I saw Jhoom Barabar Jhoom while travelling in Rajasthan, in the Raj Mundir in Jaipur, which is, with some justification, described as the best cinema in Asia (and it certainly beats watching a film in a 'Multiplex' on a screen the size of a large TV in London).
As the film ended and the huge audience of all ages rose, making its way into the grand, pretty foyer, I turned to an Indian man in his thirties next to me and asked him in Hindi if he liked it. He said he loved the songs, particularly the song of the title, which he thought would get even the most unlikely person in the cinema dancing in the aisles. Then he added,
'But the the rest of the film is nonsense'.
I certainly agree with him about the infectious song of the title, having badly hummed it often. However, I don't think the rest of the film is nonsense. What I believe many people mistake for nonsense is actually a playful, kitsch, knowingly referential film revolving around the desires and problems of self-mythology, and the power of Bollywood fantasy.
The film is set in Waterloo station where a young Indian man and woman of Pakistani origin bump into each other and form an acquaintance while waiting for infamously late English trains. But their talk about themselves, we come to see, may not quite be so credible and ingenuous. Not only this but there is something magical in the air at Waterloo Station, for a wondering busker, Amitabh Bachan, looking like a sixties drop out, is somehow mysteriously involved in the lively plot.
The two leads, Bachan's son Abishek, and Preity Zinta, make engaging leads and, alongside the wonderfully outrageous Laura Dutta and Bobby Deol handle the film's sense of fun and comedy vigorously (though perhaps the nods to the famous Bachan/Deol partnership in Sholay goes too far).
Another thing about Jhoon Barabar Jhoon is its sure sense of place, something few Indian films set in Britain can claim. Preity Zinta's Alvira is an NRI and the film makes a playful but genuine attempt to engage with the London Indian diaspora.
As the film ended and the huge audience of all ages rose, making its way into the grand, pretty foyer, I turned to an Indian man in his thirties next to me and asked him in Hindi if he liked it. He said he loved the songs, particularly the song of the title, which he thought would get even the most unlikely person in the cinema dancing in the aisles. Then he added,
'But the the rest of the film is nonsense'.
I certainly agree with him about the infectious song of the title, having badly hummed it often. However, I don't think the rest of the film is nonsense. What I believe many people mistake for nonsense is actually a playful, kitsch, knowingly referential film revolving around the desires and problems of self-mythology, and the power of Bollywood fantasy.
The film is set in Waterloo station where a young Indian man and woman of Pakistani origin bump into each other and form an acquaintance while waiting for infamously late English trains. But their talk about themselves, we come to see, may not quite be so credible and ingenuous. Not only this but there is something magical in the air at Waterloo Station, for a wondering busker, Amitabh Bachan, looking like a sixties drop out, is somehow mysteriously involved in the lively plot.
The two leads, Bachan's son Abishek, and Preity Zinta, make engaging leads and, alongside the wonderfully outrageous Laura Dutta and Bobby Deol handle the film's sense of fun and comedy vigorously (though perhaps the nods to the famous Bachan/Deol partnership in Sholay goes too far).
Another thing about Jhoon Barabar Jhoon is its sure sense of place, something few Indian films set in Britain can claim. Preity Zinta's Alvira is an NRI and the film makes a playful but genuine attempt to engage with the London Indian diaspora.