Pay it Forward

Mom hasn’t read the book yet since she’s on a watch-it-first-read-it-later spree. The movie is captivating enough for her to want to read the book, but wouldn’t you know it, our local library doesn’t carry the title.

“So what? Just buy the book,” some of you might suggest, but mom is against buying paperbacks, especially one-time reads, when there’s a functional library nearby. (Yup, she’s cheap that way.)

The film is based on the premise of showering kindness on random strangers. A fifth-grader takes his social studies assignment of “changing the world” seriously and decides to make a difference in the lives of three people. He then hopes that the three people he helps will repay their debt by helping three others, who will, in turn, help three others and thus keep the kindness chain unbroken until it impacts as many people as possible.

The boy starts out by lending a helping hand to a homeless drug addict. He then connives to have his lonely teacher and alcoholic mother fall in love, and finally extends his kindness to save a classmate from bullies on the playground.

Helen Hunt plays the alcoholic single mother who works two jobs to support her son and her habit. She delivers her dialogs with the speed of a semi-automatic – a trait mom found rather annoying while watching her in “Mad About You.” She also looks her worst in this movie, dressing like a hooker with streaky eye makeup as she waitresses in a strip club.

Mom never noticed Kevin Spacey much before, but his role as a burned, scarred teacher who is afraid to love in this movie drew her attention. Despite a never-changing expression on his face, the man makes love to the camera in a subdued, controlled manner, never revealing his emotions but smiling secretly to himself. Each time Helen Hunt throws herself at him, he moans softly and pulls away, leading one to believe that there are men out there who can resist the allure of a semi-dressed, willing woman.

As a large-hearted man, the pedantic teacher falls for a recovering alcoholic and restores some of her dignity. On her part, the woman overlooks his scars and discovers the person hiding underneath the puckered skin.

As a shining example of her own random act of kindness, mom would like to start by adopting a dog.

Ahem … is her spouse listening?

Betty looks, Veronica personality

I’m not sure why an American actress was picked to play the lead in a movie set in 19th century England. Reese Witherspoon does justice to her role in Vanity Fair, but is there a dearth of talent in England that a Hollywood actress had to play the part of an English woman?

One wonders why filmmakers frequently overlook homespun talent in favor of foreign skill. Gwyneth Paltrow in Emma and Yul Brynner in The King and I come to mind, as does Jessica Alba in The Sleeping Dictionary. Closer home, Katrina Kaif (I use the word “talent” loosely here) serves as an example, along with a miscast Lisa Ray in Water (How many Indian widows look like her, I want to know?)

Perhaps director Mira Nair was simply trying to cash in on a major Hollywood star’s popularity at the box office. Whatever her reasons to cast Reese, Vanity Fair works for me on almost all levels, including costume, location, supporting characters and narration.

I haven’t read the book yet, but the movie is set in a time when English ladies wore low-cut, shapeless gowns, and attended soirees and tea parties to keep themselves occupied. Having watched and read many period dramas, one wonders how society ladies managed to stay in shape despite no exercise other than a leisurely stroll around the park. With housemaids and butlers in attendance, the women seemed to have no outlet for their energy other than gossiping while fanning themselves furiously at balls or playing the harp or piano, and taking up needlepoint.

The protagonist Becky is unfortunate enough to be born into poverty. What she lacks in pedigree she makes up for with an astute mind, and financial insecurity as an orphan mold her into a sharp go-getter who uses her feminine wiles to sleep her way out of penury.

The shrewd opportunist marries a charming rake despite loving only herself and money, and tries to carve a place for herself in genteel society. In the process of climbing the social ladder, she alienates her gambler husband, young son and her only real female friend who’s a maudlin contrast to strong-willed Becky.

The calculating character reminds me of a woman I know. Beautiful without being overtly seductive, talented, extremely brainy and charming, she seems to have the world at her feet. And yet, her delightful demeanor belies a devious, cunning mind and extremely sharp talons that she regularly unsheathes on people unfortunate enough to be outside her clique.

While most women tend to keep their distance from her, men are attracted to her like bees to honey. In spite of being married to a uxorious man, it seems as though a deep-rooted insecurity drives her to seek attention mostly of the masculine kind, which she greedily laps up before moving on.

She’s a sight to behold as she makes the rounds at parties with tinkling glass and laughter, stalking certain men and chatting up others, all the while making sure their wives don’t feel left out, much like Becky does in the movie. It’s a talent she was either born with or cultivated somewhere along the way.

Truly, if there were a finishing school that churns out such social charmers, brilliant actresses who use their slick minds as the only medium, the wallflower in me might be tempted to sign up.

Wouldn't you?

Bleddy Love: A brainless bore

“I’m going to New York tomorrow,” announced mom grandly one evening, giving her family the impression that she was indeed making good on her desire to go back to the U.S. to buy underwire brassieres for herself and dainty sandals for her six-year-old.

Before the family thrust a shopping list at her, mom clarified that she was going to be in New York vicariously. “I’m only going to watch the movie, guys,” she said.

The next day, while the rest of Bangalore seemingly commuted to work, mom and five other ladies from our housing complex hopped into taxis to drive an hour away to the closest multiplex to catch a 10:15 a.m. show.

“This feels so decadent,” thought mom guiltily, watching people with grim faces and ID badges waiting on the road to board a bus or fighting their way through traffic. “Who goes to watch a movie at 10 in the morning?”

Apparently, the students at the college down the street from the multiplex did, for the ticket counters were packed with boys and girls who had skipped classes.

New York was sold out thanks to these truants, so the ladies were left with little choice than to watch a parallel-running show instead. “Only 60 bucks, ya. So cheap!” they justified, as they groped for their seats in the darkened theater to watch Kambakkht Ishq.

Less than two minutes into the movie, mom distanced herself from her brain. As Akshay Kumar strutted on screen in snug pants, she wondered where exactly his mass appeal lay. Was it in his voice that sounds like he swallowed a frog, or in the perma-leer on his face when he looks at women? Could the attraction lie in his bulging biceps or in his golden, hairless chest?

For the amount he makes per film, the man even mispronounced Denise Richards’ name, after sharing screen time with her. Clearly, his attention, while she sat on his lap and rubbed herself against him, was elsewhere.

The movie had as many holes as a sea sponge has, and mom sat through the entire film with a tub of popcorn in her hands, periodically popping kernels into her mouth every time she yawned.

135 excruciating minutes later, she streamed out of the hall behind the teeny-bopper crowd, praying that the men in the audience - little more than boys really – would treat women far more respectfully that the hero-molester does. (The hero gropes and assaults the heroine in a group song in Venice and she predictably falls in love with him by the end of the film.)

“Well, I didn’t go to New York. I went to L.A. instead,” announced mom when she returned home, referring to the city Kambakkht Ishq is shot in.

“Are you going to New York next week?” the children asked a little too eagerly.

"Why?" sniffed mom suspiciously.

"No, these chocolate doughnuts you got us from the mall are nice, but next time get glazed ones," they replied, licking their sticky fingers.

For now, mom has elected to stay home. She has yet to recover from the sight of Amrita Arora's pockmarked cleavage, which was on ample display throughout the film.