If you have been weaned on
a diet of a certain genre of cinema immortalizing ideology fuelled conflict
played out in the jungles of Vietnam, this may look like the pee wee leagues
after having savored some superbowl action. ‘Madras
café’ however dares to go where most Bollywood fare would dare not venture,
namely geopolitical conflict and gunboat diplomacy, themes which come as naturally
to Indian mainstream cinema as do soulful ballads to Daler Mehndi. The flick is
not without its limitations; John Abraham seemed to have his facial tissues
kneaded into a tight dough allowing very little emotional flexing and Ms Fakhri
needing to work on a number of things, minor ones among them being histrionic
skills. After all, those fabulous cheekbones can only take you so far. The
dialogues sound contrived (especially John’s voiceover narration), punctuated
as it is with liberal doses on English which appears jarring in an essentially
Hindi movie. The plot fails to capitalize on the enormous possibilities at a
grand sweep and scale that a subject like civil war provides and settles for a
more sensational topic like the assassination of a former head of state as the
central theme. One could feel the minefield that the director was navigating
through in the treatment of such a controversial subject; too many
sensibilities one couldn’t afford to offend. Nothing illustrates this better
than John Abraham stumbling out of a church drunk and disheveled, lamenting at
the state not having done enough to save the ex-PM. One wonders how this takes
precedence over him losing his wife to the plotters, but then maybe I’m cynical
and macho John did always put queen and country ahead of personal grief!
The acting rarely reaches
stunning heights and the only standout performance is delivered by the RAW
Chennai station chief played by Kannada actor Prakash Belawadi with his gritty
portrayal of a double agent compromised in a CIA honey trap. He lends depth and
credence to the character with his brusque demeanor conveying a steely resolve
which belies the deception which unravels later in the movie. The somewhat
deranged air that he brings to his persona is apt to the overall theme of death
and deception of the flick.
Siddharth Basu is a total
letdown. Zero screen presence, total lack of timing and dialogues mouthed as if
his only preparation for the project was to have watched mass produced Hollywood
disaster movies in an effort to ape the men in uniform bark out obvious orders
reduces this role to a poor caricature. Some thespians were never meant to make
the transition from the small to the silver screen and Basu proves why some shouldn’t
even have attempted in the first place. What works for the movie however is the
crisp pace at which the narrative moves and the cinematography which looks
accomplished. Do not again expect the Napalm fuelled orange haze which envelops
classics like Apocalypse Now, lending
it a surreal look. Redemption is provided by the jump cuts using original
stills, perhaps from the war ravaged locales. Most of the brilliant cast from
Vicky Donor is however underutilized here as they sleepwalk through their
lines. If you’re still at the theatre past the lemon break having suffered
through Ms Fakhri holding forth on world affairs, the events in the second half
of the movie leading up to the assassination is taut enough to keep you hooked
till the climax.
Watch Madras Café if you
retain nostalgia for spy thrillers like Spy Game and the impeccable Robert
Redford in it. You will however be well advised to skip John’s lament at the
end; somebody should have told him that failed intelligence officers don’t get
to drown their sorrows in a liquor bottle, they are left to rot behind a desk.
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