I am thrilled to say a few words about Madhuri Dixit. And not only because we are in an expectant Madhuri-comes-back period, with Aaja Nachle in the wings. Ever since I saw her in Devdas, where she outshines Ash Rai (well, a few more words on this later), I never think about her without that special feeling: what a woman, what charm, what femininity. She has something of Meryl Streep, a tinge of Monica Bellucci, even of Sophia Loren! (below, with the hat, wouldn't you say?) Or perhaps it’s the other way round: these immortal beautiful faces remind us of Madhuri?! Do you remember Sudhir Mishra’s Dharavi? She is the “Dreamgirl” in that film: well that’s it, part of her is in that realm, detached from reality so to speak, a pure product of cinema. 

                            
But no, she’s also a very real kind of person. What strikes me first is the warmth of that face, its glowing warmth. It’s the brown eyes, their womanly presence that is felt when she is pleased (and then it’s rapture) or sombre (and then it’s danger): she’s a woman through and through. If she loves you, she’ll fight for you like a tigress; if she despises you, one look of hers and the world crumbles, her beauty turns to stone, and you have a pillar of hate in front of you. Her expressiveness is total, and yet, you sense so much more behind. There are feelings she will hide, for she is ever a seductress, ever a queen who has to ascertain how much power she has at her disposal. 

Young Madhuri was like the froth of bubbles out of an alpine fountain, it was pure song, pure freshness. Or otherwise she was a sensuous fire, full of smoke and sparks. This is how I saw her in Dil, or Prem Granth, for example. More enthralling than that, I don’t know! But what I now feel about her, what I now like about her is a much richer mixture of respect and attention. Everything she’s been through comes into play, those ups and downs of fortune, her marriage far away from home, her affairs with other men… All this composes a picture which is endearing and moving, a picture of life, with this wonderful woman in the middle, full of her successes and of her failures.  It seems all this is expressed in Devdas, in her character of Chandramukhi, the object of so many men’s desire, and yet with a heart, a need to love and be loved: somehow this corresponds to her figure as the queen of the 90’s. I have pointed out elsewhere how much the prostitute is a core figure of our civilisational process. It works here too. Chandramukhi defends herself by showing how much criticism levelled at her social status is in fact a criticism which should be directed to society as a whole, for the Whore is nothing more than the embodiment of men’s deeper desires. She is nothing but a projection of men’s nature. And she is in the best position to denounce the hypocrisy of a society which objectifies women. In front of Paro, who walks draped in her righteousness (until she understands something of suffering), Chandramukhi is the eternal woman, she’s Venus and she’s Mona Lisa. She finds love and knows how much love traps you, but she clings to it, because love also frees.

Madhuri Dixit testifies to a phenomenon which is rather frightening: Bollywood’s cannibalism. Bollywood needs a fresh beauty every ten years or so. For instance, there was the reign of Rekha, then Sridevi came along, then Madhuri, then Aishwarya, and the rise of one meant the demise of the other. Today, there is more money, more exposure, more sophistication, more competition, so perhaps it’s a better period, but in their various circles, the ladies are still as dearly bought. Their looks and youthfulness crown them, they shine and reign, but as soon as their light start to fade, and a new star shines brighter or with a different, more appealing lustre, they must suffer their lamp to be put at the back, among the accessories. The industry needs a regular ration of beauty (and sexiness) to feed on, and it’s hard work for talent to disprove this rigorous law. Madhuri has fitted this circle very effectively. She understood how it worked, she took advantage of it (money-wise too), and so today she’s probably satisfied: not all beautiful girls make it for a brief canter at the top!

So what of her “come-back”? It will change nothing, of course. At least, I fear it won’t. I’d like it if Madhuri could continue a career the way male actors do. At least, that’s what happens in Western cinema. I’m afraid mainstream Bollywood is still a victim of the special appeal of beauty and youth, and apart from phenomena such as Amitabh Bachchan, there are practically no older actors or actresses who make it in the leading roles when they are past their prime. Can Madhuri rise again? At 42?

