Everyone loves a superhero, but apparently no one wants to be one. At least that's what Marvel and its accidental superheroes will have us believe. One of the most paradoxical of these is the Hulk, the all-powerful alter-ego of Bruce Banner.

The last time Rajat Kapoor directed a movie, he made a screwball comedy called Bheja Fry and hit an unforeseen jackpot. Vinay Pathak broke through the barrier of the unconventional hero in a commercial film (one that formerly Rajpal Yadav tried very unsuccessfully to break) and everyone rejoiced. Even the industry welcomed the low budget "sleeper hit". So when the promos for Mithya, very loudly proclaiming to be a product from the makers of Bheja Fry, hit screens, expectations naturally sky-rocketed.

Kudos to Rajat Kapoor for experimenting with a diametrically opposite formula this time around. Nothing in Mithya can remind you of Bheja Fry — not the genre, the treatment, nor, unfortunately, even the execution. Now Mithya isn't a bad film. On the surface, it's quite alright actually. It's bold and simple, a little dark, tragic too, and it has that very appealing kitsch-y feel to it. However, somewhere along the way, I suspect between scripting and filming, a little improvisation broke the film down.

The story is simple. Ranvir Shorey stars in two roles, one as a struggling theater actor (VK), overdosing on Hamlet, and another as a dreaded underworld gangster (Raje). A rival gangster notices the actor, kills the gangster, sneaks the actor in to pose as the gangster, and then... unfortunately, I'm not hiding the suspense here. Rajat Kapoor and Suarabh Shukla (co-writer of Satya) also apparently were left with an ellipsis around this point. So they fill it in with amnesia, emotion, double-crossing, very, very, very dark frames, and Neha Dhupia. None of these worked for me though.

Of the cast, Ranvir Shorey is once again well-intentioned, but somehow neither fills the mould of a gangster nor an actor, and seems most comfortable spouting Hindi Hamlet very passionately. Iravati Mahadev as Raje's wife Revati has an insignificant role that she's very good in. Harsh Chhaya does a convincing job of sounding and acting menacing as the brother, and Neha Dhupia is, well, not bad for a change. In fact, the first twenty to twenty-five minutes of the film are quite engaging. In parts, the camera work reminds one of the early days of the Coen brothers, circa Miller's Crossing, but the similarity with that gangster flick ends right there. In fact, even the camera work gets repetitive and dark to the point of a little difficulty in discerning different characters other than from voice. More importantly though, there is a clear lack of coherence in the screenwriter's mind, and this translates very easily from a potentially thrilling premise to an eventual emotional drama.

To give due where deserved, Mithya does stand out from other contemporary films with its lack of standardized formula. Despite its flaws and soporific tone, it attempts to, and probably does, make way for such experimental dramas. The character of VK after his amnesia has a larger scope for acting and almost gets it right. However, it falls miles short of being path-breaking cinema. The one stand-out redeeming factor in the otherwise tepid two hours odd of the film is its ending, which is fitting, albeit a little too dramatic.

My greatest lament after watching this film is the tremendous waste of a talent like Naseeruddin Shah. That Vinay Pathak agreed to do an equally insignificant cameo is understandable given the debt of gratitude he probably owes the filmmaker for Bheja Fry, but Naseeruddin Shah makes a bigger mess in this film than he did with the directorial debut. Arindam Chaudhary seems to have made a camp of his own of some very talented unconventional actors. I'm a little surprised none of them commented on the fact that the second half of this film goes nowhere. In fact, even though I'm against remakes as an idea, perhaps Shukla and Kapoor can someday re-write this script, halfway into the film, and think out the plot and pace a lot better.

'Nuff said, then. To sum it up, I'd give Mithya, on a scale of 1 to 10, a more-than-modest 7, most of it for a few scenes, and to applaud the effort to make unconventional cinema. Hopefully, Rajat Kapoor will get it right next time. For now however, Mithya is just that, an illusion.

