A deafeningly hyper train contour-tweening into the two word English title, three capable lead-performers and chillingly minimalist promos were the reasons that attracted me to cache my ever-colossal piles of to-be read books, ever-elephantine notes and handouts and ever-stressful college and its copious paraphernalia that seem to have coiled me off late like a deadly 10-tentacled octopus!
.::What’s it about, anyways?::.
Coming astern, Calcutta Mail revolves around Avinash (Anil Kapoor), an itchingly keen middle-aged man who descends upon the metropolitan city of Kolkata only to be greeted by awry, bizarre characters. The moment he steps down, the city greets him with uncomfortable populace, chivvied and congested domains, and a chawl (this thanks to an over-indulgent cab-steerer). However, his landing on such an incommodious and overcrowded territory is wonderfully carapaced with a mission… almost a lifework further shelled with revenge. For Avinash seems to be in search of a human aliased as Lakhan Yadav. Who is this Lakhan Yadav? Why Avinash is searching him? What mission is he on? Since the review has not-recommended written all over it, the answers will be found in the spoilers that follow hence. So read on.
Calcutta Mail starts on a fabulous note, almost a boom. But its all smoked as the climax looms nearer. Avinash’s constant on-the-run anxiety lends immense force in the first thirty minutes as does the caricatures that bubble off-and-on. Alternating between the relief of chawl and Bulbul (Rani Mukherjee), the ever-suspicious accompanying and seemingly helpful pimp Ghatak (Saurabh Shukla), the questionability behind the hit-and-chase pursuits and the grimness of Anil’s eclipsed, concealed past, the hooking-factor is wonderfully maintained. Only to crumble like a mole-hill as Avinash gets stabbed by the ever-tracking goons in a fist-and-kick assault.
With Bulbul besides his sick-bunk, unfolds the fable of Avinash’s troubled past… starting stereotypically with a love-story in heroic circumstances {the girl—Sanjana (Manisha Koirala), is followed by a sadist rat all through the length and the breadth of the moving iron-wheeler—who indeed is Lakhan Yadav— when Avinash comes to rescue and saves his and Sanjana’s life by leaping off the soon-to-crash reversing train!}. The goon incidentally is the executor of Sanjana’s politician father’s killings and the father is all the more obligated to offer his daughter to a crass murderer. And it all climaxes on the mercy of the grime and slime of vested political interests of the bride’s father {though its believed that its Lakhan Yadav who has killed Sanjana and run away with Avinash’s son} which brings us back to the present tense, where the sole mission of Avinash remains to unshackle and reclaim his kiddo and in the process, show off some heroism {Yup, that same kind which sends the C-class audience whistling and clapping} And that’s it!
.::A time to Analyse::.
An award-winning director like Sudhir Mishra at the helm, one surely expected better stuff. I just hate flicks that go clammy and soggy towards the climax, and Calcutta Mail is just that—like an éclair filled with bitter-gourd juice—leaving you bitter all over.
Every aspect of this film nosedives in the second half—the fertile, imaginative direction in the first half {the chawl sequences and Anil’s recollection of the doomed killing day being the only evidence here} dips into routine oversight; the absorbing plot strangles itself only to end as a stinking, suffocated chicken; picturesque and overwhelmingly surreal cinematography gets doused and dunked into haste of all-so-familiar chase surroundings and moribund shot-taking {its sheer incapability to bring forward a large frame of two trains crashing in all its realisation is ample proof for it}; manful, gritty action sequences give way to long-drawn pursuits and done-to-death scenes and so on and so forth. Probably what remains consistent are the performances from the lead players.
The exceptional performer that he notably is, Kapoor once again doesn’t get his due in a film as dead as this. However, as always, his ever-pronounced body language, ever-perfect dialogue sync {watch him battling the goons or just sitting idle in the first few minutes—that anxiety of a searching father, that dormant power in his revengeful eyes—he literally breathes life into a clichéd, filmi character of Avinash}.
Mukherjee lights up the screen pixels with her chocolatee girl-next-door act replete with that million dollar smile, that husky chatter and that natural Bangla accent. A novelist ever curious to know about Avinash’s past, watching her having a blast in the song “Yeh Sahab Ajeeb Hai” or interacting with her family was an absolute treat. A natural performer that the girl is, the utterly stinted and sketchy characterisation of Bulbul aka Rima doesn’t inhibit her spontaneity one bit which is quite a contrast to the well-etched character of Sanjana where its Koirala who fails to churn out the pain of a misunderstood daughter grossly and ends up looking confused and disjointed to the film’s spirit in almost every frame. The only scene where she impressed was when facing Lakhan at the bar—it resonated with the subtleness of Manisha that we know. But overall, she’s unimpressive.
Sayaji Shinde’s performance mirrors his character—it starts off chillingly as a sadist but dives down as the irritating, fragile goon-next-door waiting to be shot. Satish Kaushik might arouse a few laughs at first peek with his proboscis-pouring dialogues, but is moderately impressive as the film’s chief rapscallion. Worthy performers like Saurabh Shukla, Shivaji Satam and Deven Verma have, sadly, nothing to talk about.
The department that consistently received brickbats in the flick was music, which, quite amusingly, for me proved to be hugely endearing. Only 3 melodies made their way to the film, out of which “Yeh Sahab Ajeeb Hai” is captivating thanks to Rani’s charm and “Tu Abhi Dede Na” breathed with cute picturisation, cuter tune and even cuter vocals by Adnan Sami. That the ditties didn’t play the chief guise at the promos, only makes them feel fresher acoustically. Background music, however, is routine.
.::Epilogue::.
Its sad really. That the exciting over-the-bridge sequence quickly finishes and the whole train (the film I mean) rocks over the same dry surroundings of stretches of desert on both sides from where the respite only comes when the brakes come to a screeching halt. Its sad that prolific directors don’t realise that pummelling a set of characters into a cardboard set of cornball clichés isn’t what the audience wants. Its sadder that those sparks of brilliance that Mishra showed in his previous two films have died down—almost depressing. Sigh!
Calcutta Mail is inconsistent. Its inconsistent in its screenplay, in its direction, in its story, in what it projected, in what it is and lastly in the entertainment it provides. A mediocre masala Hindi film to the core, its advisable that you catch this one as and when your cablewallah gets generous (and brave).
For now, a comment on this review would do. Hope you enjoyed reading the review.