Spoilers ahead…
Some actors you don’t have any opinion about. It isn’t about whether they’re good or bad – it’s just that they don’t have much of a presence. They blend right into the scenery. Nikhil Dwivedi is one of those actors, the cinematic equivalent of a potted plant or the daytime sky. The hard-edged Richa Chadda is the opposite – she’s big, she’s loud, she’s what the scenery is built around. You can see the idea behind the casting in Tamanchey – opposites attract, et cetera. But sometimes, actors can be too different. This is a Bonnie and Clyde-type story about two small-time criminals who get off on crime and on each other, and it needed, more than anything, rock-solid chemistry. As Munna, Dwivedi tries too hard to pull off the slack-jawed small-town guy who would have been played in the fifties by Raj Kapoor and in the nineties by Govinda. It’s painful to watch. “Ladeej hote hue bhi jean pant pahenti ho,” he tells Chadda’s character, who then startles him with her very un-ladeej-like name: Babu. Everything about her startles him – her clothes, her ballsiness, her English, her cussing. Someone like Munna wouldn’t survive five seconds with someone like Babu, let alone a movie.
Tamanchey is one of those scuzzy little B-movies that didn’t need to be very good – at least, we’re never going to ask too much of it, just that it give us some attitude, some colour. The director Navneet Behal gets this, and how he labours. He squeezes Babu into tight, provocative clothing – at one point, she’s wearing fishnet stockings. Even her sneakers are a standout – they’re bright red. And the language is a treat. I laughed loud when Munna referred to the human posterior as pavan kund. Everyone talks in the kind of flamboyant patois that reeks as much of a certain kind of hinterland reality as the dialogue-writer’s sweat. When Babu’s tough-guy lover (Rana, played by Damandeep Sidhu) discovers she’s been sleeping around with Munna, he says, “Mhare itne peene ke baad bhi botal mein shahad baki hai.” The lip-smacking leeriness in the line is refreshing, given the character, given the situation, given that most dialogue, these days, seems to be thought out in English and translated to Hindi. And the soundtrack is pretty good. The electric opening from RD Burman’s Pyar ne dil pe maar di goli gets the film going. (The reworked portions aren’t that great, though.) Sonu Nigam is in gorgeous form in Dildara – it’s the usual sad-song scenario, but I was instantly hooked by the tune – and Khamakha is used well throughout the film. At one instance, it’s heard when Munna and Babu flirt surreptitiously under Rana’s roof. Suddenly, the song stops… as Munna barges in on Babu massaging a nude Rana. He’s put in his place.
The film needed more of these moments. But given the madcap situations – Munna and Babu make love in a train carriage filled with tomatoes, and at one point, a wrecking ball descends on their hideout – Tamanchey should have been way more fun. Or they should have dialled down the comedy and taken the serious route, especially with this ending in mind. What we’re left with, then, is an unsatisfying mix of blood and laughs. Even with our low expectations, that’s not enough.
KEY:
* Tamanchey = guns
* Bonnie and Clyde = see here
* “Ladeej hote hue bhi jean pant pahenti ho…” = You’re a woman and you’re wearing jeans…
* pavan kund = a play on havan kund, which is the site of a sacrificial pyre
* “Mhare itne peene ke baad bhi botal mein shahad baki hai.” = I thought I licked the pot clean, but looks like there’s still some honey left…
* Pyar ne dil pe maar di goli = see here
* Dildara = see here
* Khamakha = see here
* wrecking ball = see here
Copyright ©2014 Baradwaj Rangan. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
Filed under: Cinema: Review (Hindi)