The map of world cinema is fast evolving these days. Where one day the only three types of cinema that crossed national borders was of the Americas, South-east Asia and to a certain extent western Europe and India, today a whole new breed of cinema is making its mark, internationally. The increasing number of film festivals accepting low budget international entries and the wider perspective of the global media is creating an entire new entity of cinema. This entity is characterized by a personality that is more accepting of the changing social scenario and the ethos of a new world society. Emerging from this pseudo revolution is a film called Khuda Kay Liye, from Pakistan.

Now when KKL released in India, it made news for one wrong reason, and not one of many possible right reasons. The one wrong reason being it being the first Pakistani film to have a wide theatrical release in India, and the many right reasons are the attributes I've detailed here. Khuda Kay Liye, or In The Name of God, its English language title, is a simultaneous depiction of life on three continents, directly before and after the twin towers incident in New York. It is also about fundamentalism, and addresses it very close to its core, in the effect it has on the mindset of the liberal subjected to fundamentalist ideologies and their pressure every single day. The movie is (naturally) entirely from a Pakistani perspective.

Fawad Khan (lead vocalist of Pakistani rock band Entity Paradigm) and Shaan star as Sarmad and Mansoor, two brothers and singers who live in Lahore in a very liberal Muslim family. Sarmad faces an internal conflict when a priest (Rasheed Naz) indoctrines into him a belief that music is considered sinful in Islam. Using his gullibility in this regard as a starting point, he goes on to convince him that nearly everything in his way of life is against the principles of Islam. So strong is his word that Sarmad abandons his family on the word of his teacher and begins to live, in his view at least, the life of a good Muslim.

Mansoor, on the other hand believes in being good and using logic to discern sin according to Islam as opposed to blind faith in every interpretation of the Quran. Following his brother's change of heart and life, he leaves for Chicago to study music. Here he meets and falls in love with an American girl Janie.

As a contrast to this conflict within Pakistani Muslims, the film-maker Shoaib Mansoor presents the life of Mary, a Pakistani English Muslim, who was born and raised in England and is culturally an English-woman. She has even been raised by the English wives and mistresses of her Pakistani father, and naturally assumes nothing wrong with her decision to marry an Englishman. This proves to be her naivette, and her trials, along with those of her first cousins Mansoor and Sarmad, cleverly interwoven by the film-maker form the crux of his film.

KKL is a brilliant film for more than one reason. The screenplay is incredibly well-finished, and the film jumps from Asia to the UK to America very smoothly. The different perspectives of each of the lead characters is portrayed skillfully and realistically. Another area where I think KKL scores high is its seamless editing. In a film like this, with parallel stories, for example, the recent Indian disaster Salaam-e-Ishq, poor editing and screen-writing often leave you confused. In this film, there is a very natural progression, from scene to scene, and even the gross torture scenes are edited skillfully to avoid being explicitly gory.

Amongst the actors, Shaan and Iman Ali are the only two who seem like seasoned actors. Both put in very convincing performances (though Shaan should perhaps consider joining a gymnasium at the earliest). Fawad Khan is earnest but needs to learn a lot about acting. Naseeruddin Shah packs in a powerful performance in the very brief role he has. His diction and charcterizations are impeccable. Rasheed Naz is sufficiently menacing. There isn't a perfect film though, and I would love to see a few things about the film a little differently. Some of these seem likely to have been decision made to appease the sensibilties of the target Pakistani audience, and don't significantly mar the film's attributes. I still think it's important to mention them though.

SPOILER ALERT!!!
Iman Ali's character, after the brutal torture she is put through, in the end decides to stay back in Afghanistan. Somehow, this seems incongruous with her character's nature.

No punishment is meted out either to Sarmad nor Mary's father, and even the Maulana goes scot free. This makes the courtroom-sequences seem to be an exercise in futility.
SPOILERS OVER!!!

However, the film succeeds in its intention of portraying a Pakistan divided along the lines of the progressive and the regressive, and the dilemmas thrust upon an entire religious communtiy, relegated to assocaition with terrorism, often unfairly.

