Movie Review: English Vinglish is heartwarming

You can teach a person anything except to be sensitive to other people’s feelings.

This one line, spoken in Hindi to a Frenchman who didn’t understand a word but still understood everything, is the central idea of English Vinglish. Debutante director Gauri Shinde uses a light, gently humorous touch to deliver a feel-good tearjerker that also happens to mark Sridevi’s return to films after 15 years. And what a classy return. As Pune-based Shashi Godbole - sheltered wife, mother of two, and maker/caterer of fantastic laddoos - Sridevi is graceful, dignified, and so, so endearing. It is impossible not to feel for Shashi when her husband and children repeatedly make fun of her for not knowing English. When her daughter says she doesn’t want Shashi to come to her school to pick up her report card because it would be embarrassing. When, on her first visit abroad (she travels alone to New York for her niece’s wedding; the husband and kids join her later), she needs to show the immigration officer a letter stating the purpose of her visit because she can’t remember the answer her husband taught her. When she breaks down after being yelled at by the Starbucks staff because she has trouble placing her order and is completely flustered by the unknown choices flung at her: still or sparkling water? Americano, cappuccino, latte? Bagel, wrap, sandwich?

Every time her husband belittles her and her work, every time her daughter snorts derisively at something she says, even when it makes perfect sense, it raises the question – why this obsession with English? Why is it necessary for everyone to speak English in order to be respected? Sure, if Shashi had the kind of job that required her to speak English, it would be a different story. But she doesn’t. And she is clearly an intelligent woman with the ability to make a go of things, she has her own thriving business - however little it may earn compared to her husband’s job - and she is a good, kind person who showers everyone around her with love. I’d call that pretty damn successful, wouldn’t you?

But years of ridicule from her husband and kids have chipped away at her sense of self-worth, and, bruised by the Starbucks incident, she decides to secretly sign up for English language classes in NY (her younger niece does find out, but keeps the secret and helps Shashi however she can). And here, special mention must be made of the script and direction - there is such good humour in the classroom scenes that one can’t help but smile even though her classmates are exactly the stereotypes expected in an American English language class – including a Paki cabbie (named Salman Khan, no less) who’s all about the bhai-bhai spirit and hitting on the pretty, single Chinese hairstylist; a Tam techie who misses idlis and his mother in that order and thinks the AIEOU written on the blackboard is Aiyyo; and a soulful French chef, Laurent. Through these classes, with the help of her new and very supportive friends and the romantic attentions of Laurent, Shashi learns to feel good about herself, to love herself again. Because the problem is not just the dismissive belittling of her job and her lack of English skills, it’s her feeling unloved, unappreciated, and unequal in her marriage. And again, the direction is so deft that one doesn’t even hate the husband. He is insensitive to how his barbs hurt her, but it somehow never feels intentional. He’s too busy to chat when she excitedly calls him at work to tell him about her massive number of laddoo orders for the day, but he will proudly tell everyone that she makes the best laddoos in India. When she tells him that people in the US call her an entrepreneur (a word she has proudly practised all the way home from class), his gentle teasing may not be what's called for right then, but it is clearly without malice.

For me, then, English Vinglish is not about Shashi learning English at all. The language part is just the backdrop to a larger, more universal story about how we treat people, even those we love; how we don’t realize that everyone has something to offer; and how we see ourselves through the eyes of those we love and whose love we crave, instead of just being comfortable with who we are. Shashi’s emotional speech at her niece’s wedding had me in tears because even though I’m not married and I've never had her language problems, I could still relate to how she did not feel loved, respected, or equal in her marriage.

Yes, the plot is a tad thin and stretches towards the end, moving along a predictable path. Yes, there are some amusingly jingoistic one-liners that seem solely meant to generate audience applause (which they did successfully) - especially at the visa interview and the airport (Amitabh Bachchan's hilarious special appearance is an absolute treat). Even the camerawork is a bit shaky at times, taking away from key moments that set up the conflict. And yes, the conclusion is a tad too warm and fuzzy to feel realistic. But ultimately, English Vinglish is a quietly strong statement about love, respect, and self-respect. And one that'll stay with you.

