence which can hurt out heroes sentiments.

Nevertheless, towards the end, our hero can no longer take it… his wife was fucked, sister was raped and his mother was brutally murdered along with his father even before he was born… his only hope for a “and they lived happily ever after” dance sequence, is the heroine, who we had briefly seen in two songs (no wonder our hero forgot to protect her) is now taken captive. 

While she is being tied up and prepared for a tasty rape, yes… it usually takes less time to prepare chicken curry… the villain finally comes and delicately begins to lick or bite her, presumably, he wants to kiss her. No touching on boobs or anything of that sort… the worst can be a kiss on the lips followed by what appears to be an act of learning to swim on top of a woman… the reverence of removing her clothes often occurs only after some rolling and licking… but our hero somehow manages to reach the scene before she looses her bra and panties…

Another type of rape involves a game of ‘Kabadi’ with the villain and the chubby lady in a locked room… the villain usually bolts one door to convey the message that he is about rape her. Even if it is his place, unknown to him, the room has another door which is left open and the lady manages to escape through this door and runs straight to our heroes arms, legs, den whatever falls in the way, followed closely by the really stupid villain who is confronted by the hero…

And then a long and arduous fight sequence follows. Now, the hero forgets all about his age, blood pressure and BMI. What follows is a weird act of body exertion with gestures and flights that weaken once belief in the very existence of physics and physical endurance…

The pace of body movement is represented by a ‘swissshhh’ sound as the heavy hairy body cuts through the wind. When a punch lands on the villain, the force and fury is represented by a ‘loud Bushuuum’ sound, which causes the poor guys facial fat to flutter around a bit… cars, rickshaws, small shops, entire buildings, bridges, trees everything and anything that falls in the way is broken during the fight sequence… Finally, when the villain is tired (almost finished), the Bushuum gains an echo;

Bushuum, Bushum bushum, shum shum…

And there lay on the floor, the poor guy who was causing our hero so much of trouble through out the 3 hours and 15 minutes, the length of the movie being 3 and half hours with 15 minutes for fighting…

Back to 'Pokkiri Rajah'... well forgot what it was all about... not a memorable movie that is... but so much was my frustration that I had to type all of this to vent out the tears...

Not that all movies are bad; far from it some of the movies are exemplary…

Good movies as well as bad movies are being made today as it was made yesterday as was done the day before… Somehow, the number of good movies seemed to have gone down a bit… no worries with that though...

What worries me is the onset of really stupid movies which defies commonsense and sanity… this might be alright in some of our neighboring states but in mallu land, where in the great golden 80’s and early 90’s some of the best movies were made, this defines the start of a retreat, a slowdown in evolution, a large step backward…


If the sole purpose of a movie is for the producer to make money, then why not focus on porn…If the sole objective of any business for that matter was to make money, pimping would be the best job, prostitutes the best investment and a brothel the best enterprise…

The highway story

It was Aslam who suggested that they drink at his place and between them, they had finished a bottle of Honeybee. Marcos realized that it had rained only after he noticed large puddles outside the house. He did not know when it started to rain but he knew that it had rained for a long time. The rain had stopped for a while and Marcos scrambled to his car in a hurry.

It was raining again by the time he got into his car and the old Fiat had a reputation for letting him down whenever it was wet. Nevertheless, the small diesel splurged to life on the second attempt and Marcos was on his way home. The sudden realization of rain had taken off some of the pleasure from the brandy.

The drive home was slow and boring. He was familiar with this road and the mundane job of avoiding potholes  made him crave for a cigarette. It was only after he opened the case that he realized he was out of cigarettes and all the shops along the highway were closed by then. The only shop that stayed open at this time was the one next to the railway crossing. Marcos hoped that it would be open. He tried to speed up a bit, but the lashing rain made it difficult for him to see outside.

Almost six kilometers down the road, he saw this lady standing by the roadside. She was carrying what seems like a child. She was looking at Marcos and she seemed to walk towards the road... and towards the car. It was absurd and scary. As the car approached, she stretched her hands towards the car and Marcos saw her clearly, her face, that face... it was just a face, there were no prominent features, devoid of any expression and well lit in the dark rainy night.

The sight alone sent a shiver down his spine and his legs were numb. He did not stop the car. He did not even think about stopping the car. On passing them, he tried to glance at the rear view mirror and yet, he could not dare himself to do that. Every sense of exuberation was sucked out of him in that instant. Even the smell of brandy had disappeared from his mouth. He could use a cigarette now but he did not have any. Even if he had, he would not have lit it up. For the next four kilometers, Marcos held on to the wheels. He even tried to pray; oh God, oh God, he said and started with "our father in heaven..." he did not know the entire prayer and fell silent, Fear had crept into him. Again he tried to recite Hail Mary, which too, he could not complete. He tried to assure himself that he was hallucinating. May be it was the drinks, he thought to himself, but it was so clear and that face. It was as though there was no face, or there was no person. He saw a lady, with a child, but he could not figure out how they looked. Her eyes, her mouth… yes she had them but it was more like a shadow in his memory, like a mannequin.

Without even realizing, Marcos had slowed the car and downshifted to negotiate the sharp right turn towards the coastal road which led to his house. The approach road to the narrow bridge was broken and the car skidded around a bit as he crossed the bridge at a high speed. Two minutes later he saw the closed railway gate. He looked towards the tea shop. They had closed early. His eyes scanned at the tea shop expecting to see light inside. He had done that before. Once when he was completely drunk and needed a smoke, in desperation he knocked on their door at two in the morning and bought a packet of cigarette for twice the price. But now he did not want to get out from the car, for fear, and he did not want to buy cigarettes either. His just wished to see someone there.

