Where have you been hiding, Karan Johar?

Disclaimer 1: This is not a review.

Disclaimer 2: This articles contains spoilers.

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*** THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS SPOILERS ***
*** IT MAY NOT BE A GOOD IDEA TO READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED BOMBAY TALKIES AND INTEND TO WATCH IT ***

Bombay Talkies was a nice experience overall. It was the perfect homage to Bollywood (not Indian cinema) in the most unexpected possible manner. All four directors - and the item-song - pay tribute to Bollywood in a fashion different from the other.

There was Anurag Kashyap, arguably the greatest Indian director since 1992, holding up the rear (with his movie Murabba) - and coming out of his comfort zone of the darkness that defines his movies so vividly. It was about a dream, about a unique song, and about Amitabh Bachchan. Though this was the weakest of the four movies (if you know me, you would probably know how hard it is for me to criticise Anurag Kashyap), you cannot miss it if you're an Amitabh Bachchan fan. Or even a murabba fan.

There was Dibakar Banerjee, who chose the easiest path in his Star - to adapt a Satyajit Ray story, to cast Nawazuddin Siddiqui, and to recall the almost forgotten (but a theatre great) Sadashiv Amrapurkar. There was beautiful camerawork (like a remote-controlled car moving crossing the path of the real cars - epitomising the protagonist's character), the single shot during Nawazuddin's rehearsals, and many others. It also showcases the father-daughter relationship beautifully, and the protagonist's dreams of being a hero in his daughter's eyes. It was also the only movie that involves an active participation in the movie, and is definitely the best of the lot.

There was Zoya Akhtar, who, being fully aware of her limitations, came up with a beautiful movie (Sheila ki Jawani) involving two children - siblings - pulling off excellent performances in a movie with a supposedly controversial plotline. Ranvir Shorey impresses, but shows enough sense not to try and take control of the movie - and sensibly acts in an undertone - remaining in the backdrop all along. It also features Katrina Kaif in a delightful appearance, and is a nice embodiment of Bollywood's direct representation on Indian people, albeit in a non-trivial, if dark fashion.

There was also the much-awaited item song, featuring the who's who of Bollywood, first individually, and then together (a scene where Anil Kapoor - even at this age - was easily the one who stood out), which also had Aamir and Shah Rukh Khan in the same frame, something that had evaded us for years (read Q9, part II of this quiz by Diptakirti for more details on this).

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That brings us to Karan Johar.

I was taken somewhat aback when I had first learnt that Karan Johar would be one of the four directors of this movie that was supposed to be a tribute to 100 Years of Indian Cinema. Agreed, it had to be a Bollywood director, given that it is a Bollywood production.

Among the other three, Anurag Kashyap is already a living legend, and Dibakar Banerjee is getting there. I was a bit skeptic about Zoya Akhtar (even after Luck by Chance, and especially after Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara).

After all, there was Shyam Benegal, who still directs, and has produced a masterpiece like Well Done Abba very recently. There was Shimit Amin, brilliant and innovative. There was Vishal Bharadwaj, soulful and at times, dark. There was Nagesh Kukunoor, producing brilliant movies on a consistent basis. There were Ram Gopal Varma and Priyadarshan, who keep on oscillating between the outstanding and terrible (which made them risky options, I guess). And of course, there was Rajkumar Hirani.

Why Karan Johar, then? Did they want to make the movie a commercial success? Was that the only reason? Even if that was true, what was wrong with Rajkumar Hirani? I simply could not digest it.

Let me go to the beginning. I had disliked Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (I had written about my experience of watching it) with a passion.

I had simply loathed Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (to the extent that I had blurted out YES! when Amitabh Bachchan slapped Hrithik Roshan in the movie.

I had sat through Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna, though it was a complete hash-up version of what could have been made a nice movie.

I thought My Name is Khan had all the potential to become a great film. It was also Johar's first effort to do something different. It seemed incoherent, but was generally a nice watch. In the discussion panel mentioned here Karan Johar had a blast at censorship: he claimed that about a quarter of lines in My Name is Khan had to be left out, not because of the Censor Board, but because of the pressure created by the Government of certain states.

As for Student of the Year, I had felt no urge to watch it. I don't even know what the movie is about. Chances are that I'll never watch it, either.

HOWEVER.

There is a big HOWEVER.

I have also felt that (don't laugh) Karan Johar has always had the potential to become a good director. It's not that he can't. It's just that he won't. Somewhat like Shah Rukh Khan in front of the camera.

I won't go into the vivid portrayal of Rizwan Khan in My Name is Khan, which is easily the best Karan Johar movie till date. Not only did the movie address various social and political issues, it also handles the relationship between two individuals amidst all the turmoil - and it handles that quite capably. Given that 25% of the scenes had to be left out, it would probably have been a very good movie.

I will emphasise on two smaller, much-viewed, but less talked-about scenes. The first one is from Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (one of the most horrific movies of all time). However, as the movie drones on, and the main characters all assemble, intentionally or otherwise, in a mall, Karan Johar pulls off a poignant scene that takes your breath away for a couple of minutes or so.

Nothing more, nothing less than what was required. Excellent camera-work, capturing every person  on the screen displaying their perfect emotions (I agree that virtually everyone was a good actor, but that doesn't take anything away from the director).

Then, again, there is this beautifully picturised song in an otherwise bland, quirky movie that makes you wake up from boredom and suddenly makes you pay attention to.

My point is - there was never any doubt that he could. He had always shown occasional glimpses of his potential. He just wouldn't, and that made it more frustrating.

And then, in  his Ajeeb Dastaan Hain Yeh in Bombay Talkies, he came to his elements. He was always good at portraying emotions - even in the most ordinary of movies. They used to be Utopian emotions, though. Here, he hits you - and hits you hard. Here, the emotions have been captured, and how!

The movie takes off with a scene that makes you sit up with a jolt. How many Indian movies have you seen that start with a youth pulling his father out of his bed and almost beating him up because the latter had misinterpreted the son's homosexuality: "Main chhakka nahin hoon! Main gay hoon!"

No, Bollywood movies do not start like that. They never had. Especially Karan Johar movies. Would you have ever believed that the first minute of a Karan Johar movie slaps you hard with a strong LGBT message? I wouldn't have, for sure.

You feel the Johar's intensity throughout the movie. The sexual undercurrent; the unsaid eroticism, only the tip of which had been touched; the solace one seeks in Bollywood music; the power of music that makes an adult submit to a child; the brilliant use of two all-time classics (lag ja gale and ajeeb daastan hai ye); the Joharish one-liners. ("Will you come in?" "Will you come out?")

No overflow of emotions. Everything measured out with the precision of a surgeon. No needless song. No uncalled-for mush. No 19th-century family bonding. No adjustment for stars. No uber-rich businessmen. No Kirron Kher.

And then, there was the troika: the surprise package of Saqib Saleem, the emotional mess of Randeep Hooda; and the restrained, intelligent performance of Rani Mukherji, back to her best. Johar's excellent use of the three actors, and getting the best out of them: especially Rani Mukherji, whose subtle array of emotions has been brilliant given the testing, claustrophobic conditions under which the drama unfolded.

Now I know why his section was the first of the four. It was a fitting beginning to an excellent tribute to a hundred years of Indian cinema.

Make more of these, Karan. I always knew you can. It's time you do as well.

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PS: One of the four movies also features an emu. Called Anjali. I kid you not. I won't tell which one, though.