Pushpa the Rule. A Wild Ride.

 Watched Pushpa 2 The Rule yesterday. Surprise surprise! I survived the onslaught of the dumbing, deafening and numbing experience. 

If you thought Pushpa 1 the Rise was bad, this one is like a gazillion times worse. Imagine Pushpa 1 on a potent mix of every drug and steroid possible.  That’s Pushpa 2. Guaranteed to make you hallucinate and give you a hangover without a drink or a drug. 

At least the first part had some semblance of a story and a narrative going. It also was helped by some foot tapping numbers, plus some novelty of a not-so-perfect, grubby lead. None of it exists anymore. This one has no semblance of a story nor logic. It is like a montage of disjointed sequences pieced together, to please the crowd that firmly had left their brains behind somewhere they will never want to discover again.  

There’s nothing that Pushpa cannot do. So, he fights like a daredevil, even becomes a missile while his hands and legs are tied up, makes love to his woman as per her wish, changes CM because she wants a picture framed in the house of Pushpa with the CM! He even dons a saree and becomes Kali, cries like a baby to show that he has a heart that beats for soft, mushy things called emotions and family, and tells the world that he does what his wife wants.   

Every character is reduced to a caricature to glorify the hero, and his heroics. Fahd Fasil makes you squirm with his antics, as he hams it up to the stratosphere, and so do others, dutifully. With the exception of Jagapathi Babu, introduced as the potential villain of the third instalment (yes, it’s there, if you didn’t know already, and it’s called the Rampage, aptly). And, as his wife regularly tells everyone, he is the unanointed god, the supreme being. 

The music is cacophonic; even the item number by Shree Leela is a damp squib - the song this time around addresses the unwanted touch by the male (the one before talked about the male gaze), but the male gaze is firmly on her curves and skin. 

To sum it all up, Pushpa the Rule takes all those memes about Rajinikanth seriously and brings them to life.

Good mornings!

 It’s time to fly back to Port Blair oops Shri Vijaya Puram.  I was morose for more than one reason. My transfer back from Port Blair wasn’t yet happening. I was leaving mom behind just a couple of weeks after surgeries (and, this wasn’t the first time I was doing so). And, my head pounded badly, and I felt I would puke anytime soon, thanks to it. 

I reached the airport in time as per the flight schedule. At the counter, I learnt that the flight is delayed by about half an hour. I headed to the lounge even though I’d had breakfast at home (for want of better options). 

I decided to have just an omelette, as I still felt reasonably full, and headed to the eggs counter. The man manning the counter smiled at me and wished, “Good morning Sir”. I wished him back, even though I was certainly not having a great morning after a late night party. The cocktails were one too many, and my head throbbed with the hangover headache. Before I could tell him what I wanted, he said in Hindi, “your regular egg white omelette, Sir? Without tomatoes?” 

A surprised me: “Yes! How did you know?”

“I remember Sir from your earlier visits. You haven’t come here in a while though”. 

“You’d be seeing a whole load of customers everyday and yet you remember a random person and his likes. I am impressed”. 

“You may have forgotten Sir. But once you intervened while a customer here got abusive with me.” 

I couldn’t recall any such incident. So, I said, “You might be mistaking me for someone else”. 

“No Sir. It was you. You invariably smile while ordering. Also, not too many have your beard and earrings”, and he went on to narrate what had happened. 

My head felt much better. The omelette was perfect too and that helped further. And, me smiling at people also is a result of another incident. Will narrate it another time. 

#airportdiaries

The Buckingham Murders: Review

Most times I try and watch something Indian on OTT, I end up getting disappointed. So, I had avoided watching this (and a few others that were recommended). Based on word-of-mouth reviews and the director’s name, ended up watching, ‘The Buckingham Murders’ last night (Netflix).  This movie had a theatrical release but I learnt that it had a dismal run (but the general buzz online was the moviegoers were not discerning enough). 

Kareena plays a cop mourning the death of her only son, and who is saddled with the investigation into the murder of another young boy, against her wishes. What appears to be an open-and-shut case takes turns thanks to Kareena’s gut feelings, much against her seniors. Naturally, she ends up solving the case, averts communal tensions between the two major immigrant communities (Muslims and Sikhs), ensures an innocent teen is saved from jail term and possibly from his drug addictions too , even as she delivers a slap here and a punch there. She solving the case also helps her find closure to the pain of losing her son in a mindless shooting case. 

The movie is very atmospheric but the plot doesn’t allow for any character to develop, apart from Kareena. Nor does There are umpteen plot twists and some you see them coming and others, you don’t. It feels as though the script writers were high on the drugs that form a plot point while writing the screenplay.  While the acting by most actors is competent, none of the characters will stay in mind once the credits roll.

Even though the movie is set in Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, all characters behave as though they’re in India - including the Brits. They mouth dialogues that are typically uttered in run-of-the-mill Hindi movies, albeit without the same intensity or shrillness. The immigrants from sub-continent even bristle at the immigrant police officers who speak to them in English, and urge them to speak in Hindi (as against Punjabi/Urdu). 

Rating: 1.5* 

Verdict: Avoidable.