Boy bumps into girl. Boy drives girl to Mumbai on a lark, gets jerked around by a bunch of illiterate idiots (ahem, gangsters) for causes ranging from stupid to inane. Boy kicks ass regardless. Boy brings girl home to friends who say that he loves her. Boy kisses girl. Crowd heaves a huge sigh of relief and rush for the exits.
Save for the last line, the rest in the hands of an experienced ad film maker would’ve made for a prizewinning promotion for an automobile, considering that more than half of the film is shot inside a car.
Mitsubishi Lancer: Keeping you and your beloved safe from bad roads and bad guys.
See where I’m going with this? Precisely what should’ve happened when the director pitched this 30 second brainwave to anyone who cared. Instead we’re assaulted with a close to three hour exercise in bad writing and bad screenplay that satisfies no one or nothing. Think of it as if you’d just endured a six hour road trip with an obnoxious cast, stuck in the back seat listening to bad songs and not stopping enough to pee or take a puff. Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to “Paiyya” playing in a theatre near you.
“Paiyya” is a craftily woven tale of a boy and a girl who discover each other during a momentous car journey they undertake from Bangalore to Mumbai. Deftly weaving through thugs and underworld gangs that desperately want to settle old scores the boy stands heads and shoulders above the ensuing madness protecting his precious fair maiden. Employing a heady cocktail of humor, romance and intrigue the director engages the audience in a visual extravaganza that transforms the irrepressible happy-go-lucky boy into a committed responsible person. Did we mention die-hard romantic too? “Paiyya” - A fairytale road trip through many a mile to conquer the heart of his soulmate.
You realize all that I said above is baloney, right? Exactly the stuff I’d have churned out if I were the director’s brother or were being paid a 100 grand to say something nice about the film. Neither is the case. I am just a dumb fool who’d been duped off $30 (two tickets!) and four hours of precious Saturday nightlife. So excuse me if I sound a li’l pissed…
In all fairness I knew we weren’t going to watch an epic when I suggested to my friend we could catch “Paiyya” that night, hoping that she’d shoot the idea down as fast as I’d said it.
“Yay! I haven’t watched a Tamil movie in a theatre in a long time. Let’s go!” she screamed.
Groan! “Well… It’s not an Oscar movie or something. So chill!” I quickly clarified.
“Karthi”, the hero couldn’t have agreed more, since he’d insinuated so in all interviews that this film was his debut as a “commercial hero”. He might’ve as well said “I’ll be doing absolutely nothing except prancing around with a girl wearing designer clothes, hanging around with a bunch of friends cracking jokes and maiming a dozen people at a time with nothing severe than a punch or a kick. So if you want to leave your brains at home and question nothing, fine by me.”
“Heroine’s Tamannah” my friend blurted suddenly looking up from my laptop.
“Really? Oh wow!” Yay! I was doing everything except jumping up and down to convey my enthusiasm.
And why wouldn’t I? Tamannah was the petite 20something heartthrob who’d taken tinsel town by storm with a complexion that’d give milk a run for its money. That girl had been haunting my dreams and fantasies the past month or so ever since I’d chanced on her wallpapers on an online gossip website.
“Let me fix the Wireless. I think it’s awfully slow” I said snatching my laptop from her without waiting for an answer. Nothing was wrong with the Internet except that if I didn’t sneak a picture of Tamannah at that instant I’d have put a bullet through my head. Pictures like these, topless ones of Kate Moss, Cindy Crawford and Sports Illustrated models in bikinis don’t lay around on the desktop for public display. Every self-respecting red blooded straight man like me has their secret stash that’s guarded more ferociously than ancient Egyptian mummies. C:\WINDOWS\system32\drivers\temp is a hard one to remember and an even harder one to navigate to with an excruciatingly slow laptop as mine. Couple of minutes later I was lost into two dozen photos when she screamed,
“Hey!!! Is it fixed? I was watching a movie” causing me to almost drop the darn laptop.
“Uh huh! I’m reconfiguring the adapter now. Can you go check the modem?” I let loose a string of lies eager to dispatch her to a corner of the living room. I quickly logged onto YouTube to check some familiar videos all of which I felt brought back some of my sanity.
“Tamannah smiling coyly”.
“Tamannah dancing in the rain”.
“Tamannah draping a saree and lighting a lamp”
Girl was $%^&in’ gorgeous. Logic, common sense, coherence, anything else in the movie could take a hike. Yup! I was sold.
To wit, watching a Tamil movie in Los Angeles isn’t exactly like waltzing into the nearest AMC theatre and reclining on those plush leather seats. Overflowing Cold Stone ice-cream to stuff your face with and bombarded by sounds from all sides, courtesy of that Dolby surround sound, yeah… none of that. Ordeal would be a better word, considering the experience’s anything but worth reminiscing.
The venue more often than not is a dimly lit Dollar cinema tucked away in a nondescript corner of the city that shows all Hollywood movies at least two months old for the grand price of $1. “Paiyya” and its Telugu/Malayalam counterparts however goes for as high as $15! A fact painfully made aware when I realized the $20 bill I was waving at the middle aged bespectacled lady behind the counter wouldn’t get us through.
