Reviews

This is a not a biopic on the legendary woman of numbers, but a crude attempt at an in-your-face feminism. The film shows an early promise by threatening to demolish the stereotype of Ma or Mother. But it trips badly because of a horrible script and falls flat on its face at the altar of the filmy formula. Vidya Balan in the eponymous role begins with a roar and ends on a whimper. The film is watchable only for the sake of Vidya Balan. She manages to get under the skin of a character that is extremely grating on the nerves.

Shashi and his wife live in a Delhi slum. Shashi works as a security guard and the pregnant wife repacks farsaan to earn some additional income. Into their lives comes her brother, Anjani, from the village, seeking a job. Shashi manages to get him one as a "monkey chaser". The stage is thus set for a deep dive into the psyche of a migrant worker. The not so bright Anjani hates his demeaning job with all his guts, yet clings on. Through a series of tragic-comic events, he finally gets dehumanised.

There is an interesting side story about Shashi, when he is given a rifle. His wife cannot stand the sight of it and screams her heart out asking him to hide it somewhere. It is a terrific commentary on power and violence.

Strip the film off its thin comic veneer and you have a great satire. The monkey business is squarely placed in the heart of power in New Delhi. The film is replete with metaphors. There are constant references to the "other" and the various schisms that riddle our society. Trains crisscrossing the frame reinforce this divide firmly. Robots taking away jobs is alluded to.

The film has a documentary feel most of the time. It is difficult to distinguish between actors and real characters. Anjani (Shardul Bharadwaj) and his sister (Nutan Sinha) literally live their role.

Eeb, allay, ooo are the sounds made to scare away the monkeys.

Gully Boy is the quintessential movie about the underdog overcoming all obstacles to win on the big stage. We have seen plenty of such movies before, both in Hollywood and Bollywood. But what elevates Gully Boy from the average is the way it has been written and directed. Zoya Akhtar has used a skillful mix of entertainment and messaging. There are hundreds of little things in the film that ring so true and you can easily empathise with. Gully Boy is the nickname of the rapper Murad Ahmed (Ranveer Singh) who emerges from the bowels of Dharavi, the world's biggest slum, to bag the big prize. Along the way he and his girlfriend Safina (Aila Bhat) smash many myths without getting overly preachy. The rap sequences, and there are plenty of them, are the best parts of the film. Energetically shot, they mince no words in pitting the haves against the have-nots. The subliminal messaging is obvious. "Apna Time Aayega" (Our Time Will Come) has the potential to become an anthem of the underdog in the election year. Ranveer Singh underplays Gully Boy and brings a terrific touch of hurt and melancholy to the character. Aila Bhat sizzles as Gully Boy's girlfriend and aspiring surgeon. The movie liberally uses the street slang of Mumbai. Zoya Akhtar has packed a punch in Gully Boy. Don't miss it.

Carol is an extraordinary Lesbian love story between Carol and Therese set in America of 1950s. The film is titled "Carol" and not "Carol and Therese" because Carol dominates. She schemes to hook the wide-eyed Therese, manipulates her and always manages to get her way. Their first encounter in the toy section of a department store sizzles with subtexts. Carol is shopping for a Christmas present for her 4-year old daughter and asks Therese, the store girl, to recommend a suitable doll. Therese prefers a train-set and the die is cast! She conveniently leaves behind her gloves on the counter so that Therese can reach out to her. Carol's marriage is unhappy, primarily because of her sexual orientation. She has another closet lover, an intriguing woman named Abby (played by a pokerfaced Sarah Paulson) who narrates one of their physical encounters to Therese and unhelpfully concludes - "nobody knows why these things happen". Therese, played with great panache by Rooney Mara, is a foreigner, naïve, vulnerable, who can't ever say "No". Initially confused by Carol's advances, she decides to play along, unsure and confused about her own sexuality. As the film progresses, we see her personality evolving along with her photography skills. Another metaphor worth savouring, if you please. Are we watching the film from Therese's POV?

