Member Reviews

Bhuvan Bam’s Vasant Gawde, Mr. Vardaan to the world owing to his ability to see events before they come to pass, is back seeking to make a killing from the prescient news updates that he receives on a mobile phone app. This time around, the Taaza Khabar protagonist is either on the backfoot or, worse still, down on his haunches. His plight necessitates desperate measures as he faces new challenges hurled at him by a man who will stop at nothing. But the show, notwithstanding a series of dramatic confrontations, struggles to skirt around the pitfalls of an idea that is beginning to wear thin.

The opening stretch of Raghu Thathatakes us back to the ‘60s. Even as the opening credits roll, we are shown newspaper clippings of important developments in that period. Anti-Hindi slogans and protests are rampant in Tamil Nadu, a state that is furiously vocal against the imposition of Hindi. Indira Gandhi has taken over as the first woman Prime Minister of the country, something that should ideally given women across the country a lot more confidence and freedom.

Early in Minmini, inside a school during a chilly evening at Ooty, a candle goes off. A student offers to light it up with his candle. “When one candle lights up another, there’s no loss,” someone remarks.

After their daughter died in a car crash, advocate PK Basu (Saswata Chatterjee) and his wife Rani (Ananya Chatterjee) go to North Bengal to recover from their grief. They visit their family friends Sujata (Ayoshi Talukdar) and Kaushik (Somraj Maity) who open a homestay there. A series of murders take place in Kolkata and North Bengal. As a number of characters get stranded in the homestay, PK Basu catches the culprit.

Neighbour duo Lolita (Debchandrima Singha Roy) and Shekhar (Gourav Chakrabarty) have unending claim on each other. Despite a marriage in haste, they parted ways because of Shekhar’s prejudices and Lolita’s pride. In Parineeta, Saratchandra Chattopadhyay’s classic takes a makeover in Aditi Roy’s series on Hoichoi.

What sort of a spy movie is Sudhanshu Saria’s Ulajh? It begins as a Raazi (2018) in pantsuits: patriotic female protagonist, driven by loyalty and legacy, enlists to serve her country on foreign turf. Indo-Pak diplomatic relations, as fraught and fragile as they were in 1971, inform the narrative stakes. Both films hail from Junglee Pictures, and the editor, in each case, is Nitin Baid. If that weren’t enough, the new film even has a song with ‘watan’ in its title — plastered, ineffectually, over the opening credits and thereby fast forgotten.

Gyaarah Gyaarah, out on ZEE5 and adapted from the Korean series Signal, is a time-warping thriller of the dour, soulless kind. Tumbling across timelines, director Umesh Bist always makes sure to hold his audience’s hand. Bland letters appear on screen to indicate the precise date, year, location. Lest we lose our bearings, the pop-culture references are even more plain: Dil for 1990, Kapoor & Sons for 2016. This is a fairly unimaginative way to summon a period, to evoke a mood. It’s unlike the scene in Back to the Future where Doc in the 1950s exclaims to Marty, who’s traveled back from the 80s, “Ronald Reagan! The actor?! Then who’s vice president? Jerry Lewis?”

Around halfway of the second episode of the latest season of The Test, drama erupts. English batter Jonny Bairstow ducks a bouncer, the ball goes to the keeper and the batter walks out of the crease. Pretty much a normal thing that happens during a Test match, you’d think. But there’s tense music in the background, almost like you know something is going to happen.

Manikbabu (Chandan Sen) lives a lonely life. He is first chased and then romanced by a whiff of cloud that only he can see. What do we see when we look at the sky? Manikbabu sees a whiff of cloud that refuses to leave him. He decides to embrace that celestial piece of cloud in his life. This lonely man and his quirky environment – his noisy ceiling fan, his rooftop greenhouse, the hanging lizard in the bathroom, the pile of files on his office table, and so on – tell a lot of hitherto bottled-up stories. The film is a collage of those chronicles.

It was evident, even before Varun Sharma clambered onto the roof of a car, unfastened his fly and shot out a tall projectile of piss, that Wild Wild Punjab was not a serious film. But is it even that wild? The aforementioned scene is probably the looniest thing that happens — a nod, perhaps, to Fukrey 3, which had an entire pee-based plotline dedicated to Sharma. The rest of Simarpreet Singh’s film is oddly strained and docile, a blur of ham-fisted hi-jinks and inane one-liners. “Respect, dude,” someone tells Sharma’s character, a compliment I cannot extend to the film.