Bollywood Re-Hashed

This evening we were taken to a Bollywood film, on the condition that we wouldn’t dance during the singing/dancing scenes. 

Public embarrassment for our chaperones thus averted, we were permitted to bob our shoulders and move our heads side to side and make general confused gestures. The film was, in the word’s of my darling roomie, “A really long, complicated music video.” We giggled through the advertisements (one DEFINITELY wouldn’t make it through the censor in the US. A man becomes a sperm donor, and has to explain to his fiancée and family. The motto was “make every drop count.”) and are coming back very soon.

Marielle’s Synopsis of “Agent Vinod”: Before I begin, you are invited to check my ideas on the internet, to see just how much I did or didn’t understand. My hindi is coming along nicely, (tum sunder ho) and I understand a lot thanks to copious usage of english. For example:

“Hin di hin dee three minutes till explosion hindihindihindi catastrophe-he hin hin hin DEE SIR WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Did you catch that?

The film opens with a random scene in Afghanistan. Agent Vinod and his side-kick are entrenched in an enemy hideout/compound. After the secret exchange of a harmonica-cum-knife, Agent Vinod uses this deadly musical weapon to kill his attackers and blind the head honcho. They find a beautiful woman in a straw sack (what the what?) and run off in a truck. They explode/defeat their killer posse and the scene shifts to a train going through Russia. Sidekick is busy listening in on russian gangsters chatting about a suitcase bomb which has recently gone on the bad guy market. All of a sudden, super clever bad guy (who happens to be a health freak, or so he said in hindi) finds a bug (bug: slang for electrical device for overhearing conversations) in the saltshaker. Bad dude shoots the sidekick and chases him to an internet café where he was transmitting an important message (I didn’t understand) back to Delhi. He dies.

Agent Vinod then gets this message, is heartbroken about the death of his friend, but manages to make it to some random russian nightclub. He tracks down a gang lord, tortures him with headphones (it works) and finds out with his unusual methods that he has a flight to catch.

Once on the plane he seduces a gay indian flight attendant called Freddie M-something, and steals his identity. Jacqui and I were uber-confused about this turn of events. Is it normal in indian action movies to pull flight attendants onto your lap and compliment their man-perfume?

Anyways, our pansexual hero with a taste for workplace harassment made it safely to Morocco and in a sheik/oil baron’s house. He fails some sort of test, is knocked out and then injected with liquid (by a super sexy doctor) which makes him say “my name is Freddie M_____” in funny accents. I do the same thing upon occasion.

Not play at being a sexy doctor. Say things in funny accents.

Lot’s of things happen in Morocco, the long and the short of being that the bomb is bought by the sheik, sexy doctor who was on his side betrays him and there is a dance scene with the pretty lady from the first bit in Afghanistan. While Bollywood has mastered the super glossy delivery and has truly well made effects/presentation, the first half was a headache to follow. They should give their writers less artistic freedom, it bothers my sensibilities.

Yes, that was the first half. We had an intermission and got ice cream. Jacqui also got american style steamed sweet corn. No word on how it was...

Marielle: Hey Jacqui, how was the steamed sweet corn?

Jacqui: Horrible. Too much salt and butter. It was impossible to eat.

There you have it. The popcorn was fantastic, although when we asked for butter we were met with blank stares.

The second half of the movie involved the random gifting of a plane to somalian pirates, the transportation of the suitcase bomb, and then THE GIRLFRIEND DIES. My dears, the cardinal rule of any action film is that it must end with the hero sleeping with his pretty but fairly useless girlfriend. Short of necrophilia, this must always happen.

Anyways we pouted, despite the somewhat happy ending (she gave him the bomb’s disarming password before she died. Huzzah!) and discussed the significance of the film lacking any and all ugly women. Or the fact that the only people in the movie with real power were men. Or that in real life, the main characters are (respectively) a prince and his fiancée/scion of a famous film industry family. Their first film together... How cute.

Tomorrow we have a graduation ceremony for the 8th graders, and will be presenting our dances and tae kwon do examples. I am now going to sleep, and beg a cuddle from my lovely roommate.

A salaam maleikum, goodnight et bon nuit mes chèrs.