“Oh wait! Here’s my student ID card” I shamelessly pulled out my faded Sun Devils card. 8 years since leaving ASU and I wasn’t done pulling this charade at every movie theatre I went to. Saying nothing she grabbed and stared at it front and back as if trying to crack a code.
“Is there a treasure map in there?” I laughed. Nobody except me seemed to be interested in that joke.
“This is old. You’re too old to be a student” she gruffly handed it back. There isn’t exactly nothing you can say when someone calls you old and a liar in the same breath. Precisely why I gave up after the first two syllables. “I should’ve shaved today” I consoled myself in Tamil to my friend still buried in her Facebook messages.
“Do you have your ID dear?” she now turned to my friend, smiling for the first time in three minutes.
“Um… Actually I’m a Professor. I teach” she shot back with an equally steely smile letting the words hang in there for a few seconds. Enough time for me to swiftly turn around to gauge my opponent’s reaction. Damn! If Miss Spectacles was shocked I saw none of that. Acting as if she’d been using this line against teachers all the time and knew exactly what she’d get. Eager to flee the scene I forked up the necessary $10 and waved off any refreshments.
“Creamy Pista milkshake” I explained pointing at the tall cup I was holding.
Little did I realize that in a few moments it’d be finding its way down the dustbin. Since there was no way in hell it would’ve cleared “theater security”. That’s right. Those two men and a woman religiously checking with a fine-toothed comb everyone’s person to ensure no outside food was brought in.
“Company policies” answered the burly guard with a baton as he motioned me to throw it away.
“But… This is $15. It’s actually my dinner sir. Please…” I quivered knowing I’d have better chances against a brick wall. After all why wouldn’t I? For Christ’s sake this wasn’t a McDonald’s McFlurry or whatever. I’d handcrafted this baby for 10 minutes throwing in three ice creams, a whole array of nuts and put it through a blender twice to achieve the right texture and composition. Heck! I could’ve been holding a 100 year old bottle of French wine but there was no way in hell the stupid #$%^in’ management of this rundown theater was going to heart melt. “Here, you do it yourself” I sighed and handed it over to him who trashed it in a second without blinking.
Du siehst den Wald vor lauter Bäumen nicht – “You can’t see the wood for the trees”. Obviously I wasn’t thinking in German, but loosely translated in my case it means I couldn’t miss Tamannah for the ice cream shake. Wouldn’t and shouldn’t too, as I rushed back to the counter to find something to eat. Movie, game or concert there was no way I was going to sit through one without guzzling or chomping one down. I knew I wasn’t going back to a buffet but still the washed up hot dogs, nachos and watered down sodas scared me. And this cost $10? Christ! I was getting #$%^ed from all sides! Finally I entered the dungeon (yes, the theater) and found my friend stuck somewhere in the middle between a bunch of families.
“Let’s go someplace more comfortable” I shouted. The front rows were empty and no one would bother us there. Arms and legs spread across adjacent chairs like a passed out drunk I couldn’t wait for the movie to start…
“Paiyya” began by making the right noises. A recently graduated “Karthi” living with his friends/roommates in Bangalore was having a blast blissfully unconcerned about finding a job. His friends/roommates though seemed more intent on snagging him one and I didn’t understand why. It’s not like we were told that he’d saved their lives in a boating accident or his dad owned a software company that employed them.
Just a few seconds of his female friend and I couldn’t stop throwing curses at her. Bad curly hair, gruff voice, horrible dresses she looked every bit an overbearing matron that everyone hated, bossing our poor guy more than his mom ever would. Why couldn’t this have been a fair buxom girl instead I wondered as I impatiently bit my nails waiting for my object of fantasy to appear.
Almost as if on cue the screen brightened a few notches and flower petals adorned the street as she sashayed in with a million dollar smile plastered across her face.
“Tamannah’s here” I joyfully screamed, punching my friend.
“I can see that!” she barked going back to her ice cream. Among the myriad things a woman’s purse can hold, a certain malai kulfi just got bumped to the list.
Tamannah’s arrival certainly picked up the pace. Quite soon in an intriguing stretch of events her annoying uncle or whatever was let go off in a petrol bunk and Karthi and her were on their way in a maroon Lancer. The destination immediately changed from Chennai to Mumbai thanks to our lady’s pleas. Not that it really mattered to him. He was driving smiling smug as if he’d won a round trip to the moon, while she was parked glum in the backseat as if a spider was crawling up her behind. The road trip had officially moved into second gear…
Which is where I think the movie scored its highest. The chemistry, camaraderie (and whatever else adjectives can jump in) between the two were undeniable. Funny retorts going back and forth, tongue-in-cheek humor the next hour or so had it all. For all the growling and heavy duty acting Karthi did in his first movie (Paruthi Veeran) he was undoubtedly having a blast here. Totally laidback with his sarcastic comments and constantly checking out my girl in the rearview mirror nary a focus on the road ahead. Me and almost the entire crowd laughed out loud when Tamannah pitifully explained that she was on the run because her vicious dad was trying to forcibly marry her off to some rogue. Couldn’t the director have thought of a less incredible reason? I could’ve even accepted a “I failed my Plus 2 and I’m running away from my dad because he’d brand me with a hot iron!” Thankfully Karthi commiserated with us by chuckling and flashing his pearly whites which were beginning to look as wide as hers.
