Rohan Naahar

Depending on where you live in the world, the first episode of HBO’s new true crime series, The Mortician, will either be scandalous or sloppy. In the 1980s, a man named David Sconce took over his family’s respectable funeral home business, and took it in an altogether macabre direction, all in the name of aggressive expansion. But the sort of shenanigans that he got up to would hardly draw a second glance in India. A lot of what he was convicted of doing would be brushed off as ‘jugaad’ here. In the United States, however — especially the wealthy Pasadena neighbourhood where Sconce conducted his activities — a scandal erupted. It was discovered that Sconce was mass-cremating bodies and essentially scooping out ashes from large barrels, and presenting them to the families of the deceased. They had no idea that the urn being given to them contained the remains of several dead people mixed together, and not just their loved one. Sconce said that this was a common practice in funeral homes, and that most businesses would be lying if they pretend that it wasn’t. You could imagine white people getting all hot and bothered about something like this, but in India, where the cost of human life is negligible, it would be more surprising if there was no skullduggery going on.

In recent years, several Bollywood big-shots with varying degrees of wealth and intelligence have said that South Indian movies are performing better than their Hindi counterparts because they’re more ‘rooted’. The word has become a part of the lexicon, alongside terms such as ‘elevation scene’ and ‘BGM’. Anurag Kashyap has said it; Javed Akhtar has said it; if they’d asked the women, they’d have said it as well. But what does the word ‘rooted’ even mean? The one movie that perfectly captures all the ingredients that are missing from Hindi cinema these days, the one movie that Bollywood would do well to emulate, is the Malayalam-language sports comedy Alappuzha Gymkhana, which debuted recently on SonyLIV after an excellent theatrical run. It’s as rooted as they come. But the definition of this kind of cinema could vary. While Kashyap thinks that ‘rooted’ cinema refers to stories of the heartland, Akhtar has complained that Hindi filmmakers are losing touch with the language. He forgets that his own children write in English and have their scripts translated. For most Bollywood producers, ‘rooted’ is merely a code word for a very specific kind of big-budget movie; the chauvinistic and bombastic sort of cinema popularised by the Telugu industry and bastardised by the north.

A few years ago, Karan Johar debuted his Dharmatic Entertainment banner with a Netflix film called Guilty. It remains memorable for two reasons; first, Kiara Advani is terrific in it, and second, it’s perhaps the only time that Bollywood has addressed the #MeToo movement head-on. Guilty, which made solid use of the Rashomon effect, ended with a rather on-the-nose title card about Bollywood having turned a blind eye to the accusations made against some of its most prominent figures. Years later, their alleged crimes are essentially forgotten. Many of the accused continue to work freely, while several of those that raised their voices were quietly outcast. Entirely by accident, Johar’s recent co-production, Kesari Chapter 2, turns out to be an accurate indictment of why, as a system, the industry failed its most vulnerable members.

While many people have tried to project meaning onto Steven Spielberg’s Jaws — some have called it a parable about the Vietnam War, others have described it as a post-Watergate examination of the American middle-class — the movie is perhaps best enjoyed as a piece of pulp, devoid of any subtext at all. It is, after all, about a people-eating shark. Some things should remain uncomplicated. Nothing, for instance, would suck the joy out of a Predator movie more than trying to extract a deeper meaning from it. The franchise’s surprise new instalment, the animated offshoot Predator: Killer of Killers, embraces the simplicity at its core. And although it’s written by two grown men, it has the giddy energy of something concocted by teenage boys.

Nobody is above being typecast, not even Shah Rukh Khan. But while the Badshah of Bollywood has broken hearts and weakened knees with his culture-defining romance movies, Rajkummar Rao has become the patron saint of losers. Far too many times in the last decade, the once-promising star has played versions of the same person: a small town layabout whose overwhelming uselessness is inexplicably presented as innocent charm. The secret behind these characters’ appeal is never revealed, nor does Rao play them as particularly irresistible. In fact, in most of these movies, not only are the protagonists indistinguishable from each other, they’re positively repulsive. Even Rao would’ve struggled to bring freshness to his performance in Bhool Chuk Maaf, the latest in this long line of films.

The central thrust of the Drishyam movies relies on one basic truth: Ajay Devgn’s character will do just about anything to protect his family. Not only does he cover up a murder, he also concocts an intricate scheme to keep the cops off his scent. The Drishyam movies don’t realise this, but the protagonist is actually a psychopath in the guise of a protective family man. In the second movie, he even allows his teenage daughter to be manhandled by the police in order to keep up the charade. The Drishyam franchise holds some sort of record for having inspired the most remakes. And although it isn’t an official adaptation, the new Apple movie Echo Valley follows the exact same beats. It would’ve been one of the rare examples of Hollywood ripping off an Indian project had Drishyam itself not been a rip-off of a Japanese novel.

The smartest thing that Himesh Reshammiya has probably done in his professional life, besides transitioning from composer to singer, is to embrace the inherent ridiculousness of his stage persona. For the longest time, he seemed entirely unaware. He’d perform bicep curls to his own love songs on Instagram, seemingly oblivious to how meme pages were responding. But something changed after Janhvi Kapoor went on Koffee with Karan and essentially pulled the curtain on what was maybe the greatest inside-joke of our times. Two years down the line, Reshammiya is starring in a movie called Badass Ravikumar and going on a ‘Cap Tour’ of sold-out live shows. It’s genius. If only Sunny Deol had the same self-awareness in Jaat.

When Nikhil Kamath interviewed Ranbir Kapoor on his podcast, he admitted that he hasn’t quite figured out the art of detachment like Marcus Aurelius. “You like Marcus’ writing?” Kapoor asked. “Yes, I like a couple of his books,” Kamath said. This bizarre exchange deserves to be unpacked in a separate article, but, for the purposes of this one, let’s focus on two things. One, the Zerodha founder reads the work of a Roman emperor in his spare time, and two, the star of Jagga Jasoos probably thinks they were talking about someone who wrote a self-help bestseller. Several conversations of this nature unfold in Mountainhead, the new film from Jesse Armstrong, creator of HBO’s Succession. Marcus Aurelius is invoked as well; in fact, so are Mark Antony and other great historical figures. Streaming in India on JioHotstar, the movie follows four men — three billionaires and one millionaire — who get together in a snowy mountain retreat for a weekend getaway, while the ‘outside world’ descends into chaos. “No deals, no meals, no women in heels,” is the motto of the get-together, which seems like something of a tradition. Steve Carell plays a veteran named Randall, who has just received a disheartening cancer diagnosis. Corey Michael Smith, who was so good in May December and Saturday Night, plays Ven, the owner of a Twitter-like social media app. He’s the richest man in the room. Ramy Youssef plays Jeff, whose company is making waves in the field of artificial intelligence, and Jason Schwartzman plays Souper, who feels insecure about being the only person whose net worth hasn’t hit a billion yet.