Don't mock, they'll block

Dear Indian Government,

I’m a little confused by your recent behaviour. The riots in Assam, the attacks on northeastern Indians in other parts of the country, the rumours of more planned attacks, the fear and panic among the people – all really disturbing and horrible. But your response? Myopic at best, dictatorial at worst. Blocking online content that is genuinely incendiary and arresting the people behind it is perfectly justified – democracy is not code for anarchy, after all. But restricting communication in general? Hello again, 1975.

Speaking of history, whom/what did you blame in 1947, 1984, 1992-3? Or did the entire world collectively hallucinate about those riots?

I think it all boils down to one simple fact – debate does not equal sedition. And if users want to discuss political issues on Twitter, then they should be encouraged to (I know I’d rather read that than what Amitabh’s grandkid ate last night, but maybe that’s just me). And blocking hashtags of relevant words amounts to online dictatorship, whichever way you slice it. Not exactly the reputation you want if you’re trying to portray yourself as the next superpower.

Technology is not the enemy (and if you knew me, you’d know that I must feel really strongly about this whole thing to say that). The people who misuse it are. Technology is just the medium to spread ideas, and it is up to us what ideas we choose to spread. I know this is very basic and any 5 year old knows this, but sometimes, I’m not sure about you guys. Instead of blaming technology and restricting its use, why not use it yourselves? To spread facts, dispel rumours, and prevent panic from going viral? Send texts to tell users what’s really going on, and give helpline information in case they witness something unlawful. Set up official social networking accounts that don’t just give image-building trivia like which random school/employment programme/power plant the PM inaugurated today, or whose death he condoled (which is what the official account of PMOIndia on Twitter does), but actually engage with users on issues that matter. If you did that, maybe you wouldn’t have to worry about blocking so many parody accounts, as you’re currently busy doing, because people would respect you without being forced to.

Oh, and while on banning lampoons, please stop using the excuse of “trying to prevent riots” when basically you’re just upset that you’re made fun of in public. Apart from the fact that such childishness doesn’t befit India's 65 years, your excuse is unconvincing and makes us want to make more fun. And really, with all the riots (and rumours thereof), rape, murder, poverty, lack of education, and so much else that’s wrong with this country, do you really want to be that bad cop who takes away a teeny bit of fun from your citizens?

Sincerely,

Swivelchair Critic (since my office doesn't have the nice, big, squishy armchairs).

But the fighter still remains

Born to poor fieldworkers in Manipur, a state in northeastern India that is ridden with insurgency. Married, mother of two. In a country that treats its women like dirt, and whose love of sport really only extends to men’s cricket. Men’s hockey and football come a distant second and third. Everything else can go to hell. And yet, despite ticking off pretty much every minority box (heh) possible, MC Mary Kom has fought and fought, all the way to an Olympic quarterfinal in boxing. This is the first time women’s boxing has been included in the Olympics, and Mary Kom is the only Indian in the ring. That’s a hell of a lot to have achieved already. And a hell of a lot of labels. Ordinarily I would balk at calling someone a woman boxer and not just a boxer. Ordinarily, I would hesitate to mention someone’s personal life or family background when talking about their sporting achievements. But Mary Kom’s achievements are far from ordinary, especially when seen in the context of her circumstances.

This is not a biography of the boxer – for that there’s Wikipedia. This is more about the shackles that bind women and what Mary Kom’s achievements could mean for Manipur, for India, for its sporting culture (or lack thereof), and for its women – should India choose to let it make a difference. Because we are famous for showering our champions with monetary gifts when they return from a tournament – and promptly forgetting they exist. And forgetting that with the right opportunity, encouragement, facilities, and incentive, we could have many more champions, and many of them women. I read somewhere that in terms of the population to gold medal ratio, India is the worst-ranked country in the world. Not exactly a record to be proud of. And given all that Mary Kom has done for her country (despite the fact that many better-educated Indians think her home state is part of China, and the way northeastern Indians are treated elsewhere in the country, it may as well be), it shouldn’t be so hard for her to get help from her government to acquire land for the boxing institute she wants to set up. But darling, yeh hai India. And so she puts her own money into it. And because it’s in Manipur, who cares?

