Nonika Singh

At best, documentaries on celebrities tend to be an ode to their stardom; at worst, these end up as an exercise in image makeover for those who have fallen from grace. Rare is a documentary, especially of a living person, that dares to look truth in the eye and provides a balanced, insightful account. Is Sikhya entertainment’s Netflix film that endeavour? Maybe yes, maybe no, but while documenting the story of Punjabi singer Yo Yo Honey Singh, who has seen both dizzying heights of fame and the lows of infamy, director Mozez Singh does address the elephant in Honey’s life from the word go.

When ‘Bandish Bandits’ streamed on Prime Video in 2020, it was a breath of fresh air wrapped in melody and a master class in classical music. As it enters the second season, there is good news and a bit of bad news. First the downside: what it did not succumb to in the first season, it has done so in the second outing and turned into an ‘Indian Idol’ of sorts. Here, the major part of the series is devoted to the India Band Championship. Of course, on the sunny side, it is still an ode to music, now of various hues, and the master class continues. You will still learn more than a thing or two about ragas. Only, this time, we get to hear and see the exponents of contemporary music too.

It opens on a Japanese port with a clever twist to the famous song ‘Mera joota hai Japani’, giving a miss to the second line that talks of the country, now an aggressor. But the aggression in the film is a given. What follows is a high-on-adrenaline action sequence almost like a climactic scene. So, where can Pushpa go from such a strong build-up? Well, back to where it began, right to Pushpa’s childhood and the indignities he suffered due to his illegitimate bearings.

Heist dramas can be a lot of fun as National Award-winning director Neeraj Pandey proved with his ‘Special 26’. Based on a real life crime of 1987, it remains one of cinephiles’ favourite films on the subject. Only, as Pandey once again wields the directorial baton for a heist film, as promised by him, ‘Sikandar Ka…’ isn’t anything like ‘Special 26’. We can’t say for sure whether that is a good thing or bad, only we don’t expect a director of Pandey’s calibre to repeat himself.

We, the post-Independence generation, have grown up listening to or reading this historic speech by India’s first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru. But what about the goings-on before that momentous moment of freedom? What led to India breathing free? What made the British leave behind a nation divided into two? Why Nehru, and not Sardar Patel, was chosen to lead India? Why did Mohammad Ali Jinnah, initially a Congressman, turn so bitter as to demand a separate nation for his Muslim brethren? We might know the answers to these in bits and parts, but, as Nikkhil Advani, creator of the immensely watchable and impeccable ‘Rocket Boys’, turns his creative eye to the run-up to India’s tryst with destiny, he creates yet another masterpiece, offering perspective and detail.

Unrequited love in the Devdas mould is often the go-to subject of Indian cinema, and now it seems in Punjabi movies too. When singer-actor Parmish Verma picks up the directorial baton and wears the producer’s hat as well for his latest film, Tabaah, you know what to expect. The title of the film literally translates to devastation, ruin or destruction, and the opening scenes establish our hero, Verma himself, in self-destruct mode. Like good-old Devdas, pining for his beloved, he is drinking himself to death. At the very start of the film, the poetic lines by novelist Kristin Hannah establish the tragic mood of the film. Taken from her novel The Nightingale (2015), it goes: “Some stories don’t have happy endings. Even love stories. Maybe especially love stories.” Clearly, it’s a love story gone sour. Why? Here, the writer, Gurjind Maan, deserves credit. He has not created any archetype villain in this love story. No family rivalry, no class divide and no parental interference either. Amber’s father (Kanwaljit Singh) is as supportive and caring as fathers are meant to be. So, why has it not ended happily ever after for our hero, Amber, and heroine, Raavi, played by the lovely Wamiqa Gabbi?

Beyond religious divides, cross-border love is not new to Hindi or Punjabi cinema. Back in 1999, the National Award-winning Shaheed-e-Mohabbat Boota Singh was set in the backdrop of the Partition. So, can the controversy of Shahkot being pro-Pakistan — which also follows a theme similar to Shaheed-e-Mohabbat Boota Singh — be put to rest? However, haters will be haters, and the detractors who whipped up a storm before Shahkot’s release might continue to spew venom. Only as popular singer Guru Randhawa makes his acting debut in Pollywood, his launch vehicle steadfastly refrains from hatemongering or demonising Pakistan and Pakistanis. The period the film refers to is uncertain — mobile phones are not yet in vogue, and the relationship between India and Pakistan is not hunky-dory. But, for this detail, the timeline does seem contemporary, yet quite in sync with the milieu of Pakistan it cares to depict. Director of Photography Vineet Malhotra, rises to the occasion and captures the time aesthetically.

Watching a Punjabi film, let alone reviewing it, even for a diehard Punjabi, comes with its own set of misgivings. Sadly enough, as we sit through Sucha Soorma — touted as famous singer-actor Babbu Maan’s comeback film after a gap of four years — doubts turn into a deep, gnawing realisation about said misgivings and a discomfiting feeling. It’s near impossible to rationalise why we are making such films in this day and age, which do not reflect upon the changing matrix of our society; or if they do, god help us. Undoubtedly, this Amitoj Maan directorial is a period film set sometime during the British rule in India, in the early 20th century, even though the only date definitively stated in the film is the year in which the hero, Sucha Soorma (Babbu Maan), was hanged. The very first scene deludes you to believe that here, perhaps, was a warrior who stood up for the downtrodden.