Khalid Mohamed

This had to be a nightmare. It wasn’t, it was actually transpiring right before my eyes at a sardine-packed award function. The evening was unusually chilly, cumulous clouds loitered over the open-air venue.

Khalid Mohamed

Front page news in the national newspapers — on the eve of a film’s release — is any producer’s dream come true, even if it’s negative and controversial. In fact, Saif Ali Khan’s purported James Bondish thriller Agent Vinod, which hadn’t sparked off much of a buzz in the market, has now scored a double whammy.

By Khalid Mohamed

Rs 295

An extract from the short story, Two Mothers

Tilting her head like a viewer in a museum, she fades in photographed by his memory, cooing, billing, making all the correct motherly sounds, scooping him up in her slender arms. He can feel the light sensual fuzz, kissing him, caressing him.

By By Satyajit Ray edited by Sandip Ray

Rs 450

They flicker, they dim depressingly and brighten blindingly. The DVD prints of Jalsaghar, Charulata and Mahanagar — just to name a random threesome — aren’t exactly a collector’s possession come true. Yet, better to grab whatever is accessible on the store’s shelves than to miss out on the masterpieces which have lasted the test of time.
Stalwart efforts have been made to restore Satyajit Ray’s oeuvre, thanks to efforts initiated by the late Ismail Merchant and then supported by Martin Scorsese. Still, so far the prints in pristine conditions have to make it to the digital format. Meanwhile, here’s welcoming a collection of essays, notes and pen portraits written by the master for diverse publications from 1949 to the 1980s.

Not once in the last four decades was Joy Mukherjee seen, wooing the paparazzi, at a movie premiere or a splashy soiree. Instead of hanging on to the addictive element called fame, he had practically retired from the show business scene since the late 1970s.

What a fright. Her eyes dive into the Kolkata night. And the city stares right back with its chrome yellow colours; the Howrah Bridge is glimpsed through a local train; the Victoria Memorial whizzes by; sleaze is on 24x7 at the unsmiling Mona Lisa Lodge. Indeed, the pregnant woman’s mind is a hodge podge.

Khalid Mohamed

No BlackBerry, no ping, no cry. I’ve seen filmwallas and wallis turn blue in the face, complaining, “But do I have to know this?” Guess not, specially if you have no curiosity at all about Aditya Chopra’s gym schedules and Mallika Sherawat’s travel itinerary. Sure cute baby pix do show up on BB but they’re promptly printed in the next day’s papers. Too much exposure to the same pix can be hazardous.

It’s as old as the hillocks. Filthy rich girl — as extroverted as those ziddi bouffant ladies from the 1960s — meets a wimp, and gets herself kidnapped. Why why why? Now don’t moan, it’s to escape an arranged wedding, complete with silk pillows and satin bedding.
Truly, Tere Naal Love Ho Gaya directed by Mandeep Kumar could well be a harkback to those Asha Parekh movies in which the dear lady was constantly fleeing Prem Chopra-type of grooms. La Parekh played the runaway heiress to the hilt in Caravan and Kati Patang. Come to think of it, so did Nargis in Chori Chori and Pooja Bhatt in Dil Hai Ke Manta Nahin (inspired by It Happened One Night).

Come Sunday and it will be the 84th and perhaps the most complicated if not convoluted edition of the Academy Awards ceremony.

Khalid Mohamed

Trust me, one of the most laudable touches of Agneepath was the fact that it fulsomely acknowledged its source. Before the film unspooled, it included a widescreen portrait of Mukul S. Anand who had helmed the original revenge saga (albeit with shades of Brian De Palma’s Scarface).