The Will of Smith

I was up until 4 am last night (or should I say this morning). After a sumptuous dinner, finger licking dessert and the perfect drink to compliment the former, a blanket is usually all I need. But to stay up for over 2 hours watching a movie that's just about average and so intense was a feat possible only thanks to my unending fascination for that visage, those expressions, that body language... The man who can burn a hole in your heart with his magic gaze, Will Smith.

Seven Pounds is slow and painful to watch. It's not a great film by any standard... Just about OK. Plus, the subject itself is depressing (especially for Blackberry). The story, once you get into it, takes a lot out of you, but doesn't give back as much in terms of an excellent film or an experience of a lifetime. It demands way more than it delivers.

In the midst of all this comes along the talented Mr. Smith. He brilliantly glides through the movie carrying it on his steadfast shoulders and everything else fades into the background. The depth of his pain are apparent even though we have no idea what exactly is going on in his head until the very end of the film when it all comes together. His slow movements and smiles that look like he has to pull them out of his past life add to the overall aura of a man who looks like he's constantly at war with himself.

I guess this movie is only worth watching if you like Will Smith. I obviously do! But he is far superior than so many of his colleagues and seniors, and not just because he is a box office dollar machine. Whether Ali or I Am Legend, this guy is so dependable that even a deplorable film like Hancock can rise to the top of US Box Office. And so rich in his portrayal of fictional and real life characters that tired and weary eyes refuse to rest because a real presence has entered the room. He is truly legend.

The persistence of innocence

The beauty of India lies sometimes in its absolute ignorance of it's own reality. We are obsessed with the West and create one award show a year (one for each actor who needs to be pacified) in an effort to achieve Oscar-dom. We send reporters running towards the white men and women from Hollywood who visit our country. We go abroad to buy goods branded by couture houses on the other side of the Atlantic. Their replicas find their way to local markets where a Diesel buckle is interestingly placed on a Gucci print. And we create a national controversy over a film that takes India onto an international platform.

Amidst the crazy talks of 'how dare they call us dogs', and 'who has the guts to insult Lord Ram', I am confused about whether we deserve any credit for Slumdog Millionaire as a nation. Yes, it was filmed here, yes there are local actors that are a part of it, but all everyone seems to want to do is talk about how this movie misrepresents India on one hand and how it could have been made by any ballsy Bollywood director on the other. Truth is, if it wasn't for A.R.Rahman, I don't think we'd deserve any part of the credit this movie is getting. And no, Bollywood could not have made this film. Unless the protagonist was called Rahul and his slum was a studio set with lace curtains and designer shorts.

The resilience of the protagonist Jamal and his never ending search for his childhood sweetheart Latika form the crux of the film. Inspite of having seen death, poverty, abuse and rejection so up close, Jamal sticks to odd jobs like distributing tea to the employees of a call center instead of taking to crime like his older brother Salim. He keeps searching for his lost love and even manages to score a trip to game show land. His bang on answers surprise the egocentric host, who engages and entertains the audience but is a petty man at heart, who won't let yet another underdog after him stand a chance.

This is definately not the best movie ever made. But it's a fantastic film about love and hope and innocence. These are basic human qualities that draw us to each other in a world that is jaded of its own accord. And they are beautifully represented in a film that is neither sad not preachy. It's about everlasting hope and the miracles that it can bring about. It is also about the power of choice. Two brothers and two very different roads. There's my sentimental take on it.

Objectively, there are holes (I don't like the way the word bhaiyya is literally translated into brother in the dialogue) but the movie has such an excellent pace and is so energetic that all other thoughts are swept aside as you let go and lose yourself in this whirlwind of a movie. Cinema is escapism to a certain extent and this movie reinforces exactly this notion whilst portraying the everyday realities of a city where riots and violence are part of one's daily routine and so is hero worship, so hilariously portrayed by the shit-covered little boy who will go to any lengths (and does) to get the Big B's autograph only to be cheated out of it by his older brother.

Let's all admit that we are very happy because all eyes out west are on us. Our music, our city, our many cultural oddities. Let's stop ruining the moment just to fill up news space or try and rake in some attention or moolah out of this. Let's bask in the glory a bit and celebrate this film as an expression of one man's vision of a pulsating city and a glorious take on the power of persistence. Jai ho Danny Boyle!