Monday, January 12, 2009

Slumdog Supernova

People, you HAVE to watch Slumdog Millionaire. It is one of the most awesomest movies made. Like seriously fantastic. The music, the acting, the production..wow! The child actors are natural, natural, natural.I'm totally in love with the little Jamaal. The music is really good. A.R. Rahman totally deserves the golden globe.(not that it would matter THAAAT much if i didn't think so) Check them out on http://www.dilshil.com/music/indian/slumdog-millionaire/index.shtml especially Ringa Ringa.

And please don’t confirm and make your uncool status official by watching it next year or next month or next week. Watch it now, pronto! Because if the world ended day after tomorrow, you’ll never redeem your jaded souls. Take it from a temporarily redeemed soul!

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

alert!

So I was more ranting and less raving about the strange inhabitants of TV’s unsquare universe.(don't ask!) This is about one of those angels of mercy that saves this 'universe' from utter Dannie damnation. Do check out safetriphome.com. Each song on the album features a short film from across the world. And this song “let’s do the things we normally do” features none other than our capital of dreams, Mumbai. And it’s none other than that Goswami-babe who played Debbie in Rock On who stars or rather who does supreme justice to the song, the script and the city.

Now, Shahana Goswami gives the Bollywood version of sexy a really long, uphill run for its money - starlets, sad acting, Mallika’s whatever she did before she discovered comedy, item numbers et al. She has significantly raised the bar of a Bollywood-newcomer status from 56 lip locks; made performance a lot more than parting legs and gyrating around a pole or a guy or his pole and done enough to prevent anyone from asking ‘what has she ever done?’. For me, she was the hero of Rock On. Her character carried the soul of the movie with the most panache. Don’t get me wrong. Darling drummer boy Purab, Arjun Rampal’s silly moustache and long haired wasting away demigod, Farhan’s voice, take-me-home-NOW-rocker-man looks, nicely veined and muscled biceps (though he isn’t bollywood’s hottest guitar-wielding man. Saif is. The way Saif holds his guitar, you want to be the guitar. Sigh!) all worked for me. I came out of the theatre with the glow and shine of someone’s who has heard the messiah at the mountain and all. Though Luke Kenny was a damp squib. He was good and all for a non-Luke Kenny person. This was Luke Kenny man. He’s the First Citizen of Rock in this democracy. He knew his Metallica and Aerosmith before Unforgiven was followed by Hit Me Baby One More Time on many a blasphemous pink iPOD. So going and dying and all…was pffft! or maybe it was seeing someone so self-assured play someone so insecure( which he actually deserves credit for). Anyways, that Goswami chick rocked. Like seriously rocked. That was the movie’s message. “do anything less than what you’re made to do, and you’ll rot inside you’re living, breathing skin.”

In short, not your usual forgettable or worse, why-the-#%$^%^%#-hell-is-she-everywhere actress. So do check out the site and the short films. Believe me, it’ll be the best thing you gave your quickly depleting attention to in a long, long, longerthanyou’verealized time.

and watch the rest of the short films. let me know what you thought of them. especially Grafton street and Northern sky and Don't believe in love and....you get the drift, right!

www.safetriphome.com

Monday, January 5, 2009

teledisillusion


I remember, once, i was cribbing to this friend of mine about there being nothing on TV. To which he answered with considerable amount of stage surprise, “Nothing? Why, there are so many, many programmes on TV. Check the newspaper, no…lot’s of shows!” While he obviously was trying to be funny, his attempt at humour sort of reflected the TV’s attempt at entertaining. They both made the same phhhhhut sound common to all incidents of falling flat. This was back in college, when there was plenty of time to do nothing at all, and television hadn’t quite become synonymous with socializing. A time when cable TV was more democratic, before Shah Rukh came with his big fat nose and sweerpy grin and evangelized rerun redemption – DTH, a world where you actually got to SEE the final season of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. instead of reading about Rachael’s and Ross’s much anxitipated (read anxiously anticipated) on-for-good-fingers-crossed getting back together. Star World and my previously mentioned friend shared the same pathetic sense of humour (i remember mentioning something like that also!). Rremember how they went right back to season one with the skinny Chandler and a plumper waitress Rachael the day after a much older Monica proposed to a quite bulky Chandler in the candle lit room – an anticlimax. Argh..drove me nuts!

Today all that has changed. TV time is a much cherished time. I watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S lord-knows-which-season for the lord-knows-whichth-time and I laugh like a child on a merry ground (and come off feeling all vomity and empty headed, also). Drew Carey and his bunch of funny men are precious long lost friends and yadayada, you get the gushing, don’t you. But there are still some things that still make me wonder* (I remember a time when *That used to be something good). One of them is Amir Khan’s new assets. I thought he’d be above the kind of display of cleavage that gets the wrong kind of tongue-lolling.

What IS he trying to do? Upstage Asin? Poor girl, has to run and all in the desert to get Her assets some attention. By the way, methinks that romancing in the desert is the new maramchuttipremam, the famous romancing around the trees. Guess it’s the film industry’s way of coping with global warming and deforestation. “Sorry meydem, no trees to peep behind from and bat eyelashes. So please, remove clothes and run in desert, no! Pliss cooperate, na!” So back to Amir’s unsightly man silicon implants. I guess it’s a turn on for some. I wonder how many girls have woken up one unfine day to find that their sweet boyfriends have turned into a roll-of-sock-jock after this Ghajini. Then there’s that horrible slow-mo swagger, displaying that one acre of razor-happy disagreeableness, which hundred lifetimes of penance will not wash away. And the sad plight of that lone button hanging on for dear life to the buttonhole Will get a person zillion years in purgatory. Remind me to start an SMS campaign and picket against it.



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Sunday, January 4, 2009

new yeah

Well now, it’s a brand new year. And this one’s high on hope. After a year like 2008, which obviously didn’t look before it leaped, I’m really looking forward to a tamer year when people can keep their clothes on their back and the shoes on their feet, rather than throwing them at random presidents. This year, I hope we find a solution for global warming, traffic snarls and mosquitoes. I'm hoping the autorickshaw drivers in Cochin will stop being so pro-inflation and charge a little less than their I'm-so-going-to-hit-a-jackpot fares.

Anyways I 'found' a rather nice beginning. I bought a music album after ever so long. Not downloaded or ripped off from somewhere in a thumbdrive. I actually went to music store and picked up Dido’s Safe trip home. And it’s such a wonderful way to begin a year. Dido’s music is like a perfect cup of coffee after a particularly long hard day that’s gone straight to the back of your neck. And then I reconnected with old friends.

Old friends are the grandest. Not friends who are like decades older than you, but those who go "way back" to school pinafores or pain in the neck, high pitched college lecturers. (Just for the record, waiting for Dido’s widely spaced albums and finally picking it up is not unlike catching up with a long lost friend) Nothing beats them. Old girl buddies…I’m terribly sorry for those girls who claim they don't get along with other girls and only have male friends.(Peeeeeeeeeeti) And my heart bleeds little drops of contempt for those of them who can barely mask the pride in their high pitched voices as they make the claim. They have no idea what they are depriving their 50 year old selves. And they’ll never know what they’ve deprived their 20-somethings selves of. Gossip and hot coffee. Battling the inches together.Voiced opinions and eye contact jokes. Singing and caterwauling and cackling anyplace, anytime. And a sense of never ever being alone.

Happy is a rather agreeable feeling to begin the New Year with : )