On an ending note, the use of Urdu, especially through the Maulana characters (Naz and Shah), is so beautiful that even though you don't understand a lot of it, you just want to keep listening.

For this, and for being perhaps the most complete film of the year so far, I think Khuda Kay Liye is DEFINITELY a must-watch. On a scale of 1-10, I'd score it at an 8.5.

Philip Roth has been called one of the most influential and important contemporary Americans. Along with Cormac McCarthy, he is among the most celebrated and read novelists of this era. Naturally, when I picked up Operation Shylock, my interest was piqued.

From the outset, this book was a huge disappointment. I cannot deny Roth's command over the art of telling a story. If the book had been written in the third person, I may have even been able to appreciate it more, but that wasn't the case. The impression I came away with that he is a self-consumed, egomaniacal, weirdo who is obsessed with his racial background.

Operation Shylock is a memoir-like recollection of a period of time the author spent in Jerusalem, apparently victim to a large organization level conspiracy to ensnare him and his popularity to further the organizational ambition. He went there with the dual purpose of interviewing the Israeli novelist, Aharon Applefield, and smoking out a poseur pretending to be him in the holy city.

The differences between Zionism and Diasporism, the two extremes of the Jewish dream, are continuously highlighted. His descriptions could perhaps be lauded as academically informative. To call this entertainment, though, is not within my capacity.

I'm not overly religious. I do have an unwavering faith in God as a concept, but organized religion has never been my thing. Roth's portrayal of Jews throughout the book consequently made them appear insecure and a little bit ridiculous. His own self-image was so annoyingly heroic that it made me cringe.

The other Roth (his impostor) that he takes delight in calling "Moishe Pipik" (a Jewish moniker described in an apparently hilarious anecdote within the book), seemed at times a meager tool to elevate Roth's own bravado and machismo. The contrasts that he shows between his own convalescent self and the dying other seemed like they were meant purely to create an aura of power around the writer.

Additionally, there's a superfluous sequence in which Roth claims to have sexually conquered the partner of his impostor. Just prior to this, he makes us privy to the fact that his double had a penile implant. How any of this was relevant to the plot is beyond me, and how any editor allowed Roth to call this ode to his machismo "a confession" begs for a detailed explanation. I personally had to conclude the entire doppelganger-like character was constructed to make an old man feel a sense of vitality again.

To his credit, Roth does give us an insight into the period of time and some know-how of the John Demjanjuk trial. He also describes, with some flair, the division between the Israelis and Palestinians in Jerusalem. His interviews with Aharon Appelfeld, while probably authentic, were a little too academic and bookish, and his lack of fidelity was just a tad bit disturbing.

There are more than a few scenes when Roth imagines conversations between his double and his partner. The constant reiteration of Roth causing insecurities in their relationship is the stuff his dreams are probably made of, but pray, why spill over onto the pages of a book?

In the end, there is a clear lack of conclusion. The real purpose of the book is never told, owing apparently to political pressures. The incredulity the book inspires is supposedly expected, but not warranted. I buy none of this, I'm afraid, and fervently warn any unsuspecting reader from reading this book, unless of course, unsuspecting me did not realize this is the charm of the writer. It didn't work for me, though, and on a scale of 1-10, I'd give it a miserable 4 - and add a lot of my personal disdain as well.

It's a long book. Pick it up at your own risk.

Operation Shylock : A Confession (Vintage International)

How would it feel to pick up a box of cereal and not know why you did it, or what you can do with it? Or to be in your own home and yet want to go back home? That's how someone afflicted with Alzheimer's feels, every minute of every day. That is what Away From Her, the directorial debut of actress Sarah Polley, is all about. Fiona Anderson (Christie) insists on being admitted to a home before her condition worsens. This leaves Grant (Pinsent), her husband of 45 years, in a unique predicament. Not only does he have to face loneliness after more than half his life, but also deal with the possibility of being forgotten as his Fiona falls in love with a co-patient Aubrey.