As the car stopped in front of the level crossing, the rear door opened and the lady with the child walked out of the car. The sound of the door being unlocked had sent a shock over Marcos as his heart cringed. The distinct sight of the lady getting off from the car and shutting the door made him pale as his blood froze. Marcos kept looking ahead and out of a corner of his eye, saw her closing the door behind and walking towards the narrow road adjacent to the railway track.

There was no other noise except Marcos’ own as he kept whispering to himself; oh god, oh god help me, some one please help me. But there was no one else around and Marcos had to wait for the train. That was when he thought about the gang man. He could be somewhere near by, on his small building, just behind the tea shop near the track.

But Marcos was too frightened to get out. He kept quivering as he clenching his fist against the steering wheel which gave him some comfort. His throat felt heavy and the tiny noises he made failed to reach his mouth which felt dry and cold. He felt tears rush to his eyes as he sobbed and shook himself in tears. Fear had crippled his sense of sanity. Marcos kept pressing on the accelerator pedal in a rhythmic manner until he heard the train.

The siren from the train somewhat shook him, but it was a sign of relief. As the train approached, Marcos sobbed louder and louder, almost screaming to himself as the train passed the railway gate. The old gang man came out and opened the gate and Marcos drove the car across the bumpy railway track as fast as he could.

It took him another five minutes to reach home. It was usual for him to open the gate himself since he always got home late. But tonight he sounded the horn even before he reached the gate. But the lights were off and every one at home seemed to be asleep. He rushed out of the car in anger and frustration and pushed open the rusty old gate. After parking the car, he rushed towards the door fumbling with the keys before rushing back to close the gate. He did not lock the gate that night and ran back towards the door as though the devil was after him.

Once he was inside, he felt some peace. He could hear the noise of his wife snoring loudly which felt comforting. As he turned he saw the picture of Christ, behind the large candle stand and half burned agarbathy, garnished with several garlands and electric lamps in different colours. He promptly drew the cross and thanked the lord for getting him home safely.

Rushing into the bedroom, he saw his wife, snoring loudly and his little girl, Alice, cuddled up next to her. He tried to wake her up. He needed someone to talk to at the time. Renu did not wake up and Marcos tried to find himself some place beside her.

As he closed his eyes, those thoughts rushed back to him and he saw the featureless face of the lady again. He opened his eyes and realized that he needed water. His throat was sore and it started to hurt. He got up and walked to the kitchen. There was a foul stench all around. He opened the refrigerator and took a bottle of ice cold water. As he drank the water, he saw the fish tank. All the fish were dead and were floating on the water, which caused the stench. All of the sudden, fear gripped him once again and he tripped his way to the bedroom.

As he lay next to his wife, he realized that he was starting to sleep, tired from all the ordeals of that night. Yet the thought of the highway incident and the dead fish haunted him. He thought about the lady and that featureless face. All of the sudden, she gained a face and it became clear as he dosed of into a dream, the  lady resembled his wife, no... It was his wife. He realized that he was dreaming. It was the bad sought of dream where you know you were in a bad plot but you cannot snap out of it. The face, as it became his wife’s, crawled on to him and kissed him passionately on his forehead. Then it started to strangle him, with a pleasing face. Marcos tried to push her aside with all his strength. He could not.

The agonizing cruelty of the dream had just begun. What seemed like hours of trauma were made up of strange yet vivid visuals of his wife strangling him over and over again.  He tried to push her aside, but he could not lift his arms. After a while a little child crawled up to his bed. With sick eyes the little child started to bite on Marcos’ belly. As she bit harder and harder it began to hurt until it started to bleed. Marcos could see the blood. As the little girl bit deeper and deeper into his stomach, the gory sight and the numbing pain... all felt real.

Then there were shadows. Of trees, of the old slaughter-home down the road, the old municipal building and the lamp post near which he had seen the lady with the child. He was thirsty again, but he could not walk up to the refrigerator. He though he was going to die of thirst. Thirst became a prominent part of that cruel dream. Finally, he summoned all his strength and walked to the kitchen. The stench from the dead gold fish was even stronger and as he opened the refrigerator, he saw his little girl, inside the refrigerator. He woke up scared and sweating in a state of fret.

It was nine in the morning. His wife came into the room and asked him what time he came in last night. Said she had a sound sleep and told him about the dead fish. Marcos looked out of the window and saw little Ancy playing outside. He felt relieved and wanted to tell her about the strange incident and the ugly dream. But he thought it was better not to discuss the incident at all.

1-1-11 New Year Dawn

 Mamzar beach

After an uneventful (kind-off dull, stuck in traffic, no where on time) New Years eve, I managed to wake up early and chase the sunrise. Warmed the old Alfa and started off at almost 5:45 AM and rushed towards the nearby Mamzar beach. I know that this is not the most exciting thing to do and it was so much boring than getting drunk on New Years eve, howling at the stroke of 12, dancing on the street, being chased home by the cops and waking up on the next day after noon with a terrible headache. Been there, done that. But to my surprise, I was not the only nut head at the beach. Another Indian couple had turned up in their Pajero. At least, they turned up with a big SLR camera while I strolled around with my Nokia camera phone.

 After a while we realized that the sunrise cannot be viewed from Mamzar. Apparently, after observing the night sky and comparing with the solar blumglum, I understood that the balcony at our home could give a better view. The other couple rushed towards the next suitable location and I drove towards home, when I caught a slight glimpse of sunlight. I realized that I could get a fine view of sunrise from the Pond park near our home. These are the pics I took.

glimpse of sunlight from the car

sunrise at pond park

1/1/11

Qusais Solstice

beautiful, quite and nice part of flamboyant Dubai

a nearby building illuminated by the sunlight