No Smoking – Review
Of late I have this romantic obsession about the idea of being able to puff out smoke circles into the air. I think of stepping out of my sexy Lexus with goggles that have a reddish tinge and a cigarette in my left hand. Ya, left hand. That’s more stylish.
But I am convinced that smoking is bad; ‘cos No Smoking was simply too good. Now if you don’t get the joke, admit it; rather than trying to rate it as PJ or Pathetic PJ. I haven’t watched any of Satyajit Ray movies. Hence, for the first time, sitting in a theatre with a friend throwing expletives for wasting 150 bucks and a crowd jeering at no one knows what, I watched a movie of sheer brilliance. Kafkaesque, in Bollywood.
I don’t know if it is any adaptation of Kafka novel, but the nightmarish impersonal world of K is strikingly similar to Kafka’s Josef K of The Trial. There is a German connection too. K’s mother is a translator with the German Embassy and his asthmatic brother J, speaks only German.
I hadn’t watched the trailer’s of the movie; neither could I read any review of it. And I was in for two hours of unparalleled cinema.
The very first scene itself was striking. And the first half is terrifically well done. In the second half, the Bollywood mentality creeps into some of the scenes, especially in the scene where J dies. I guess, Kafka would have killed him simply in the first fall from the top of the building. Vishal Bhardwaj hit the poor fellow with an ambulance and then again, made him trip on a banana skin and die of a bloody injury at the back of his head. That wasn’t really needed. Another scene that was slightly inappropriate was the one where K’s wife, Anjali is chit chatting with her friends. But that is passable. The only place where the director explains anything at all is towards the end when we get toknow that the sexy secretary Annie and K’s wife are the same (both played by Ayisha Takia) and they dual life is what K wanted for her. The movie progresses without any particular story per se, and the bizzare events follow. There is an over tone of black and grey as colors. And the movie ends when after all his truggle K survives his soul to the system and his soul helplessly stares at his walking and talking body, which no more recognises the soul.
Anurag Kashyap deserves a standing ovation. The pseudo intellectual Page 3 columnists might have trashed him badly, but then who cares about them. Just go watch it. No analyses, no reviews and no awards needed. Kafka himself has become a name you throw in the air when you want to silence the other person in an argument. No wonder the man didn’t want any of his books published; he knew we aren’t ready for him. Bollywood isn’t ready for Anurag Kashyap either. 30 or 40 years down the line, our kids might call him one of the best directors we ever had.
And ya, girls & gays – its a must watch for you. John Abraham is just Hot.
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