The film is lavishly shot and panders to our senses. The two women enjoy the fabric and furniture in opulent hotel rooms, dab each other with perfumes and clink martini glasses. Soft focus, muted colours, soothing voices, all in sync with the subject matter of the film, lend it a gorgeous look. The film is set in cold Christmas week and the riot of warm colours is an interesting counterpoint. Director Todd Haynes, uses a circular narration and establishes the period of the film through TV images of Dwight Eisenhower, lovingly shot Buicks and Teddy Wilson's vinyls. The film is punctuated with ring tones – train whistles, phone rings, bells, elevator alarms – jarring realities in a lyrical ballad. The toast to President McKinley is a wicked reference that will take some working out. In a film bristling with Lesbian love, all such references are coded, in keeping with the times. Deciphering these codes may require a second viewing and is an obvious delight.

But ultimately Carol belongs to Cate Blanchett, who literally lives the part. Most times, she lets her eyes speak. Eyes that brilliantly convey the physical yearning. Eyes that manage to seduce not only Therese, but us viewers. She manages to make us love her despite her blatant exploitation of Therese.

My final thought as I left the film: Carol exploits an ambivalent woman much like a man would do to a woman. She has her reasons, but is it justified? Is exploitation a learned behaviour?

45 Years is a powerful essay on the fragility of marriage. Geoff and Kate appear to be "happily" married and are about to celebrate their 45th anniversary, when a letter arrives from Switzerland informing that the body of Katya, ex-girlfriend of Geoff has been discovered on a Swiss glacier. Over the next 90 odd minutes, we witness the slow crumbling of a 45-year old marriage. The letter opens a Pandora's box of insecurities in Kate's mind - was she a mere substitute for Katya in Geoff's life? Questions flood our mind too. Was Geoff right in keeping secrets of his life before marriage? Is Kate right in her jealousy for what happened before she entered Geoff's life? Questions that make us squirm in our seats.

Charlotte Rampling is brilliant as Kate, letting her eyes and hands do most of the talking. Tom Courtenay lisps and shuffles perfectly as the bewildered Geoff.

The film ends ambiguously and rather abruptly while the anniversary celebration is underway.

Shiv Nataraj's wife from 40-year long marriage is in coma in ICU since last 8 months. Tara Deshpande's husband from a marriage that is barely few weeks old is brought to the same ICU after a road accident. Waiting is the story of how these two people cope with their grief. Your grief is your own, advises the wise Shiv (Naseeruddin Shah) to the impetuous Tara (Kalki Koechlin). The two cannot be more different from each other. While the older man (Naseeruddin Shah) appears to be stoic, he loses his cool when the doctor suggests that his wife be taken off the life support system. The younger woman (Kalki Koechlin) on the other hand is completely clueless and complains that not one of her numerous friends from facebook and twitter have come to the hospital to be by her side. Director Anu Menon doesn't have adequate material to stretch the film to even 98 minutes; so we have to endure flashbacks that add no value to the film. Many interactions meant to highlight the generation gap between Shiv and Tara tend to be frivolous and rob the film of its intensity. And there are songs! The duo also cast aspersions on the medical profession, which are robustly defended by the quirky but intelligent Dr Nirupam Malhotra (Rajat Kapoor). Other characters are reduced to caricatures in order to raise some laughs. Waiting could have been so much more poignant, had it stuck to its core theme of grief management to the exclusion of other distractions.

That Phobia is not everyone's cup of tea is established in the opening frame itself with this intriguing quote of Franz Kafka: A cage went in search of a bird. What follows next is arguably one of the most significant prologues in Hindi Cinema; miss this and you won't get the essence of the film. Mehak Deo (Radhika Apte) is a painter and is narrating a creepily uncomfortable joke to her male friends at a party: An old man has been ogling at her because her face resembles his bitch that was killed in a car accident, eerily on the same day when Mehak was born. She then leaves the party in a taxi with her best friend, Shaan. On the way Shaan gets down and invites her to spend the night with him. She spurns the offer and continues in the taxi. The cabbie takes her to a secluded spot and rapes her.

