Currency is an almost well made film that has got most of its cards right. Above everything else it marks the unveiling of a directorial flair that should hopefully be behind several admirable cinematic creations in the future.
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Ranjith Shankar's independent style flaunts a classic stratagem that pumps in the right amount of grit and intrigue into a film that's as spry and alive as it could possibly be.
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The patriarchal state of affairs that Chandran draws up, has men trampling their women under their heels, grinding them to the dirt. The man here who wounds, plunders, rapes and murders without a second thought, is predominantly forceful, lecherous and often downright inhuman.
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Bhagya Devatha is more of a medieval morality play and less of a cinematic expedition that befits its times. Sathyan Anthikkad has put up an elongated allegory in which the protagonist comes across embodiments of an assortment of moral traits who try to persuade him to opt for a chaste life over one of vice.
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You need to have a hypocritically high level of patience and lenience if you are to make sense of this cat 'n mouse game. Honestly, even five year olds deserve better than this rubble.
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To draw parallels between the tranquil Ganges and the 'musical pilgrimage of love' set on its banks is literally impossible. Benares, the film, has none of the profundity, depth or vigor of the mystic river. Instead, it rages on like an unruly current on a real rainy day, all muddy, indistinct and thoroughly off-course.
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I wouldn't brand this film as a torturous one that puts you in sheer agony. This is the kind of film that you would watch with an amazing indifference that you never knew existed within you, your head resting comfortably back on your seat, legs stretched as far as they can possibly be and your eyes half closed. And when it's all over, you walk out like a zombie that has misplaced its car keys.
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This isn't really an agitated rant against a disposable crime thriller that failed to entertain me. As the IG himself puts it across, this is righteous indignation pouring straight out of a movie lover's heart.
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Hardcore skeptics like me who were all apprehensive if that chemistry of yore was gonna work out yet again between the fantastic four could go munch cake. Lal has us eating out of his hands and has the ultimate last laugh. All that bonding and all the camaraderie is left in tact; they are as screwed-up as ever. They are the very same and yet so refreshingly different.
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SAJ is merely a trailing contender among an excess of superhero movies. And if there is ever a follow-up, as unlikely as it is, I hope it turns out to be better. It could hardly be any worse.
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What do you say of a film that thrives on one misunderstanding after another to concoct a story that is as far-fetched as it can get? If half of these miserable little mix-ups are cut off, the film would barely qualify for feature-length.
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Motive in film is everything. It's here that the film dreadfully fails and the tree comes crashing down. Thud.
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