Tusshar Sasi

Does Indian cinema really suffer from a shortage of ageing men in action roles? With the nation’s average male superstar age steadily inching towards 60, the familiar “chacha-buddha” slander hardly makes sense today. But when director Suresh Triveni steps in with Anil Kapoor as the tough action hero, in a setup that offers no ‘Dabidi Dabidi’ to dance to, the proposition becomes instantly intriguing. That curiosity fuels Subedaar, a film that attempts to place Kapoor’s enduring screen energy within a rugged, massy canvas. Triveni has previously delivered two compelling films – the sparkly Tumhari Sulu and the humane, unsettling Jalsa. Both were anchored by women and explored their emotional landscapes very well. Which raises an intriguing question: can the filmmaker channel the same insight into a testosterone-charged universe unfolding in the lawless heartland?

The very thought of the future, in any given year, is frightening. If we are currently standing at the edge of AI taking over, our predecessors once witnessed the Y2K scare and the rise of machines replacing human labour, each threatening to upend human life. And they did, yet we found ways to slip through largely unscathed. In Krishand’s Masthishka Maranam, we encounter a dystopian future set in the not-so-distant year of 2046. In a world equally ruined by technology, advertising, and toxic habits, the film shows a society that has descended into an abyss of crime, grief, and economic disparity.

Vishal Bhardwaj’s cinematic universes can be wildly imaginative. They are the kind where two warring sisters, desperate to escape each other’s sight, end up marrying two brothers by accident. Historically, however, the Indian film industry’s version of audacity usually involves a hero incinerating a factory and sauntering away in slow motion while digital fumes billow behind him. This “mass” template is now more common than a childbirth scene, or a Muslim protagonist shown as an ordinary office worker instead of a kohl-eyed gangster. Trying to join both aspects of their respective universes, O’Romeo uses Bhardwaj’s brand of weirdness and masala movie flamboyance to create a confused mixture with no emotion and limited punch.

“Don’t romanticize my poverty to me,” says Maruti Kadam (Adarsh Gourav) to his ultra-rich influencer girlfriend Avani (Shanaya Kapoor) in Bejoy Nambiar’s Tu Yaa Main. It’s a laugh-out-loud line, but it carries the weight of a boy who has watched his world stagnate inside a 10×10 shanty. Avani, alias Miss Vanity, with her multi-million-following, likes to believe that money can’t buy happiness – who, perhaps, is one Virar-to-Churchgate local train ride away from abandoning philosophy to retreat to her plush Juhu pad. For Maruti alias Aala Flowpara, whose sister takes Marathi tuition and whose mother sells snacks to local shops, money is indispensable. He wouldn’t mind a richer life or a richer girlfriend if it widens his comfort zone.

Are female cops different from male cops? At least in the way they are shown in commercial films and series? An example of this can be found halfway through Mardaani 3. Top cop Shivani Shivaji Roy (Rani Mukerji) is tense in a hospital lobby after her husband was attacked by the antagonist Amma (Mallika Prasad). What should she ideally do as both a woman and an officer? When Shivani receives a tip about the villains, the scene pauses for a microsecond, the camera glances at the emergency room, and then she gets up and walks out. She does so because Shivani is the hero of the franchise, not the heroine. Minutes later, she is seated in the same fashion but outside a morgue. It’s not her husband but somebody else that’s the victim this time, and Shivani has tears in her eyes – something that a Chulbul Pandey (Dabangg) never would.

Patriotism, in its truest form, is an unexplainable emotion. If you are patriotic, you know it is largely a one-sided relationship, almost like one’s belief in God. You either feel it, or you do not. I remember discussing Laal Singh Chaddha with someone, where the titular character saves a slain Pakistani soldier purely out of humanity. The idea that brotherhood should be placed above national pride was something my head understood, not my heart. As I sat down to watch Border 2, I wished it could evoke that unadulterated feeling, which is second only to our love for kith and kin.

Twenty minutes into Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos, I was reminded of a question someone asked me around the Golden Globes recently: “How did One Battle After Another win in the Musical/Comedy category? There were no songs and there wasn’t any comedy.” While I chuckled then, watching Vir Das and Kavi Shastri’s film made me re-realize his perception of comedy. Happy Patel is set in a satirical world with a nice lineup of eccentric characters and even weirder events. Somehow, the filmmakers are hell-bent on making us laugh in a Bollywood-comedy sort of manner. Which is why, it was awkward when Happy Patel could not make me laugh. Not even once. It was like your younger sibling trying to tickle you in childhood, only to fail miserably. I may have smiled a couple of times here and there, notably during the climax. That was it.

A man with a baby in his arms is strangely sexy. I’ve read that they get more swipes on dating apps, irrespective of whose baby it is. This aesthetic existed long before older and/or burlier men entered the “Daddy” tribe. The next best thing, I guess, is the visual of a man who cooks. These are territories our fathers and grandfathers rarely ventured into, and when men step into anything non-traditional, the attractiveness meter (sometimes) fires up.