Quite a few scenes stood out and made me sit up, especially the one where they went into a restaurant. Tamannah didn’t want nothing while he started off as if he was planning to feed everyone around. The moment the food arrived she attacked it with such gusto that he was forced to fend for himself with an idly sambar. It was both cute and funny and only reaffirmed that in the land of women no means yes and “not hungry” means “I can eat a horse”.
The next one was where they helped an IT professional facing some engine trouble. Tamannah cooed to the hapless guy in Hindi almost sweeping me off my feet while Karthi stood there with that perfect quizzed expression wondering if they were cussing him. Not to be outdone moments later he gave it back all to the 9-to-5 dropping him abruptly in the middle of nowhere when he realized that things were getting a tad too close between him and his girl. Once again humor and body language saving what could’ve been a disastrous acting job.
Time for a rain song we all realized and the commercial movie didn’t disappoint us. Skies darkened, water poured and she was off pouting and preening soaking wet alternating between pink and yellow skirts looking as resplendent as before.
“This is where I get my money back” I cheerfully clapped turning to my friend. Karthi, Tamannah or those cute kids dancing along whatever, she was engrossed and couldn’t care less for my enthusiasm.
If there was an irritant in these otherwise frothy proceedings it was Tamannah’s dad’s henchmen who kept sprouting all over the highway looking to parcel her back to Chennai. The director’s vision meant these menacing dudes played a prominent subtext so I couldn’t argue. Even if I thought they were overweight, one too many unnecessary and was waiting for their Mahindra Scorpio they were travelling in to break an axle under all that pounds of flesh.
“All good things have to come to an end”. Or to an intermission in our case, when Karthi who’d just finished off beating the living s**t out of ten men each brawnier than the other and announced to the camera (hence, audience) “I have a past too!” What the #$%^ I had a sickening feeling that we were going to be seeing more fist cuffs than French kisses in the second half.
Intervals in India and elsewhere run for at least 10 minutes. Enough time for the men folk to empty their bladders, smoke a couple of cigarettes and make a general nuisance of themselves filling up the cafeteria with second hand smoke. Three drags into my cigarette I had a sneaking suspicion that wasn’t going to be the case here. I rushed past security like a madman only to find the second half had just begun. As is the wont with all Tamil movies “start with a bang and end in a whimper”. I crossed my legs in agony to watch the director devolve his thus-far-impressive work into a sordid tale of meaningless violence…
For those of you who haven’t tuned out yet, a couple of years back on an innocent visit to Mumbai Karthi got into a scrape with a hoodlum who was courting trouble. Rightfully so, he punched him senseless and then followed it up by doing the same to his leader Milind Soman. Disinterested, old, tired and with a bad Hindi accent I couldn’t help notice he looked nothing like that strapping bare chested guy who made hearts race in “Made in India”. Why he when any Joe Blow off the street could’ve hammed it up was beyond me? Back to Soman… He’d now issued an APB and was roaming around with the sole purpose of finding Karthi and repaying the favor. What a #$%^in’ joke! The boy and the girl were now being chased through the streets of Mumbai by a dozen odd idiots and we had nothing else to do except watch Karthi do a painful Bruce Lee impersonation.
Any hopes I’d of Karthi and Tamannah continuing their whirlwind romance were immediately squashed. Both had little time together and to make matters worse his obnoxious friend kept popping up talking incessantly. Sadly for what passes as comedy these days. Towards the end the director attempted to throw in some suspense as well making us want to ask “Is Tamannah who she really claims she is?” You’ve got to be kidding me! The only question I wanted to ask was “When is this trash going to end?” Mercifully in a few minutes once Karthi was done finishing up the Pièce de résistance - the grand fight at the marketplace where both parties united for a common cause - to break his bones. An entire array of makeshift shops were destroyed, the bad guys suffered broken limbs, jaws, bruises and whatnot while our hero stood tall and proud like he’d just conquered Mt. Everest. Whatever! His fair maiden secure, the pair flew back to Chennai to their friends to make it official. Whew! Thank #$%^in’ God!
Unsolicited advice to the Director: Sir, next time you want to make a “commercial” movie, let’s just stick to the driving and joking around, shall we? Rip off a few Hollywood DVDs, throw in two more friends to fill up air space and cram it up with jokes and catchy songs that make us laugh and sing together. If you think a trip from Bangalore to Mumbai isn’t enough material, feel free to extend it to Goa, Delhi, Calcutta or wherever else your Highness pleases. Oh! One more thing. Beating a dozen people with a club, cycle chain or nicking them with scissors is so 80s. Unless you’ve a tale of international espionage and terror leave the violence to James Bond and Matt Damon.
“Thevidiya Payya” I sighed, loud enough for a few folks behind me to hear as I exited the theater after what seemed an eternity.
“Is that at you or your namesake in the movie?” my friend asked amidst peals of laughter.
“Me of course. That bugger got the girl. I didn’t!”
Peace!