I realise I’ve said very little about her films, her acting, her dancing! That’s what she’s renowned for, on top of her looks. Well, I just need to say that she’s quite good. I have in mind Dil to pagal hai, for instance, a blockbuster which I found extremely shallow, but never mind, she plays Pooja quite convincingly (as does Karisma Kapoor, BTW). In Hum aapke hain koun!, there are glorious moments of comedy and fun which we owe to her lively teasiness. Her dancing is sometimes too stilted for me, but perhaps I’m not the best judge.  

I'm briefly coming back here because I happened to have read a real cool post on Queen Mads: it's here, on Pitu's great  Empire! Go and check it out!!

Facts we should remember about Salman before we start criticising him:

- Let’s face, if Sallu didn’t exist, Bollywood would be incomplete.

- You can’t love Bollywood and not give at least some credit to Salman.

- He can’t be that badmash, he actually dated Ash Rai for two or so years.

- Men around the world, when coming back from work, on a hot day, are now kind of justified to strip and appear with a bare torso in front of their wives: the wives deflect some of the blame on Salman (perhaps they also thank him for it).

- Living Salman’s life, in spite of jail periods, isn’t that bad; after all, he didn’t go to jail for killing that person in Bandra!

- Even chinkara antelopes should be pleased; no one knew about their existence before Salman drew our attention to them.

All right, now that we have our facts straight, here’s the analysis. Why do I like Salman Khan in spite of all that? What saves him? What redeems the guy? How come I actually smile when I think of him? I mean, come on, I despise open shirts, I can’t stand drunken driving, nor ramming into bakeries, I don’t appreciate people that Ash doesn’t like, and I don’t like people she once liked a lot; I find shooting at animals futile and dangerous (you might actually hurt somebody); puerile attitudes and self-abasement are for me the signs of a severe problem in the mind. So shouldn’t I leave this man alone in his little complacent little universe? I shouldn’t even write about him. Do you realize? I am actually spending much of that precious time imagining how to present him in a nice light!

The first thing is, I don’t care about all that gossip. Salman can be a poacher, a tax evader, a womanizer, what he wants, I couldn’t care less. That’s his life, not mine. He starts entering mine when I see him on the screen, and of course the first thing I have to deal with is that issue of pectorals and other lumps of flesh. Hum…Well, I don’t deal with it very well, but after all, acting has other facets. Then there are his attitudes when the directors trust him to behave well when there is another main character talking, and Salman just doesn’t know what to do… I don’t deal with that very well either, but really, he’s not the only one: how many so-called actors in BW don’t know what to do with themselves when they are forgotten on screen by the directors? There’d be close to nobody left if we got rid of all that lot!

There are in fact some good films with Salman, that’s the simple truth. In KKHH, he’s fine, he’s OK, he’s just what he should be. He plays that rather disagreeable role of Aman with elegance, without any trace of disdain of having to give away the adorable Kajol to the “other” Khan. In Khamoshi, he’s Manisha’s lively mentor, very convincingly so. He teaches a lesson of life to that headstrong father of hers, who in spite of his hearing handicap (which frees him from certain prejudices of us sound-obsessed human beings), is limited in his understanding of what the young generation can bring to the world. In HDDCS, by Sanjay Leela Bhansali, he again has to sacrifice the pleasant role of the heroine’s gallant lover for the rather unpleasant one of the selfish romancero. In Hum tumhare hain sanam, there are moments when he genuinely plays and slides on the sets with decided grace and charm.

And that’s what I appreciate about him; grace and charm. Most of his defects are but inflated grace and charm. When he looks at his partner with these good-doggy looks, it’s because he knows he’s charming; he might be ridiculous, but that ridicule is naïve, not pathetic. His eyes save him. They’re his big asset. Who can be really bad with such eyes? I love his eyes. In fact, they’re clown’s eyes. This guy should have been a clown, making children laugh, making them jump with fear, and them cajoling them with a big popping smile. Salman is not a baddie, he just can’t do that. His character is that of a lover, carefree, easy and friendly, a little superficial maybe, but always there, always near. He’s just a boy, in fact, he hasn’t really grown up. That’s what David Dhawan (Biwi No 1) says: "Salman has a child-like quality that makes him very endearing." (here)

I believe that for all his failings, for all his limitations (which he readily admits), his natural and easy-going character are what makes him popular, and popularity is never completely wrong. Part of what Bollywood is, down deep, can be found in Salman. He’s part of the family. Bollywood is a show, a multi-faceted, colourful, open-air show. In a show, the characters have to be well defined, clearly cut. If you go into too much detail, you risk losing of the main picture. Salman is clearly identifiable, he’s the smiling guy with that great confidence, who will save the heroine and take her in his arms, crush her softly, and make her dream she’s lifted effortlessly up in the sky. The reason why some people hate Salman is because they don’t want to be lifted up in the sky. Because he can also lift up you guys there.

