Jawan - An Inimitable Experience

Let me lay it out straight before you get duped by the title and jump into reading with high hopes. This isn't your typical movie review. Every time I scribble about a flick, the way I've been doing in Tamil, it ain't your fancy-pants review; it's more about spilling the beans on what it's like sitting through them. It's about asking yourself, 'Was it a total pain in the ass?' or that elation when you finally drain the main vein at the nearest pee point after pounding a few mugs of draught beer right before a non-stop haul from NJ to SJ in a stormy night. I will get to that later; that's the high point of this post, which I am saving for the end. 

Besides boredom, it takes valor, courage, and an immense sense of sacrifice to throw the money at this half-brewed moonshine cocktail and waste time in haste out of compulsion. Compulsion because it wasn't a single anal canal that was 'force sat' on movie hall recliners to go through this Guantanamo-grade abuse.  There were two of them involved indeed. The main one that forced the other one, thoroughly enjoyed every moment of the 'paisa vasool' perpetration committed by the makers, while I, the other one, the victim whining in pain and writing to vent it all out here. That way, it was 'half-the-paisa vasool' at least. The main anal canal in mention was my partner in crime and none other than my school life buddy shadowing me in the US.

Alright, plot?

The protagonist has all the leeway to hold the tubes for ransom, blow buildings with bombs, shoot dead hostages, and resurrect them conveniently. Has his own jail kingdom where the women inmates are trained with arms and ammunition. Ensures to take a break to shake a leg on a grand B-grade movie setting from time to time. Falls in love with a cheap version of  Angelina Julie and marries her, half-way into the plot  Angelina Julie's role gets tamed, and ends up in the same jail later to take an oath and join the clueless cult. The protagonist has a past -  shot dead, thrown into deep shit jungle, 'ant-bitten' resurrected by tribes, asks 'who am I?', title card reveals and answers, later emerge in what's called a twist in the plot, and you pretend you didn't know this and taken aback as you spent $20 a piece for the right to glue your and your movie date's ass on the seat and let 170 minutes of your life perish in vain. Granites hurled, guns shot, then guns don't shoot - becoming a bonanza conflict to hinge on to the end, Double crosses happen, and someone is killed, so revenge has to be sought, with all beaten ideas from the 90s third-rated Tamil movies, the protagonists threaten to kill or blow something up for ransom because he wants a change and justice from 'the system', E-Voting machines heisted and pedaled to jail. The protagonist delivers social messages with a fake deep voice, points finger at and lectures already butt-hurt audiences to exercise the franchise and pleads to elect wisely, 100s of TV sets blaring the social message, euphoria gets the public and public react in orgasm and hail the protagonist, cops in la-la land, you get yet another dose of 60-year-old protagonist's melodrama and romance wrapped up in one with half his age low-cost Angelina Julie, Wagon fleet rallies swiftly; raising dirt to set the mood for some action and invariably each one of them toppled - some with an unfurling parachute overlaying to the windshield, some with eggs thrown on the windshield, the rest with nails hurled under the tyres, song and bollywood dance again, pyrotechnic screen lock animation from IBM PC's second generation computers to show gunshots and bombs, dozens of walk-ons from Tamil movies herded and misplaced die hard to show off their talent. What's next is some spoiler. The old villains lived their time, now it is time for this villain with a heavy southern Indian Hindi accent to reap the hay when the sun is shining. Meaty...role? Nah money! He gets his share of kills and has pills to kill; one blue, one red. He uses the blue one to hold his nerve when he is nominally pissed off and the red one to eliminate anyone in his way when he's hyper-pissed off. I wish I popped one before the movie. Chaos, chaos, and chaos with no order as if the city New York hit with cholera as the mayor throwing a party on the eve of death.

What does it take them to serve half-brewed moonshine with Southern-Indian flavored stale biryani on a Bollywood-themed platter with toppings of old sun-dried fungal spore material from Tamil cinema of the 80s and 90s? Audacity, Arrogance, Power of filthy money, the money pumped confidence and mainly a scamster's mindset. Above all, the bollywood cringe watchers are bored to death and miraculously started to belittle themselves for the poor movie taste they have developed over the years watching the bolly cringe shit. They once assumed superiority and enjoyed the stereotypical "Ayyo rama" and "Naariyal Paaniwala" and dark skin shaming in every single Bollywood flick. It's time they need a different variant of the same shit, re-packaged in banana leaf perhaps, so it is palatable.  The job's made easy with the director of this movie hailing from Tamil movie industry. All your hatred pig spew now mixed with our stale stock Tamil movie pee downed straight into your throats, lead and funded by your own star, suckers... at your cost! Devour it.

Well, do you know what the best part of the movie is? The background score right? How could it be complete without a mention, of all R. Anirudh the man behind the colossal murder, had you been a masochist, would have enjoyed every beat of his turning into a pounding migraine. This sucker ruined my mid-movie nap routine and made me pop off the seat in the business multiple times.

 Come interval, there is no pee break! You find your own time to hit the pee bay at will here in the US, with no compulsion. I dwell in immense pleasure not talking but writing about peeing so much so that, like comfort food, I have comfort pee. I pee to feel comfortable, comfortably pee, or in other words, pee is what comforts me, and finds my solace. For me, peeing is more than spurting. It all began from the center of the naval when I wielded (it) to begin and the plot unravels so dramatically with a thud. Yes!  Imagine something stunning the nerve and from the next moment on, engage in a  tethered tete-a-tete with yours with the resonance in the urinal responding to the Bolly number amidst the fear of everything breaking loose to a blitzkrieg attack of surround sound from the hall hit the pee place adjacent to it or below or above it. Mate, this is an experience! I was in oblivion when I was first hit with this experience with Anirudh's background score chasing me all the way down to the point, that it centered and choked my pee nerve.  Use your headsets for the following folks.   

 Or head straight to Jawan should you need to experience the real deal.