After the opening credits, we see that Mehak has become a nervous wreck consequent to the rape and is being administered Virtual Reality therapy to cure her of Agoraphobia (fear of open spaces). When the therapy makes little progress, Shaan rents out an apartment and moves her there to recover. Rest of the film plays out in the claustrophobic confines of this apartment, whose former tenant, a stewardess named Jiah, has mysteriously vanished into thin air. Spooky things start happening. Mehak's traumatised mind plays tricks on her and the director plays tricks on our mind. There is a black cat and a black spider, both important symbols in case you want to psychoanalyse the film later.

Just when you feel that the director has pulled out all stops and you have sorted out all the conundrums, the film shifts to a different plane. Some extremely subtle hints are dropped, so fleeting that you will miss if you blink. Phobia is an extremely clever film; it is revived miraculously from the precipice of an almost hilarious ending. Director Pawan Kriplani goes for the jugular, just when your muscles were beginning to relax. Radhika Apte more than lives her part. Background score works non-intrusively on the subconscious.

The film ends with a red dot (Bindi?) being applied on Mehak's painting to indicate that it is sold. Phobia works at multiple levels. At the visceral level it is a solid thriller with a potential to wet your pants. But at the psychological level, it makes you think long after you have left the cinema hall.

Lee Gates (George Clooney) hosts a hugely popular stock market television show under the bombastic title of Money Monster. The film begins with Lee, the show's director Patty Fenn (Julia Roberts) and other crew getting ready to roll out a new show. The day before, shares of Ibis Clear Capital recommended as a hot tip on the show, had tanked leaving many investors collectively poorer by $800 million. One of the most affected investor is Kyle Budwell, who has lost his entire inheritance of $60000 on the stock. Kyle sneaks into the studio disguised as a delivery boy, pulls out a gun and straps an explosives laden jacket on Lee and threatens to press the detonator. Lee tries to calm down Kyle with the explanation that the stock fell due to a technical glitch in the trading algorithm. So far so good!

But the plot takes a bizarre twist after the remarkable opening and we discover that the glitch is not the real villain after all. And that knocks the stuffing out of what promised to be a fine spoof on the stock market shows. The film turns unrecognisably worse as the director Jodie Foster now works overtime to reinstate Lee as a hero with a heart of gold. Within a span of 100 minutes, Lee Gates has turned from comedian to villain to hero and the transformation is not pleasant to watch. It makes even Patty squirm.

The problem with the film is that it cannot make up its mind about what it wants to be – a spoof or a detective thriller.

A long time ago, when many of us were sleeping under a rock, a bunch of exceptionally gifted men and women banded together and started calling themselves The Avengers. The prime responsibility that they had taken upon their specially endowed bodies was to fight terror and crime, cutting across state boundaries, but especially the bad guys that originate from the bad country of Sokovia. In fulfillment of this responsibility, they perform tasks, which defy the laws of physics, explained to us by wise men like Newton and Einstein. There is this lady Superhero, who can conjure up heat and light by manipulating her fingers, much like a puppeteer is wont to do. Another Superhero can achieve instant communication and teleportation by tapping a contraption worn on his wrist. But not all of them are tech-savvy; there is a Superhero still using bow and arrow. And another one uses a designer shield. To cut a long story short, they use exquisite weapons and toys while performing their extraordinary feats to protect lesser mortals like us.

It is not that The Avengers are always perfect; they do commit some silly mistakes sometimes. And one such mistake happened during their mission in Nigeria, leading to the death of some innocent people. It also resulted in United Nations waking up from their stupor and calls for bringing The Avengers under their purview. Some Superheroes, feeling guilty and tired, agree to submit themselves to UN control; others are outraged at their independence being compromised. There is a vertical split among The Avengers. The boss at UN gives the good guys 36 hours to bring around the bad guys. And fortuitously, it is also time for Halloween or some such festival. So they all don their best costumes and have a spectacular fight at Leipzig airport, crushing few planes in the process.