Set in Ontario, Canada, this almost all-Canadian film is about love, loss and acceptance. The best thing about this film is its screenplay. Adapted from a short story by Alice Munro, Polley does an amazing job of creating layers to her writing, so as to make it neither monotonous nor predictable. In fact, the fantastic climactic scene may even confuse the novice about the end, but the pathos injected is so natural, it transcends the realms of reel.

As a story, Away From Her is essentially a tragedy, but the definition of romance is very cleverly altered, as Grant makes his love about giving. Gordon Pinsent does an amazing job, with a restrained underplayed performance, in a role which would've been severely damaged, by overdone histrionics. His is perhaps the most challenging role in the film, and he carries it off with aplomb. The Grant Anderson he creates is loving, dedicated, devoted, possessive, jealous, and overbearingly ridden by guilt. They say that most of acting is about reacting. In this movie, a large amount of scope is given to reacting, and wonderful performances are thus elicited.

Meadowlake is shown as a top-line facility, and it resonates with authenticity, right from the steel-nerved apathetic administrators (kudos to Crewson and Thomas), and in sharp contrast, Polley indulges metaphors in the depiction of the Andersons' house, set amidst the snow. Certain flashback scenes, though succumbing to cliché of shaky, home video effects, are beautiful. Life is like walking through the snow, and having Alzheimer's is like having to do it in a haze. Frank's early adultery, the hidden layers of friction and guilt in a seemingly perfect relationship, Fiona's enigmatic demeanor, Nurse Kristy's painfully frank attitude, all display a crystal understanding of human relationships, and research all way beyond the young 26 years of the director, or her lack of experience as a writer.

The performances by the supporting cast are appropriately relegated to the sidelines in the larger scope, but they remain important and effective. Notable amongst these is Academy Award Winner Olympia Dukakis, who plays Marian, the jaded wife of an invalid husband, with the necessary bitterness and cynicism to lend it authenticity and impact.

The biggest trump card of all is, predictably, Julie Christie. In a role written for her, Christie fits perfectly in the skin of the scared, unsure, yet independent and brave Fiona. Polley did well to insist that Christie play this part, for if she had refused this role, like many she did in her prime, movie watchers everywhere would have missed the brilliance she exudes. There is a scene where Fiona asks Grant how she looked. He replies, "Same as always. Direct and vague, sweet and ironic." One could easily add regal to this astute description, as Christie still looks like a queen, and has the aura to carry it off.

Technically, being an independent film, Away From Her is shot intimately, with no filters, mainly in natural light, straight angles, and cozy frames. But all of this works for it, and cinematographer Luc Montpellier deserves mention for this. The sound design as well, while not being elaborate, has a very nice exactness to it.

No movie is perfect, but for the subject matter, Polley's execution is damn near close to being it. It isn't often that you come out of a cinema, resolve to never watch the film again, and yet know that you've experienced something you could never regret. Away From Her is that kind of cinema. I haven't read The Bear Came Over a Mountain, but I daresay even Munro would be proud of this movie. And that's the biggest compliment one could give to an adapted movie.

The daughter of the East died, screamed headlines. Blame Musharraf, the first instinctual idea that cropped into millions of heads. Who will lead next? The perennially paranoid PPP was in crisis mode. What happens to the elections, the people wanting democracy wondered. Where do we fit in, thought America as it tried to find itself a role. Is this good or bad, should we be happy or sad, ruminated India as she sat dazed and confused. And how many millions exactly are you offering for a 20 second spot during the Benazir assassination coverage, the news channels asked the advertisers.

Many of these questions got answered in subsequent days. Musharraf, in a move of apparent damage control brought in the Scotland Yard to clear his name and the shady cover ups that get associated with him. Bilawal Bhutto, not yet twenty, studying in Oxford inherited the throne of archaic dynastic politics. America was in no uncertain terms asked to butt out, by most of the world, and the very critical media. Elections did get scheduled, albeit a bit delayed, and the projection of chaos in a nation on the verge of a second emergency in three months weakened. The news coverage reduced, the advertisers breathed both a sigh of relief and a breath of disappointment. And everyone forgot to ask one question. Who won?

