Review: That Girl in Yellow Boots

So Humbert Humbert fathers Lolita's Hlaf-sister and leaves them. Years later the half-sister embarkes upon a quest to find her father that brings her from Brighton to a Mumbai massage dump that delivers happy endings. there you go, story and spoiler. By the way, the yellow boots have nothing whatsoever to do with the movie except that they look good on Kalki's super-fair legs.

At first the movie starts off as a solo half-firang girl's experience of Mumbai and search for her father; then you discover the deliciously tacky sleaze-dump spa where she delivers happy endings for a thousand rupees; then enter a coke-head boyfriend who's more like an annoying pet and a bangalore gangster. If you start expecting a thriller at this point, you'll have to settle for the leftovers from Anurag's affair with the cinematic Mumbai underworld. its the flavour people, not the main course. The relish changes btw, At first its peppered with references to Pondicherry, the Ashram, Bhagwan and spiritual awakening. fear not, it evaporates soon. leaving some seriously obtuse language politics between english, hindi marathi and kannada. so watch out. Anyhow, so here she is, Ruth, half-British half-Indian with an expired visa, looking for her father, bribing generously and bestowing free 'handshakes' to lubricate her way through the bureaucratic labyrinth. Oh and she gets slapped pretty often btw, though less often than she gets stoned. which is when she tries conversation as condiment for her 'handshakes'. But it doesnt work for her clients or her boyfriend.

Why does she live the way she does? because she wants to be loved unconditionally. And, apparently, that is what estranged fathers stand for.

There are a number of good things about the movie, but it lacks something: sustained character development, a strong emotional logic and... soul. It doesnt quite strike a chord.

But watch the film, because:

1. Its different, in a good way.

2. Nice shots. documentary-like camera work.

3. First (to my knowledge) representation of ex-patriot life in mainstream Indian popular culture.

4. Some excellent actors: the fat funny and sexed-up spa receptionist/manager; Chutiyappa Gowda the Bangalore gangster; Naseeruddin shah who is quite inexplicably the only clinet who comes for a massage without a happy ending. Though why he would choose such a dump in the first place is never explained. The coke-head boyfriend who desperately needs house-training; and Kalki, the beautiful lady of the luscious mouth, quite aptly described as 'Bugs Bunny meets Julia Roberts' (I'm guessing Kashyap's words, not mine) she makes watching anything for two and half hour quite worth it.

5. Rajat Kapoor.the man. Just a tiny little glimpse of him. drool. drool.

6. If you really, really, really hate Delhi movie goers: their inane comments, their unending phone-calls, their unhinged talent for laughing out loudly at a crucial cinematically sad moment, their need to explain/translate the movie to the person sitting next, the slurping, the munching. all of these little gestures that make movie watching such a beautiful experience. If you really hate them, then go watch this movie, because nothing shuts people up like a paedophile father getting daily handjobs from an estranged daughter. The film is worth it just for the sudden silence it creates amongst the rarefied classes of slurpers and munchers and phone-call takers. Five stars, just for shutting them up. thank you, dear Kashyaps.

the quintessence of inebriation.

now there are things one hates in life and there are things one loves, and life, the eternal cindrella's-stepmother, invariably decides to dish out a generous portion of the hate-things on our unfortunate dinner plates. now, if cinderella, the poor mite, had brains enough to tune herself to like the hate-things, she wouldnt have suffered so much. infact among the five leading ladies of fairy land, she strikes me as the silliest; rapunzel was one helluva innovative chick--used her hair for late-night exits and entrances, successfully fooling the insufferable hostel matron, who by the way had a diploma in magic(no, in those days, there was no capitation fee) ; snow white successfully seduced her executor and got not one or two but SEVEN live in partners, imagine the eightsome! and whats more, the prince too. i bet, for him, 'experience mattered'. ; sleeping beauty gets my vote, hands down, i would do what she did, vis. sleep. ah peace!; and our little Red, i call her the quintessential New Woman, the earliest exponent of Feminism, infact Joan did an apprenticeship under her: now, what happened was this--little red was taking a walk round the new showroom of 'woodlands' and this wolverine look alike came along. Red has always rather admired the series, but as it turned out, this hunk was a nosey fella, he wanted to know where Red was going and offered to walk her there (yep! he didnt have a car. sad.) poor Red had to invite him inside granny pam's house: and lo and behold! turns out that wolverine dear is an old fan of pam andy (read, gran. and granny pam hasnt shrunk a bit. wink wink). Red decides, thats it. anyway his whiskers intervened way too much when she tried to teach him how to give Artificial Respiration.and man, he stinks! so this gaping-like-a-cod-fish at gran pam's you-know-whats wasnt really helping his case and when Red spotted this rather hot looking guy with an axe 'effect?' (ah! a world for machismo) she decided to do away with wolverine, experiment number something. so you see, the poor mite, our dear enslaved cindy hadnt much brains..though she finally managed a prince. i guess i shall have to give her that.

but im straying from the point: i was talking about like-things and hate-things; now one of my many hate-things is an inebriated fool. they are enough insufferable when ebriated, anyway. i shall be short (okay,you KNOW im not talking about my infernal height) and pithy here (its NOT a typo for pity, buy a dictionary, moron.) and state the affairs of the recent dearly departed 31st december, 2007, night o'clock :

scene 1: a club lobby. man, say about 24-25,resonably handsome, dinner suit clad. wailing. yes you got that right. wailing. crying. at the top of his voice. didi amar shathe kotha bolchhe na..( my sister isnt talking to me..) the sister in question is standing a few yards off, visibly forsaken of any responsibility whatsoever towards this wailing sibling. meanwhile, another man, presumably the sister's husband tugs away at this guy's lapel, in faint hope of bundling the cattle home.

scene 2: the same club, washrooms: a barely clad lady stuck her face into the pot and waited..lets say for the butterflies in her stomach to come flapping their wings out from her mouth. (im a poetic bitch. kudos to me) i go to the restroom, finish, come out, brush my hair, put on more lipstick, some more kohl, some more perfume, and finally at long last im done. she's still stuck with her face inside the pot, one arm on the flush. as if waiting for the "readddy steaddddy GO." i wonder if robert bruce had any kinship with her ancestors.

scene 3: house party. plump panju girl recounts tale "of how i was mistaken for a Russian citizen at the airport" GLEEfully. "but i WANT to be Indian" she quipped. im a little obtuse, but i really didnt understand the 'want' factor.

i rest my case.


p.s. these are the mere 3 that i could state because i have little or no connection with the aforesaid demonstrators. there are lots of juicier episodes, but i would be burnt in public if i stated them.