Movie Review: Fitoor, Meet The Mad, The Bad and The Pagli
Despair, don’t even go there. There’s no point in moaning about the mangling-strangling of Charles Dickens’s 19th century novel, Great Expectations. Frankly, an update of the tale of an orphan boy caught in the web of an intrigue-ridden aristocracy, in present-day Kashmir, is an exercise in futility.
Despair, don’t even go there. There’s no point in moaning about the mangling-strangling of Charles Dickens’s 19th century novel, Great Expectations. Frankly, an update of the tale of an orphan boy caught in the web of an intrigue-ridden aristocracy, in present-day Kashmir, is an exercise in futility.
Moreover, there are echoes here of the transposition of Shakespeare’s Hamlet to the troubled paradise in Haider, which was infinitely superior.
Anyway what’s going yawn in the name of Dickens sir, in Fitoor, co-scribbled and chaotically directed by Abhishek Kapoor? Honestly, this wasn’t expected from the helmsman of the eminently likeable Rock On!! and Kai Po Che. Seriously, the outcome is a brain-spinner. Throughout, the plot goes thinner, breaking into a furious tandav over a bunch of characters ranging from the Mad and the Bad to the downright Pagli.
Infinite patience is required to decode this bunch, a task which is as unpleasant as digging into a hopelessly overcooked lunch. Take a look, then, at the fitooris, assailed by a compulsive disorder stemming from their childhood.
THE MADDIES: Boy Noor, all of 13 years old, is besotted with Fabulous Baby Firdaus, on sighting her on horseback in the snowscapes. Boingggg. This love-cum-lust at first sight – somewhat along the lines of the amour between Amitabh Bachchan and Raakhee in Muqaddar Ka Sikandar – doesn’t portray the kiddo as noble as the Sikandar, though. Woe. On turning into a sort-of adult (Aditya Roy Kapur), he longs to bed-and-wed Firdaus (Katrina Kaif) instantaneously. Uh huh.
With the rapid advance of time, Noor has become an upcoming artist who makes horrendous installations and canvases. Next: Quite nuttily, he buys a sporty Benz to whisk away his snooty bachpan ki saathi (Katrina) for a moonlit tryst at –where else? – but the Taj Mahal monument.
Wah Taj! She thaws, he continues to go pistachios, caring a damn that the lady’s already engaged to an Islamabad politician (Rahul Bhat, impressive). Aah, howzzat for a pinch of political sub-text? In a rage, believe it or faint, the wannabe M F Husain yells at the Islamabad gent, “Doodh maangoge toh kheer denge, Kashmir maangoge toh cheer denge.” As they used to say, things are going bananas.
THE BADDIES: The filthy rich who reside in a haveli under priceless chandeliers. Abound drapes, grapes, carpets, lockets and necklaces, banquet tables topped with biryani, plus a carved door which would have suited the art décor of Bajirao Mastani.
In this baroque haveli, feudal customs are followed to the nth degree, by grim patriarchs who don’t move a facial muscle. The baddies, indeed, are so abstract that you can’t figure them out. Strange. Similarly, the terrorists who set off a killer explosion remain in the shadows. Too many wrongdoers spoil the broth maybe.
Oddity alert: a terrorist on the run actually goes on to become a London gazillionaire. If you can’t understand how the baddy achieved this, neither do I.
The PAGLI: Begum Hazrat (Tabu) is mintier than chewing gum. What a relief! She’s wackily weird. No khushi in her life, only gham, she still has the nerve to smoke a hookah despite warnings that she has weak lungs. Curiously, she plays Cupid between the childhood sweeties Firdaus and Noor, maintains a 1,000 skeletons in her closet, and daiyya re daiyya, discloses a taboo attraction towards the boy, clasping his l’il hand to her heart. So dil se.
Indeed, Bugum Pagli is ultra-complicated, the kind you’d like to share an afternoon hookah with and maybe even discuss her fashion statements. How you wish to quiz her, “Begumji, whatever possessed you to wear an outfit which resembles a black wedding gown with a 10-kilometre train? How did you walk elegantly despite that gown?” Frown.
The costumes are the least of your problems, though. The editing is a cat’s cradle of confusion (particularly the flashbacks), Amit Trivedi’s music score is nothing to sing or prance about, and the sound mix is just about serviceable. Redeemingly, Anay Goswamy’s cinematography is top-class.
Unintentionally,the dialogue elocuted in mutli-dictions, is howlarious. Samples: “The moment I saw you a bum exploded in my head," and words conveying, “Think of what’s ahead of you and not behind you.” Errrrr.
Since it’s no longer a trade secret, it may be remarked that Ajay Devgn and Lara Dutta are wasted in guest appearances.
Of the rest of the acting crew, Aditya is as wooden as a field of chinar trees. As for his Urdu diction, ouch.
Katrina, after years in front of the camera, seems to be more concerned about her looks than acting skills. Her accent continues to be straight out of Harrods’. Even though her character is shown to write a letter in Urdu, the pronunciation jangles your earbuds.
If any expectations are fulfilled, it’s only by Tabu. Her dialogue pitch, body language and the innate hauteur of a Begum lost in a time warp, are pitch perfect. Applause, please, as she adds conviction to a direly unconvincing script.
All seen and endured, Fitoor, is a classic case of love’s labour lost. A valentine to a magnificent obsession, it is not. No way.
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