Politics they say, is a game. Someone has to win, for someone to lose. On 27^th December, 2007, Benazir Bhutto, two time former Prime Minister, young (by political standards), outspoken, flashy and brazen, a charismatic almost ‘stateswoman’, lost. Who won on that day? Nobody seems bothered by the dynamics of this question, nor by the implications it has on future Pakistani and world politics.

In the aftermath of the Bhutto assassination, the biggest setback came straight to the man whom they all blamed for her death, Musharraf. Whilst everyone said, behind closed doors or in open forums, that Musharraf directly, or his government and its policies were responsible for the gruesome act, nobody thought to wonder why? Actus reus everyone screamed, but mens rea? Whilst accrediting him directly or otherwise for this crime, nobody realized that logically he did not have a guilty mind, or a mens rea. According to popular criminal law, actus non facit reum nisi mens sit re, which means that the act doesn’t make a person guilty unless the mind is also guilty. For Musharraf, Bhutto’s return was good news. While she did make statements about getting more power than him, and leading Pakistan, by herself to new heights, she was also the only leader to be brokering deals with him. For him, Bhutto was a good thing. In fact, he had only recently given up his uniform and was looking for popular acceptance. Bhutto was going to give him that. Why would he kill the goose that was about to lay his golden egg?

It would be wrong to level accusations, and I do not care to do that. It would be stupid to presume to understand a situation without being involved in it. I wouldn’t dare to do that. However, as the eye sees it, and the mouth speaks it, the two, in fact, the ONLY two significant gainers from Bhutto’s assassination are two of the most vocal anti-Musharraf commentators. Asif Ali Zardari, the widower of Late Benazir Bhutto, finally emerged from the dark shadows cast by Benazir’s colossal political frame, and found people willing to embrace him immediately. The former ten percent man did the apparently magnanimous thing, and chose not to lead the PPP officially. Instead, he named Benazir’s true successor, her 19 year old son at Oxford as the PPP Chairman. Himself, he then satisfied with a purely executive position. That would remind you of a certain Mrs. Gandhi, now wouldn’t it, and we all know how that move turned out for her. Of course, a lot has yet to be said, and a long way of determining the truth has to be endured before any conclusion can be reached.

The other person to profit (pardon the crassness of the word) from Bhutto’s end is her once bitter rival, now apparent ally Nawaz Sharif. The exiled former PM of Pakistan is a comeback kid and how. He made several attempts to return to Pakistan, very famously being turned away from the airport even, and quietly, without much pomp, claimed to have joined hands with Bhutto to fight the surge of injustice that was the Musharraf coup and subsequent reign. Bhutto’s sudden death places Sharif at the top of the heap, and he can’t really be sad about that, can he? The only other leader besides Bhutto, who enjoyed a national presence, the calming force for a nation in turmoil, the familiar face for voters. The nicer adjective phrases seem to be used for Sharif now. Enjoying the support of Zardari, who doesn’t seem likely to be interested in becoming PM just yet, Sharif is poised to become the big boy of Pakistani politics. Something that would have been unlikely if Bhutto, her Oxford-Harvard charms, and her international acceptance, had remained active in this drama. One would really doubt that things could have possibly turned out better for him.

And yet, the bad boy is Musharraf. Everyone’s guns are leveled at his weathered temple. This is not an endorsement of Musharraf’s innocence. God knows he has his faults, his hunger for power, his ruthlessness; but everyone has faults, even Bhutto. However, politics is like a game of king-of-the-hill. The eventual winner is the one on top. There is bound to be scrambling, pushing others off, and trying to be king. Bhutto can no longer be king, and some say, neither can Musharraf. After an act of this proportion there is hardly any doubt that someone will take the heat. Someone will have to become the Lee Harvey Oswald of this time. The reason, the cause, the motivation, the explanation however, will unlikely be ever afforded to us. Yes, someone will eventually be king-of-the-hill! At what cost though? One can only wonder.