So: where does all the fuss come from? Why the dislike? Why the hate? Why is he sometimes described as such a brute? I’d say, perhaps from the same source that his kindness comes from. He’s violent and silly, sometimes, because he’s a good guy. He has been very fortunate, he has enjoyed so far a very enviable reputation, only tainted by those few lapses, but they have hardly changed the general picture. He’s too carefree, too happy-go-lucky, that’s all. Now you can be quite jealous of him, it’s only natural. And having been so spoilt, he can be quite aggressive when he doesn’t get what he wants. Apparently, that’s what happened with Aish. Violence was his childish response to opposition. Note that it was more, we are told, self-inflicted violence than towards others, and that too is very typical of frustrated and confused goodness. 

I would like to finish this commentary by hoping that he finds a role that will really fit him in a way that people will say: ah, now that’s what he was made for, that’s what he was waiting for. It will be both satisfying and logical, because his talent is real, as real as his energy. There will always be some who will say that his versatility is limited, precisely if he does meet with that future great role, but who cares really? Perhaps that role will be a combination of kindness, humour, and sadness. He’s already played in such roles, where he had to express this loving sadness. But I’m sure he could be given a part where he would create a very endearing and at the same time fascinating character. Both tragic and comic. His strength lies in his capability to play those great feelings convincingly. Just don’t let him take that shirt off. Or if needed, let him laugh about it too.

I have always liked Saif Ali Khan, ever since Kal ho Na ho, in which I first saw him squint and sidle towards the camera, like an Indian Mafioso, with his Italian airs, his raspy voice. He was a welcome difference from the Salmans, the Shahruhks, and I immediately enjoyed his half-confident way of acting. Saif has been educated in England, at Winchester College, and I read that he had trouble with Hindi upon returning to his native country. Had he noticed that his general outlook had a Western element about it? Well, whatever, what is true is that he has now arrived at a star-level where he can sell a film, even mediocre films (recently Ta ra pum pum) on his good name. He has quickly adapted!

One thing which is part of the Saif persona is his ability to be accepted by the public for both roles of baddies and goodies. This ambivalence is a sign of his cleverness, because thus he can appeal to more producers, and also seem more credible with the critics. It’s true that his looks favour this attitude: he’s got this sombre, romantic face which perhaps can impersonate better characters with a dark intent. His general outlook goes rather well with what we expect villains to look like! Even in films where he plays positive roles, he’s not always as 100% likable. Worth mentioning are of course Parineeta, and also Dil chahta hai, and  Hum tum, among the films I’ve seen. He’s said to be very good in Omkara in a baddie’s role. Kya Kehna was a poor film, I found, but that wasn’t Saif’s fault. This ability to play good and bad roles means also that he can probably express certain emotions better, unless it’s the other way round (his versatility is a sign of his ability), as many spectators and critics have underlined. 

One last thing about SAK: I think he is well appreciated because of a combination of qualities: a certain fragility, mixed with a dose of self-consciousness, a lovability which comes from the fact that he’s not a n°1, or doesn’t insist he is one. In Kal ho na ho, in Dil chahta hai, he’s accepted to play n°2, or even n°3. This flexibility enables him us to feel closer to him, in spite of his “noble” origins (he’s the heir to the “Nawabs of Pataudi” – what that means in terms of social image in India, I’m at a loss to realise, though). I don’t particularly enjoy the fact that he half-consciously tries to appear as hulky as Salman (some directors make him undress…), and as rebellious as Shahruhk. But it’s probably unavoidable, and again, even if it betrays their influence, it reinforces Saif’s humanity, shall we say. Here’s a guy who’s like us, who half-heartedly follows the examples of those in the lead, who is telling us: I too am not so bad, I too need you spectators, I too want to make good films. And it works, he’s as good as them, if not better. And, just like them, as a result, he now has to fight the demons of that superiority complex which success and talent often give to good actors. For me, Ta ra pum pum was a sign of that possible shift towards self-complacency. So beware, Saif, and remain vulnerable, remain unsatisfied!

