Landmark movie, turning around the clichéd format of local films, maintaining an international standard – before the release of Hero, we heard a lot of things said about it. All good of course; though if you decide to watch it, then you are recommended to have a few shots of Vodka first. In a sane mind, it will be hard to watch the whole movie. It›s an agglomeration of several plots, presented in the typical incoherent way, devoid of any credible and logical thread. Better make it a full bottle!
So, decided to take advantage of the post-Eid lethargy and head to Madhumita Cinema Hall to catch the much vaunted flick. Must add a few lines on the cinema hall which is like a time capsule, taking someone way back to the age when movie-going was an integral part of social culture.
Madhumita didn’t go for kitsch modernisation and still maintains large photos of Roger Moore, Tony Curtis, Marlyn Monroe, Clark Gable and the lot, telling us that sometimes a movie theatre is better off holding on to heritage. Thank God for that, this feels like a real cinema hall! Thanks to the MD, Iftekharuddin Naushad!
Anyway, any nostalgic pleasure that I had upon entering Madhumita evaporated within minutes of the film which, from the start, was hell bent on one thing – stretching the plot to the limit. First twenty minutes is rubbish dialogue accompanied by utterly stupid acting by Afzal Sharif. Buffoonery is staple Bangla film stuff so have no choice but to tolerate it.
Afzal is on the wrong side of the forties but wants to marry a young girl. Can’t blame him, in the age of Viagra, such audacity is permitted. However, the girl’s brother is the right hand man of a female mafia boss called Salma Khan and, naturally, complication arises.
In comes Hira, played by smarmy Shakib Khan, who is the nephew of Afzal. Together they try to diffuse the tension, meeting Priya (Apu Biswas), the younger sister of Salma in the process. It’s love at first sight! Then there is the usually plot development – saving Priya from lust driven animals and so on.
The hero is in love so his animal instinct is in check. Heroes are always persons of solid character – at least in movies. And heroines are virgins, safeguarding their precious asset for that someone special. It reminds me, a few months ago, a top actress from five years ago who played such immaculate roles in films, was arrested from a high class brothel in the city. Reportedly, she provides special comfort sessions for those who can pay.
Meanwhile, as the romance is blossoming, some guy who looks like Hira is going about town, killing Mafia members with ease. He takes on twenty people and, in the end, all his victims are pummeled to the point of becoming invalid.
Something struck me – why didn’t they think of putting the hero in trunks and some sort of costume so we could relate to him as a super hero? That way, the plot and all his ridiculous actions would have appeared more plausible.
The police want the killer; that means the lone crusader who is on an extermination mission, not the Mafia dons who are moving about freely, guarded by clowns, carrying silver coloured plastic guns.
Like I said, unless you fill yourself with some drink, it will be hard to accept the guns with red lights on the barrel.
Come on, can’t one in the production just bring things that look like real weapons? So, in what is supposed to be the biggest twist, we find there is another guy who looks like Shakib (I am so thrilled I want to jump from the Dress Circle and kill myself). This other Shakib leaps out of the swimming pool with a trident to strike a Godfather who has come to inaugurate a swimming competition.
Question: how did he survive so long under water without a breathing apparatus? Sorry, I forgot to take my drink beforehand! Cinema halls must make an effort to get a bar license. Have a few pegs and then walk in feeling ‘pura pankha’. Rudimentary logic! To hell with it! Maal khao ar chobi dekho!
At one point, we are introduced to Bobby, the current hot actress in demand in Dhallywood and get a very generous view of her navel. The camera is fixed on her midriff for good seven seconds – is this an advert? ‘Come, see my navel….implant it in your mind’. My squash marker, Dipok, who is with me, makes a wise observation: ‘deikhen boss, eitare dekhar jonno manush barbar aibo (people will come several times to watch the navel shot!)’ Right, somehow I am not thrilled at all!
My patience falters when Shakib Khan appears wearing a full white suit and sporting white shoes?
Hell no! Thought they got over white shoes? Even Bata stopped making them!
Made to order, right? Anyway, with echoes in the background ‘Hero – the superstar’, he swaggers out and lights a cigarette with panache, killing two men in the end with handguns.
By this time, I am feeling dizzy –I want to leave. Dipok pleads, ‘boss, wait, we may get more navel scenes’; but I am adamant. Forget about navel, even if someone takes all their clothes off, I am not staying!
We come out on a quiet rain-drenched road to look for our superstar of the street – the CNG wallah who will be willing to take us home!
-With New Age input
