The first was set in a dark, deserted, cobbled Paris street; the other in a sunlit “chauraha” in the middle of one of the most crowded spots on Earth: Chandni Chowk. Both images from the two best films of this year, Queen and Aankhon Dekhi respectively, ostensibly very different, yet very similar: both championed individuals who moved, and grew.
This is still such a rarity in Bollywood, which has become slicker and lusher over the years but doesn’t still bother overmuch about such things as a script and storyline once a star is on board (Salman Khan! Shah Rukh Khan!) that the few films that topline these elements instantly become winners.
Kangana Ranaut’s Rani aka queen (delightfully pronounced “kween” by a girl who typifies “Rjouri”, a Paschim Dilli “clony”) walked straight into my heart and has pretty much nestled there. I cheer for her journey, still. And I often think of Aankhon Dekhi’s Bauji, the mildly annoying wholly stubborn stubbly codger played to perfection by Sanjay Mishra: Did he find the place he was looking for? The unlikely tale of two brothers who inhabit the sleazy, slushy world of the C-grade porn film trade of the 1980s is also right up there. Ashim Ahluwalia’s Miss Lovely could have drowned in its superb set design. But his characters, as unlovely as the ironic title of the film, float and sting. The film doesn’t give them a convenient, soppy out, and is wrenching and moving.
There were a few other films that transported me to their world, and made me think, despite their flaws. I’d place Haider on the top of this short pile: Vishal Bhardwaj’s Kashmir is mesmeric and unforgettable, with its snow drifts and characters draped in fear and pherans and gorgeous shawls. But the principal actors did not have enough heft, and the film got sandwiched between making a strong political statement and a weak love story.
I thoroughly enjoyed Khubsoorat, a Disney-pretty rom-com, starring, yes, Sonam Kapoor, who was appropriately silly and flighty and ditsy and giggly as a “commoner” falling for a nob. Kapoor, who has till now been a mannequin in search of a role, fit right in. It helped that the fellow she lost her heart to was already the heartthrob of millions of ladies on the subcontinent (and other global spots that watch Pakistani serials, if my gushing informants are correct). The combo gave Bollywood its only real rom-com of the year.
That takes care of the films that will stay with me. The numbers that I couldn’t abide would gobble up space, so I will just say that the really terrible ones belonged to the top male stars, and Akshay Kumar and Ajay Devgn can vie for a joint share in the worst films of 2014 — Entertainment or Action Jackson? I’d say the latter: the former stayed a tad ahead only because it had a waggy dog.
The others, Khans all, did a rinse, repeat and re-repeat. Salman Kick-ed us about, Shah Rukh wished us Happy New Year at Diwali time, and made sure they did nothing, I repeat, nothing new. The only Khan who managed to shift a little was, surprise, Aamir, in Rajkumar Hirani’s PK: he sold his wide-wider-eyed act well, and gave us an alien that looks comfortingly like us — hey, Earth people, denizens in golas far far away also have eyes and nose and hair and limbs! They speak Bhojpuri! They chew paan! They even pee alongside walls! Like I said, instantly comforting: “kaunau conphuson naahi.”
We’ve been going on about how female characters finally got their due in 2014. I’d say yes and no. The marvellous Tabu needed more sharpness in Haider. Rani Mukerji was credible in Mardani till her cop was made to cop out by throwing her fists about like your standard vigilante. Vidya Balan played a sleuth in many disguises in Bobby Jasoos, but the film was slack. Priyanka Chopra got Mary Kom to back her all the way, and that’s the single reason her wide-lipped Olympian boxer was believable; cousin Parineeti Chopra was given a potentially intriguing mad-genius scientist girl role in Hasee Toh Phasee, but she had to make too many faces: a leading lady talking about strictly scientific stuff? Only? Never!
At the beginning of the new year, I’d like to weigh my glass and smile at the half-full part. I got to see Rajinikanth in all his subtitled-in-English glory at the neighbourhood multiplex, and within a week, Lingaa was out in a Hindi dub. I am excited about Shankar’s I, starring Vikram, one of India’s best actors. Being able to see films from all parts of India at the same time they release in their state is a huge plus, and the trend has grown this year. I’d like to see more, especially the exciting cinema from Kerala, Bengal, Maharashtra and, of course, Tamil Nadu.
In the half-empty portion, I’d like to dump all the way past their sell-by dates south remakes and the other star vehicles, with their lazy scripting, mindless violence and deep-seated misogyny. I’d like to see the superstars stray a little from their safety nets and use their muscle to power something new. And I’d really, really like to see more feisty, independent women leads who have real agency. Plus, and this is most crucial: I’d love to banish all those loonies who ask for films to be banned.
I’ve got my beady eyes on you, 2015.