Have you visited this website ? It’s got this quote : « for most people money becomes the end in itself. People want money for the sake of having money. For me it’s a means to an end. I want to work hard and make a lot of money.”

What do you think? Materialistic? Obnoxious? Or welcome frankness?

I somehow used to cringe away from Hrithik Roshan, don’t know why! Could it be that the display of bulging flesh displeases me? Could it be that I’m not enough of a female? I can almost hear the screams of delight at each of his bare-chested appearances (I’m resisting the temptation of categorising HR in the “take off your shirt and sit down” class of actors) and I’m also wondering if there isn’t something the matter with his nostrils…

Okay, so off we go, my favourite activity: examine the foundations of my feelings concerning certain BW phenomena (does this sound VERY pretentious?). I’ve seen three of his films: K3G, Koi mil gaya and Lakshya. I’m told that I shouldn’t waste my time seeing Dhoom2 (read this plea, for example), and apparently HR doesn’t do much to save it! Then there’s Krrish, in which Carla (her blog) tells me (here), she loved the “innocence of its main character (clearly Hrithik); his purity and guilelessness, even if ephemeral”. Naresh Kumar Deoshi from ApunKaChoice.Com writes it’s “a wholesome entertainer that will appeal particularly to teenagers and kids”. Well, maybe. In other films he is said to be good too, Mission Kashmir, or Fiza, if I judge by what A. Gowariker says (here). 

 
  

When I started wanting to make this review, I had seen only K3G and Koi mil gaya. I thought Hrithik Roshan had done rather well in K3G: it seemed to me he was playing the role with dedication and a certain amount of inspiration. In Koi mil gaya, although I didn’t click with the retarded schoolboy act, there were good moments. So I probably suffered more from the fan-fuelled hysteria than from the star’s performances! 


Then I watched Lakshya. And that film changed everything. It’s perhaps boisterously nationalistic, unashamedly pro-military, who knows? I’ll leave that to those more in touch with the political realities. But in Lakshya, Hrithik Roshan delivers a great job. He’s at ease, focussed, almost effortlessly unaware of himself as a star. He’s become Karan Shergill, first in his Delhi aimless youth persona, and then very convincingly so, as the war-zone lieutenant whose “objective” he means to fulfil until the end. No muscle-taunting there, no winning smiles, (the film contains only three music pieces during which he thankfully doesn’t use his playboy charms): HR does indeed charm us, but by sheer professionalism. I especially appreciated the bum he plays during the flashback, for which he let his hair grow, because this endangers his sexy looks, and enables us to appreciate him more as an actor and less as an icon.

 









One word about Preity Zinta too, in this film.  She’s perfect. I mean as an actress, and as a woman. I just stared at her chubby round face, with her fantastic haircut, her determined ways, and even if I’m not sure every aspect of her character is realistic, she pleased me tremendously. Great role-playing by Big A, too, and nice composition from Om Puri, very dependable gentlemen, these.

Well: back to that question of sovereignty! Undoubtedly Hrithik Roshan has talent, he knows what it means to be an actor (I’ve read about his preparatory sessions for the roles he has to perform), and he doesn’t mind divesting himself of his more pleasing self (if there’s one thing to be said about his KMG role, it’s that one): all commendable assets. So why the trouble? After all, this is Bollywood; I know about the (very) physical impact of BW stars on their audiences, and the temptation it represents for directors to use that aspect. With HR, I’m sure there’s 100% benefit (200%?) to be drawn in financial terms from making him use short sleeves and a groomed haircut. And, even if he does oblige a little (I’m told it’s more than that in Dhoom2), one might say that he can also do a good job. Which, if you compare him with his “competitors” (John, Salman,…) does say a lot. Er, let me finish with what Confucius once said: muscles are made to serve people, not people to serve muscles. (You don't believe me?)