Look, I’m not an athlete of any kind. I know only the barest basics of boxing. Nor am I in a position to step in and fill the government’s shoes in terms of doing what needs to be done. I’m just a layperson who happens to care, with an opinion and the means to air it. And I know that the people who read my blog are the kind of people who already know all this stuff, but maybe, just maybe, some random readers will get interested and tune in this evening (6:30 pm IST) to watch the quarterfinal. And maybe, if more bloggers (with a wider audience) can get more readers to watch, and if the viewership numbers go up, it will make a difference. Naively optimistic, but what else can I do? Meanwhile, Kom on Mary! 

I wrote a Facebook update, now I’m a writer!

Some time ago, I was talking to a friend of mine about writing, and she said “You know, now with Facebook and Twitter and blogs, everyone is sort of a writer”. And as someone who works in publishing, I was not pleased by that. Is it that easy to become a writer now? Don’t you have to at least be published/in the process of being published? By a real publishing house? This is a bit like that Friends episode in which Rachel’s sister calls herself an interior decorator because she decorated their dad’s office! I mean, I’m an editor (and let’s not even go into all the actual writing that comes with that territory), I have a blog, but I don’t call myself a writer, so how dare they?

But then, I started thinking. Isn’t this a good thing? The democratization of a craft that was earlier the preserve of just a few? And well, writing is a mode of communication, after all, which is what the internet is all about. Of course, if we were to count all of this as writing, then we must admit there is a marked drop in the quality thereof, but that is the case with most things that go mass.

Maybe we should have another name for it. We’ve got blogging, which works fine. For the others, how about Social Netwriting? Of course, that implies that these writers only write socially, which brings me to another question: whom does one write for? Is it fair to assume that everyone wants to be heard, liked, and retweeted, and is generally hungry for attention and approval? While that may be true for some, it can’t possibly be the same for everyone, right? I sometimes “write” to spread awareness about something, sometimes to vent steam about something, sometimes to wish someone a happy birthday, and sometimes, just because I heard/read/thought of something interesting or funny and I wanted to share it - and due to the leaps in technology, I can share it with several people at once.

And this question of readership and validation through numbers. Does it matter if the only people reading your writing are your friends? Should it matter? Should it matter how many “likes” you get on an update, how many comments on a blog post, how many retweets? Are you a writer if no one reads you?

Nope, I’m not convinced. Because when people ask what you do, they do mean professionally, not in terms of “hobbies”. So to me, “I’m a writer” means “I’m published or going to be”, not “I tweet 600 times a day”.

On eating out: why some restaurants can have my heart

I love small, independent ideas. I’m the kind of person who’d watch an indie “arty” movie just because it’s been shunted aside at theatres to give more visibility to a blockbuster that’s already made most of its money back. And if I like it, I’ll go watch it again, and will plug it relentlessly to family and friends, just to help it along in my own tiny way. Call it activism, call it joblessness – but I get a kick out of seeing a David top, or at least equal, a Goliath. And no, I’m not against Goliaths at all (I confess, I watch every blockbuster movie too – but only after I’ve seen the arty movie). There’s just something comforting about the fact that a good idea can win even without hype and marketing and loud fanfare. Which is why Delhi’s recent growth in restaurant culture is a source of comfort and joy to me (and yes, okay, the happy tummy isn’t complaining either).

In the last couple of years, Delhi has seen a multitude of new restaurants –  mostly misses, it’s true – but some absolute gems as well. In particular, Yeti (Hauz Khas Village) and Chez Nini (Meherchand Market) top my list of repeat-value places. Yeti, with its Nepali-Tibetan focus, is a lovely, unpretentious establishment that has quietly made a name for itself over the last year. It not only serves the best momos I’ve had in Delhi, but also stars excellent Bhutanese ema dachi, and makes eating goat lungs a very pleasurable experience. All this while making one feel like they’re sitting in the land of mountain kingdoms, what with the thangkas and mandalas on the walls and the strains of Tibetan chants in the background. And the biggest win for me – the quick, cheerful, and efficient service.

