Q. What do Slumdog Millionaire the movie of the year?
a. Danny Boyle's direction
b. Vikas Swarup's narrative & St Simon Beaufoy's screenplay
c. The ensemble cast
d. A.R. Rahman's music
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire is being shown unrecorded on TV. The roll-over contestant have won Rs 1 crore. He have one inquiry left and one line of life - phone-a-friend. He have given the manufacturers the figure to name because he "just cognizes one number". As the whole state watches, contestant Jamal Malik chews over over the question: "What is the name of the 3rd musketeer in Three Musketeers?" He passes proceedings laughing at some flashback thought and then opts for the lifeline. The phone call is made and show host Prem urges on Jamal: "You don't have got got much time... inquire the question."
The friend could have sat in presence of a computer, seen the inquiry unrecorded on television and googled "three musketeers". It gives you 1,590,000 consequences in 0.08 seconds. And all the consequences will state you it's Aramis. Slumdog prohibition jaata millionaire!
No, we didn't give out the ending. It's not how the drapes come up down on the film-you-must-see. Because everything that haps in and is happening to Slumdog Millionaire "is written". Nah, not by Swarup or Simon. But by destiny. That's what Jamal rightly states Latika at the end of the movie when she states "I thought we would ran into only in death".
It's not a movie that glorifies poorness and hard cashes in on the dark underbelly of a development country. It's not a movie that steals Bollywood masala and functions it on an all-new platter. It's not a movie meant to slam-dunk at the Golden Globes and Oscars of the world. Slumdog Millionaire is just a small little timepass movie being driven by the planetary demand of I-want-to-feel-good. It might have got lost its original American distributer to recession but only these somberness doomsday modern times can be blamed for the unbelievable all-round jubilation of the film.
Even if you price reduction the absurd plotting of the film - how Jamal happens Latika every time, why Salim sometimes assists Jamal and sometimes aches him, why Prem suddenly experiences insecure about Jamal's jackpot, etc, etc - under the attire of its fairy tale coating, you would fight with the cast. When slumdog Dev Patel's British speech pattern will not irritate you, Freida Pinto's one-and-a-half-scene battle will outrage you. And the center and older Salims, with their schoolboy duologue bringing in English, will drive you mad.
They almost undo all the difficult work of the existent three musketeers Ayush Khedekar (youngest Jamal), Azharuddin Ismail (young Salim) and center Jamal (Tanay Chheda). They don't just emerge from layers of slimed crap (stinking testimonial to Trainspotting) and slumber in refuse gardens but supply the swivel around which the full movie revolves. Add to that Anil Kapoor's deliciously pitched over-the-top host and Ankur Vikal's cold cut as Mamman.
Then there are the images. Dharavi, of course, hasn't been captured like this. Yes, there is a palpable City of Supreme Being feel to it - and like Antony Mantle here that movie too had won a filming nomination at the Oscars - but when you add the train-top changeables and the bustling whorehouses and the neon-lit streets, it's quite breathtaking. And then they are chopped up and tally at a gait (editing by Chris Dickens) fast adequate to maintain you stuck and ferocious adequate to go forth you stunned.But tongueless all the mental images and it could just have got been yet another snazzily shot-and-cut Incredible Republic Of India documentary.
Put the sound on and you cognize why the 5-ft-few-inches adult male with a unit of ammunition human face have the upper limit Oscar nominations this year. It's saaya that sets the gait by giving the fire feet to the running play slumdogs. The melody may sound like Ennio Morricone's Death Rides a Horse but Rahman's powerful vocals almost drives the movie forward. Up adjacent are the dull beat generation of Riots that magnify the group horrors. Paper Planes with slug shots as beat generation and chorus by the children punctuate the Mera India Mahaan shots beautifully, from the hills to the deserts. Ringa Ringa, a delicious return on Choli ke peechhe, makes the perfect filmi atmosphere for the insides of the Mumbai brothel.
When things travel really dreary and nil much is happening, Liquid Dance interruptions the sameness with the electronised tabla bol. Latika's theme, the most soulful piece on the soundtrack, do the delicate Freida come up alive. And after he have packed the 120-minute movie with such as great music, he allows Saint Matthew Strachan's celebrated Who Wants To Be A Millionaire subject to take attention of the climax. Of course, Jai holmium detonates with the shutting credits and despite Boyle's best attempts to kill the song with the sudden aerophilic session on the railroad platform, it survives. Just like the film.
Yes it was indeed written. In all of three hebdomads at the Panchathan Record Hostel in Chennai. Go listen (to) Slumdog Millionaire.