Hindi
‘Badmashiyaan’: Nothing of that sort
When one watches a film like Badmashiyaan one can’t help but wonder: where do such films come from? A banter over drinks? Or, simply, a desire to feel the glamour and glitz of the film industry and an overwhelming desire to belong? For as soon as the film starts to unwind, you know it is a disaster unreeling on the screen.
There is this girl, Suzanna Mukherjee, who pretends to fall in love with vulnerable men for the sole purpose of conning them. Fall in love, promise marriage, and vanish via the loo after looting them. Her first victim is Sidhant Gupta, a café owner in Chandigarh. Totally besotted with her, he begs, borrows, steals and buys a two crore house to settle his future wife, Suzanna. On a date at a café, she takes time off to go to loo and never returns.
Gupta is heartbroken while Suzanna has found a new target, Sharib Hashmi, a Haryanvi don notwithstanding the fact that we have had too much of these UP, Bihar and Haryanvi dons, comic as well as caricatures.
Suzanna makes away with some five lakh of the don’s cash, her accomplice is picked up and stripped naked by the don’s man. In case you happen to watch the film and miss it, this is supposed to be the comic element in the film! On his part, the don does not want his money back (despite wasting an hour of running time beating up this poor sod and stripping him to find where the money is), he has fallen head over heels in love with Suzanna and he wants her instead.
|
|
|
Producer: Vijay Gutte Director: Amit Khanna Cast: Suzanna Mukherjee, Sharib Hashmi, Sidhant Gupta, Karan Mehra, Gunjan Malhotra |
If watching this film is an ordeal, writing about it is even bigger torture.
Nobody performs in this film and that includes the writer, director and actors.
In a year that has seen some of the worst films being released, Badmashiyaan takes the crown for the first quarter of 2015.
‘Dirty Politics’: What’s the other kind?
|
|
|
Producer: Nihal farhat Director: K. C. Bokadia Cast: Suzanna Mallika Sherawat, Jackie Shroff, Ashutosh Rana, Anupam Kher, Om Puri, Naseeruddin Shah |
Eons back, celebrated and one of the most gifted filmmakers, Kundan Shah, was working on a script about a Maharashtrian Tamasha girl going on to become the Chief Minister of the state. I suppose the film was too regional in flavour besides the fact that political themes don’t go down well with our audience and, hence, never made.
Here, a similar theme seems to have been used for titillation rather than to weave a story around the idea that in politics, anything is possible.
Mallika Sherawat, a dancer, has a powerful politician fan in Om Puri. Their proximity sows the seeds of political ambitions in her. But, alas, come elections and she is not on the list of nominees. So she decides to use her ticket to attain her goal: CDs of close encounters between her and Puri, which would defame Puri and ruin his political career.
How corny can a plot get when people nowadays don’t care who sleeps with whom as long as they deliver? (Reminds me of a prominent politician spokesperson cum lawyer whose explicit videos were on public domain and he still continues to be all that he used to be!) What follows is predictable. Sherawat goes missing and all sorts of corny plots and subplots follow.
The film stars some of the great actors like Naseeruddin Shah, Om Puri, Anupam Kher besides Jackie Shroff and Ashutosh Rana but the script, the direction and Sherawat make sure they are rendered ineffective totally; they are neutralised by everything in this film of which they had no reason to be a part.
Hindi
Remembering Gyan Sahay, the lens behind film, television and advertising
From a puppet rabbit selling poppadums to Hindi cinema, he framed it all.
MUMBAI: There are careers, and then there are canvases. Gyan Sahay, the veteran cinematographer, director, and producer who passed away on 10 March 2026 in Mumbai, had one of the latter. Over several decades in the Indian film and television industry, he turned lenses, lights, and the occasional puppet rabbit into something approaching art.
A graduate of the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) in Pune, Sahay built his reputation as a director of photography across a career that stretched from the early 1970s all the way to the digital age. He was the kind of craftsman who understood that a well-composed shot is not merely a technical achievement but a quiet act of storytelling.
For most Indians of a certain age, however, Sahay will forever be the man behind the rabbit. His direction of the iconic long-running television commercial for Lijjat Papad, featuring its now-legendary puppet bunny, gave the country one of its most cheerfully persistent advertising images. It was the sort of work that sneaks into the national subconscious and takes up permanent residence.
His big-screen credits as cinematographer include Anokhi Pehchan (1972), Pagli (1974), Pas de Deux (1981), and Hum Farishte Nahin (1988). In 1999, he stepped behind a different kind of camera altogether, making his directorial debut with Sar Ankhon Par, a drama that featured Vikas Bhalla and Shruti Ulfat, with a cameo by Shah Rukh Khan for good measure.
On television, Sahay was particularly prized for his command of multi-camera production setups, a skill that made him a go-to technician for large-scale shows and reality programmes. In an industry that has never been especially patient with complexity, he was the calm hand on the rig.
In later life, Sahay turned teacher. He participated regularly in masterclasses and Digi-Talks, often hosted by organisations such as Bharatiya Chitra Sadhna, sharing hard-won wisdom on cinematography, the comedy of timing in a shot, and the sweeping changes brought by the shift from celluloid to digital. He was also said to have been involved in a project concerning a biographical film on Infosys co-founder N.R. Narayana Murthy.
Tributes from the film industry poured in following the news of his passing, with colleagues remembering him as a senior cameraman who served as a rare bridge between two entirely different eras of Indian cinema. That is, perhaps, the finest thing one can say of any craftsman: he kept up, and he brought others along with him.