Chez Nini, on the other hand, serves up homestyle, hearty Canadian-French food under a gorgeous lit-up tree canopy – which instantly takes me back to the Faraway Tree, and who wouldn’t want that? The food is truly soul-satisfying, from the rich poutine to the bacon-wrapped dates with parmesan, to the tender duck legs. And I could write a poem about the desserts. I’ve never much cared for carrot cake because I’ve found it too dry, but this one made me want to cry for joy. The chocolate caramel tart is another winner, and the red velvet cupcake is, to quote a Friends reference, a little piece of heaven. But even more than the food, it’s the service that has won my heart – super-quick, warm, and always cheerful. The proprietor, Nira Singh, is friendly and honest – she came round to chat with me while my companion was outside smoking, and offered advice about what dishes to avoid because that day’s batch wasn’t up to scratch. Who does that anymore?

And this is the reason I go back to these places. There’s no shortage of good food in Delhi, but to consistently get such good food with so much love and attention to detail – that’s rare. Small restaurants they may be, but they have big hearts. 

Hugo makes me grateful for cinema

It’s finally here. After months of negotiations and delay, Martin Scorsese’s Hugo was finally released in India this past weekend. Despite its outstanding reviews and slew of awards, it hasn’t done too well at the box office, and producers felt that releasing it in India wouldn’t be commercially viable. After incessant online campaigns, petitions, and outraged newspaper articles, India finally got Hugo, albeit with limited show timings (only two or three in all of Delhi). Obviously, I HAD to go watch it before it was pulled out of theatres completely. So I braved the pain from my recent wisdom tooth extractions and went. Was Hugo worth the effort? Absolutely, definitely, totally, completely.

Hugo is, in a word, magic. Set in Paris of the early 1930s, the film takes us into the world of Hugo, a young orphan who lives in the train station and winds the station clocks, occasionally stealing mechanical parts from the toy store there, to fix a broken automaton that his late father had brought home. In his quest to fix the last and only thing he has left of his father, Hugo unknowingly stumbles onto the fact that Georges Méliès, one of the first film-makers – and an ace conjurer, cartoonist, inventor, and mechanic – is still alive despite popular belief that he died during the first World War. A prolific director, producer, and actor, Méliès produced more than 500 films and is credited with developing cinematic techniques such as superimposition and stop motion.

The film now practically turns into a festival of Méliès’ films, shown in the full glory of colour and 3D. In fact, in a real departure from his usual violent dramas and gangster films, Scorsese uses 3D to stunning effect in this enchanting love letter to cinema. The footage of Méliès’ movies is absolutely stunning (and having edited a book on film history, I was only too thrilled to see the entire first chapter of my book shown so beautifully on screen) and the cinematography is truly gorgeous, with every colour, every tiny detail standing out.

The problem with so many movies that feature great visuals is that the film-makers seem to think cinematography and effects can make up for the lack of a good story or good acting (cases in point – War Horse, Avatar). Not so with Hugo. The script is as gripping as the visuals, the dialogue is lovely, and the acting is top-notch. Asa Butterfield as Hugo Cabret is vulnerable and adorable, and uses his eyes and smile to convey so much. Ben Kingsley as Méliès and Sacha Baron Cohen as the terrifyingly strict station master are excellent. And I wanted to adopt Méliès’ “adventure”-seeking bookworm god-daughter Isabelle (played so well by Chloë Grace Moretz) who helps Hugo in his quest, besides educating him on the finer points of literature. 

When I left the theatre, I could only feel utter joy and gratitude that cinema exists, that films like Hugo are made. How many movies can make you feel like that?

Oh and the automaton? He ends up doing exactly what he’s supposed to do. Don’t ask, just go watch.

Where's your courage, Bollywood?

“Have you seen Kahaani? Oh, you must watch it, it’s really good. Bollywood thrillers have really come of age”.

Don’t get me wrong, I liked Kahaani. I thought the plot was gripping, the pace was tight, the acting was excellent. And yet, and yet. Something was missing. It lacked the watertightness that a really awesome spy thriller should have.

