India: Undervaluing its geniuses
Okay, so which moron ever said #Haraamkhor was an average film?!! Oh Damn you movie critics for making a masterpeice wallow in self pity. This is seasoned film making, enacted by some of the darkest faces I have seen come alive and shine bright on any *mm* screen.
And am I blown by the performances!!!
Nawazuddin Siddiqui Nawazuddin Siddiqui - it is an honour to watch you *become* the mildlly revolting, childlike in his lust and increadulous in his love for the girl. Your *Shyam* the teacher could win an award for simply the display of *concealed rage*, if nothing else!!
#ShwetaTripathi
you brilliant child of modern Indian cinema, you made *Sandhya* stand
tall next to Nawaz, your giggles, your eyes full of mirth, pain,
betrayal, lust, you girl can cram so much into those tiny tiny pupils
full of such expression!!!
#MohdSamaad as Mintu and #IrfanKhan as Kamal - Sandhya’s classmates play the underaged testosterrony *Sutradhars* of this wind mill blown saga, are such a rare delight. It is absolutely incongruous to put them down as just *child artists*. They make you gasp and giggle, shriek and run wild with their dirty, perverted, innocent, adorable gaffs and very vivid imagination... Watch out for the little one. He is a tour de force.
The nuanced story telling and the insane genius of Shlok Sharma's craft will leave you in deep awe and extreme sadness. Pity, these are Indian artists who have to struggle to fill Inox seats, when under the global arch of film making they are so often hailed for their blessed skills and raw talent. The infantile ease of each character, the sombre love of the police inspector, the insecure wife, the batshit crazy child who is The Shaktiman, every single thread depicts such natural shades of our life. Thanks Bodhayan Roychaudhury for insisting I watch this one alone.
This is superlative artwork and this Director, he knows his people, the glory in their small moments, their gentle hearts and their rich dark luscious souls. He knows the myriad languages India speaks. From the hollowness of committed men, the bold beautiful shamelessness of small town women, the utter glee and crushing sorrow of adolescent children...right until the last hurrah, the song #kidrejawaan which seals every single sordid end frame of Haraamkhor so seamlessly, with such dissonance, that you weep.
P.S: Can someone tap the Censor Board of India (not very gently) and tell them to quit trying to apologise for an adult subject by labling it as *Chatra Shoshan?* This is a love saga gone horribly wrong between a student and her teacher. Deal with it. No exploiting for anyone to see. So There.
#MohdSamaad as Mintu and #IrfanKhan as Kamal - Sandhya’s classmates play the underaged testosterrony *Sutradhars* of this wind mill blown saga, are such a rare delight. It is absolutely incongruous to put them down as just *child artists*. They make you gasp and giggle, shriek and run wild with their dirty, perverted, innocent, adorable gaffs and very vivid imagination... Watch out for the little one. He is a tour de force.
The nuanced story telling and the insane genius of Shlok Sharma's craft will leave you in deep awe and extreme sadness. Pity, these are Indian artists who have to struggle to fill Inox seats, when under the global arch of film making they are so often hailed for their blessed skills and raw talent. The infantile ease of each character, the sombre love of the police inspector, the insecure wife, the batshit crazy child who is The Shaktiman, every single thread depicts such natural shades of our life. Thanks Bodhayan Roychaudhury for insisting I watch this one alone.
This is superlative artwork and this Director, he knows his people, the glory in their small moments, their gentle hearts and their rich dark luscious souls. He knows the myriad languages India speaks. From the hollowness of committed men, the bold beautiful shamelessness of small town women, the utter glee and crushing sorrow of adolescent children...right until the last hurrah, the song #kidrejawaan which seals every single sordid end frame of Haraamkhor so seamlessly, with such dissonance, that you weep.
P.S: Can someone tap the Censor Board of India (not very gently) and tell them to quit trying to apologise for an adult subject by labling it as *Chatra Shoshan?* This is a love saga gone horribly wrong between a student and her teacher. Deal with it. No exploiting for anyone to see. So There.
