Here comes Ra:Yawn

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Hellcome back to sad sack land. Here every man, woman, child, insect, SUVs and jeeps are in a dilapidated state, as if they came into the scene terribly late. Perhaps they actually did in a bid to repeat the same ole stuff about mini-town gangsters who’re unredeemingly gruff, women who have to cope with circumstances which are incredibly rough, not to forget those extra-legal power wielders who constantly huff. Tough, very tough.

Now even if director Maqbool Khan’s Lanka has its heart in the right place — to expose evil forces in the remote badlands — the snafu is that the bust-ups have all been already done far more effectively by Prakash Jha (Gangajaal, Aparahan, Rajneeti), Tigmanshu Dhulia (Haasil, Saheb Biwi Aur Gangster) and Anurag Kashyap (Gulaal). Of course every hard-hitting, insightful film on unchecked lawlessness counts. More the number, more the collective impact. But for a few stray iron-strong moments, this one’s essentially deja woe. In fact the tortoise-paced tempo, at points, might even lull you into deep slumber. The outcome’s quite Zzzz-grade really.
Over to a townlet called Bijnaur. Here yet another Raavan (Manoj Bajpayee) resides in a nouveau riche mansion. Tension. The doddering local doctor’s daughter (Tia Bajpai) has been virtually imprisoned by the Ra:Yawn for nocturnal bedroom bouts. She sobs. And when he isn’t tormenting her, he boozes with the vicinity’s unkempt mobs. Whisky’s frisky.
Anyway, this Bijnaur godpop is visited by a kid who used to be his admirer of sorts. Drat, seems eons ago, the kid had to vamoose after hitting a top cop with a cricket bat. Now he’s grown up to become an Expressionless Wonder (Arjan Bajwa). Glare, star, he goes. Despite that, godpop is delighted to see him, immediately assigning him the portfolio of a chauffeur. Next: Mr Expressionless is involved in a lathi fight over a disputed farmfield, lands up in hospital where a woman looks after him, exuding the milk of human kindness. Nice? Banish the thought. She’s none other than the godpapa’s nocturnal nightingale. So you know that means. Eeps, trouble hubble bubbles.
Gasp, godpop and chauffeur covet the same woman. Meanwhile, a rotten cop (Yashpal Sharma, typecast), miscellaneous bozos and a serious inquiry into Bijnaur’s crime graph, make our Ra:Yawn’s life excessively miserable. Not that he’s fazed. But the viewer certainly is: the body count multiplies, nocturnal woman breaks into a far too jolly I’ve-been-rescued jig, and the camera lighting gets darker to the extent of making the troubled township resemble a chocolate-colour fog. Nearly everyone kicks the bucket, compelling you to wonder why the director is so dogmatically defeatist. Fee-die-fo-fum.
About the only positive aspect is that the prologue and epilogue, advance a definitive statement on behalf of sexually exploited women. That’s it. On the techfront, the film is serviceable, but good heavens, the background music score is hysterical. Alaaps by a male playback singer sound as if he was having a bad time in the dentist’s chair. Aaaaaaaaaaaah aiyyaaaaaaaaa ooooooooyaaa, he yelps. Suggestion: If you do venture into this Lanka howl, do carry ear buds.
Perhaps the only valid reason for going Lanka-wards is Manoj Bajpayee’s inspired performance, crow black in conception but stroked with the grey shades required to make the most manic of villains, believable. Surely, this actor of substance should be seen far more frequently in roles, which do him justice.
Of the rest, Tia Bajpai is passable. Arjan Bajwa is stiffer than starch. As for the mandatory rustic item number, by Shveta Salve, it’s as tame as a teddy bear’s picnic.

Bottomwhine: Patently average. The extra half star’s for Mr Bajpayee’s grey strokes.