Now, that’s emotionally shaken and stirred

15 Park Avenue
Cast: Shabana Azmi, Konkona Sen Sharma, Rahul Bose
Direction: Aparna Sen
Rating: ****

She’s hysterical: Saddam Hussein on TV sends her into convulsions,  unintended indifference from the folks at home prompts her to slash her wrists, the trauma of a gang-rape persists. Mentally unstable, she’s a near-incurable case.

Aparna Sen bravely undertakes the task of revealing a skeleton in a family closet. Tread into 15 Park Avenue with a semblance of seriousness and sobriety then.

Indeed, here’s an Ingmar Bergmanesque subject (echoing the Swedish master’s The Silence) which requires a balancing of several conflicting factors – especially hope and despair – if it is to ring true.

The writer-director does trip at several key points but always clicks her heels to rise, and holds her head up high to display lingering wounds. Finally,  she leaves you quite emotionally stirred and shaken. Bravo, Ms Sen.

In fact, the study of a dysfunctional family is psychologically bang-on. Behaviourally, the schizophrenic Mithi (Konkona Sen Sharma) can be utterly placid or disturbingly suicidal. To tend to her fluctuating moods, her much older step-sister Anjali (Shabana Azmi) must make ceaseless personal and professional sacrifices.

While typing a deadlined article on Einsteinian physics, the big didi tells the attention-demanding Mithi, “Not again! Go to sleep.” Anjali’s terse..but really she’s oozed so much milk of human kindness that it has turned sour.

Anyone who has carromed between guilt and self-righteousness in familial relationships will be amazed by Sen’s acuity in conveying the tense sibling relationship.

Before their bickerings grate, the schizoid girl’s search for a mythical address on Park Avenue shifts to a pictorial la-la-land, contrasting the city’s cloistered apartments to the open-air sweep of the Bhutanese naturescapes.

Some coincidences do jar. Like Mithi’s old flame (Rahul Bose) shows up at the same spot with an irrationally jealous NRI wife (Shefali Shah), accompanied by a couple of supremely irritating kids.

Far more believably and certainly unconventionally, badi didi flits like a butterfly between a steady beau and a wine-quaffing psychiatrist, enacted ably by Kanwaljeet and Dhritiman Chatterjee respectively. Plus, there’s a mum (Waheeda Rehman, graceful as ever) who agrees to voodoo rituals in a desperate bid to help her “possessed” Mithi.
To come to the debatable issue of shock therapy – through a long-winded scene, Sen asserts that it’s absolutely warranted and painless. That’s a personal opinion and seems like a tag-on.

Gratifyingly, the climax avoids the convenience of an easy medical or emotional solution. Does Mithi escape into the corridors of her own troubled mind? Or does she just break away from the crippling family shackles? The answer, marvellously, blows in the wind.

Certainly, don’t expect a politically hard-hitting Mr and Mrs Iyer. Rather Sen gives you an intimate chamber piece. In this, she is ably served by Hemant Chaturvedi’s excellent cinematography and realistic set décor.

The English-Hindi dialogue is colloquially correct even if there’s too much blah-blah. Occasionally, it’s even a hoot, like the old flame declaring, “She (Mithi) is looking for something that doesn’t exist.” And the NRI biwi sighs, “Aren’t we all?” Pleeeeease.

Of the cast, Rahul Bose is strikingly sensitive, the legendary Soumitra Chatterjee shows up in a nostalgia-laden cameo. Ultimately, though, this psycho-drama is elevated by two flawless performances.

Konkona Sen Sharma is outstanding, tackling the contradictions of Mithi with conviction and compassion. And Shabana Azmi is superbly humane, complete with her strengths and frailties. Her scenes on the phone are an exemplary lesson in the art of acting.

The performances make Aparna Sen’s 15 Park Avenue a must-catch-immediately.

Kiss naaaa

Jawani Diwani
Cast: Lips, lips, lips, lips, eeeps
Direction: !@#%^*&
Rating: *

Go, go away Emraan Hashmi. Skedaddle with your Jawani Diwani, ugh ugh. How much can anyone endure of your wafer-thin lips puckering up for kisses with scared-out-of-their-wits misses?

Serial kisser, indeed. Take a break buddy, and lock up those bheege honths before you become a self-parody.

Nope, it doesn’t help, those references to Mallika ‘Shararat’ and Murder. Neither does it help if the dialogue actually calls you a “langoor” (the unit didn’t like you or what, what?). Nor does it help to get more close-ups and ‘shorts’ of your anatomy than the far more-watchable girls, even during the beach item numbers. Slumber.

About the only class act in this Manish Sharma-packed dabba is Celina Jaitly. She looks gorgeous. But hellzapoppin’, why was Hrishita Bhatt trying to do a Jassi Jaisi?
Please, Emranji, can’t see another of your liplockers for the rest of this life. Serious advice: take an oath of celibacy pronto.

Also vow never to show us yourfunky furry stubble. Enouuuuugh, enouuugh. Go away, if this is Jawani Diwani, then believe me I’d rather see Budhapa Bindaas.

Rating:

Outstanding: *****
Very Good: ****
Good: ***
Average: **
Poor: *