By now everyone who wanted to watch it would have done so, and for those who still haven’t been able to, I would hate to be the provider of spoilers, so I’m not going to get into the story here. But I will say there were a few gaping holes in the plot, which have been covered up, but so flimsily that they lead to more confusion. My question is: how come people think it’s so incredible? Because their yardstick is Bollywood. Kahaani is a great spy thriller by Bollywood standards, and that’s about it. And this is my big problem – the fact that we have lower standards for Bollywood.

When and why did this happen? According to my two-bit theory, it all began in the 1980s. We all know that the ’80s was the worst period in Bollywood – with gory, testosterone-filled violence, garish costumes, and regressive treatment of regressive stories. Mansoor Khan’s Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak and Sooraj Barjatya’s Maine Pyaar Kiya tried to bring romance back on the scene, and succeeded to some extent. But then, in 1991, came two diametrically opposite films that released on the same day. Phool Aur Kaante was a true-blue masala potboiler involving gangsters and kidnapping, while Lamhe had a girl in love with a man who once loved her mother. No prizes for guessing which movie came out on top. Lamhe was a box-office disaster, because audiences couldn’t come to terms with its suggestion of incest (even though nothing had actually happened between the man and the mother). Phool Aur Kaante, meanwhile, went on to become a blockbuster, launching the industry’s new action hero, Ajay Devgan (yes, I know it’s now Devgn). This was the last nail in the coffin, and film-makers now seemed to have lost the courage to make truly unconventional films that challenged the audience. What followed was an era of easy, safe films with childishly simple, hastily contrived resolutions that stayed within the bounds of convention. Audiences went home happy and unchallenged.

What changed, and when? Some argue that Shah Rukh, with his unconventional looks and anti-hero beginnings in Bollywood, was the pioneer of change. Certainly, both Baazigar and Darr had audiences rooting for him instead of the actual good guy – something that Sunny Deol, the “hero” of Darr, has been unable to forgive Yash Chopra and Shah Rukh for, even to this day. Some argue that Dil Chahta Hai was the game-changer, while others say the same for Lagaan. I would argue that there is no one film that can be credited with a sea-change, because there has been no sea-change. Yet. All of these are still spoken of as aberrations, and while they have been instrumental in the story of Bollywood, and while we have come very, very far, we still have a long way to go. In the last decade, we’ve had some genuinely great movies. There was Chak De! India, which had one surly, snarling hero (SRK in one of his finest performances) and no lead heroine – in fact, in a pleasantly surprising move, the Screen Award for Best Supporting Actress for that year went to all the “Chak De girls”. We’ve had a Band Baaja Baaraat, in all its Janakpuri chhaap, which made no big deal of the fact that its protagonists shared a bed, and later had sex, with no mention of marriage. We’ve had a Taare Zameen Par, in which the big star makes his appearance only halfway through the movie. These are all departures from the norm, and were all hugely successful, both critically and commercially.

Does this not say something to our film-makers? That Indian audiences have grown up, that we’re hungry for good, content-driven films, whether it’s a hilarious spoof like Dabangg or Om Shanti Om, or a hard-hitting, gut-wrenching Paan Singh Tomar? Ek Main Aur Ekk Tu was widely applauded for NOT ending in happily-ever-after, because audiences knew it wouldn’t make sense. Even Lamhe has acquired the status of a classic now. But then we have a Vicky Donor, which, despite a truly great first half, meanders through a muddled second and ends by neatly tying everything up even though it took away from the overall impact of the film. When will film-makers recognize that we are ready to move beyond easy, safe, happy endings, and that they need to stop using us as an excuse for their lack of courage? We clearly have the talent in terms of acting, direction, and writing – be it Irrfan Khan, Jaideep Sahni, Habib Faisal, Shimit Amin, Maneesh Sharma, Aamir Khan, Tigmanshu Dhulia, and so many others. What is lacking is courage. Film-makers need to display courage in their craft, so regularly that it becomes the norm and not the aberration. Only then will we stop mistaking mediocre for good, and good for great. Only then will we stop saying a film is good “especially for Bollywood”.