Last night I went to see Madhur Bhandarkar's Fashion. Don't ask why please. I did. Maybe I'm growing old or what I don't know. But lately things like this arouse only utter violence in my breast. I want to run into Madhur B wearing Doc Martens (me, not him) and kick him senseless. To kick him senseless I would have to kick him in the crotch because that's where our man's sense and sensibility both reside. Then, as he lies there disintegrating and groaning I want to shout loudly - dude, ever heard of ANOREXIA?? No?? BULIMIA then maybe? Oh, you thought all those models that you saw throwing up during your ASSiduous so called research were just pregnant out of wedlock and getting a reminder for their next abortion.
How can someone be so unempathetic? Oh well, I guess it's easy if you're a racist, homophobic misogynist. How can anyone write such a bad script in which plot point 1 is - Meghna smokes a cigarette - drums and synth full power AND Interval! Plot point 2 - Meghna has sex with - not 6 men, one dog and an anteater - But-with - a black man - silence on the track and then racing heart music. Meghna wastes a whole box of tissues trying to rub out her face. Is she worried that the mascara giving her raccoon eyes is man's skin colour rubbing off on her perhaps? Breakdown happens.
And what is Madhur B's problem with women who have sex by the way? What? All the women in the film who have sex come before a fall. The one who comes out smelling of roses (Janet/Mughda Godse) is the one who has a marriage of convenience/companionship with a gay man. Even when the gay man asks her to marry him he never says - hey, we can be married but you can have sex with other people or be in love with them or whatever you want. There is only one straight man in the film and he's a bit of a jerkofsky - Arbaz Khan. So maybe Madhur B on the whole has a lot of discomfort with heterosexual sex? I don't know.
In fact I am thinking that if he didn't make films he might be a serial killer - so on second thoughts, carry on O progeny of Arthur Hailey and Jackie Collins who's loving nanny was Danielle Steele.
But why is it ok to make a film which is basically made up of all these moments of moral horror rather than a story which explains how each person makes their own Faustian pact as they move on through life? I guess because people are going to see it. And because so what if the US president is now a Black man - back home the MNS can go round beating people up and the Shiv Sena can burn valentines cards and... you know.
Oh and by the way I've got one more thing to say to Mr. Realistic Research Bhandarkar - Mathur's are not Punjabis! So there.
Anyway I've lost all claims to family values after this demure tirade, I know, but what else to do?? Luckily there's an Other Me. The inestimable Mr. Karan Bali has persuaded me to blog on upperstall.com and so there's a grown up, well behaved version of this post there. Hey the truth is complex. You can choose this version or that version.