The Shock and Awe at Leipzig does not resolve the stalemate. Fortunately for us, The Avengers have a good sense of humour, of the self-deprecating kind. Particularly witty, is the Spiderboy, a new recruit. But he is advised by the seniors to talk less and fight more. Meanwhile the mummified soldier in Sokovia, who is revived by some mumbo-jumbo, spills some secrets about the parents of one of The Avengers. This reunites the two factions in their fight against the common enemy. The emotions tend to get a bit overwhelming and also confusing. But hopefully there will be a sequel soon to throw more light on these weighty matters.

Poor boy from lower caste meets rich girl from upper caste and they fall in love. Hundreds of Indian films have been made on this simple premise. But Sairat (Wild) is different, really different; as different as cheese is from chalk. While it is a film of unadulterated romance, it is also deeply rooted in reality. It mirrors real life almost magically. There is a scene in which the local politician's son slaps a teacher for asking him not to use his mobile phone in the class. Next we see the teacher along with the college principal at the politician's house, apologising. In another scene, when the eloped lovers are seeking shelter, they are advised such things happen only in films and real life is different. Everything that happens in Sairat is utterly credible.

While the focus of the film is on the young lovers, it manages to find opportunities to make robust statements – making fun of the physically disabled, dignity of manual labour, entrepreneurship of women, female bonding - to mention a few. It would not be possible to reveal more of the story other than that the girl's father, a powerful local politician, leaves no stone unturned in his opposition to the lovers.

Sairat has an aura of refreshing sweetness about it that cannot be easily described in few words. Like the juice of freshly crushed cane on a hot summer afternoon, perhaps? Though the film is very long at almost 3 hours, it keeps you hooked. There is something interesting always happening. There was a real danger that a film of this kind would make the romance cloying and the opposition melodramatic. It is amazing how the screenplay and direction have avoided every hackneyed cliché. The much talked about music sounds alien in a Marathi, even Indian film, but is probably targeted towards the young audience.

But finally, what makes Sairat extraordinary are the outstanding performances. Akash Thosar and Rinku Rajguru are stunning as the lovers Parshya and Archie. Not easy to forget their faces easily.

The Man Who Knew Infinity is a biopic of the famous mathematician Srinivas Ramanujan, particularly his days in the hallowed portals of Trinity College, Cambridge. Ramanujan comes across as haughty and arrogant, something I had never expected. Hardy, his mentor advises him – a little humility will go a long way. Ramanujan is in a hurry to get his books published. That is the very reason he has sailed all of 6000 miles from Madras, leaving behind his young and beautiful wife under the care of his ultraconservative but dishonest mother. Hardy patiently reiterates that he wants proofs of the theorems. The clash of occidental logic vs oriental intuition is fascinating. Ramanujan is clueless about proofs and attributes them to Goddess Namagiri.

Ramanujan silently suffers the English food and the English climate, but fails to evoke our sympathy. His ego prevents him from seeking help. The film hardly makes an attempt to explore the mind of a genius. It stays superficial. The many confrontations between Hardy and Ramanujan are the best parts of the film. But in each of these, Hardy emerges in a better light. It is just that he has better lines and a better actor.

Jeremy Irons is fantastic as Hardy. Wish I could say the same for Dev Patel's Ramanujan. In fact Ramanujan suffers more at the hands of Dev Patel. Wish they had cast a lesser actor as Hardy, just for the sake of Ramanujan.

Michelle walks out of her boyfriend and gets involved in a horrific car accident. When she comes to senses, she finds herself chained to a bed in a room without a window. A big swarthy man, Howard, soon walks in and claims that he has saved her life. They are in a bunker below his farmhouse, he further explains. Apparently there has been a mysterious attack of some kind and the air outside is contaminated. Howard, ex-navy, has spent a lifetime planning and preparing for such an attack and proudly shows around the various facilities in the bunker, which among other things is fitted with a sophisticated air filter system. The bunker has every creature comfort for living luxuriously for a couple of years. There is also another man inside the bunker; the man who helped Howard put it all together. Then there is Megan, an intriguing girl who exists only in a photograph.

While the trio get to know each other, an air of nervousness prevails inside the bunker, as there is no way the situation outside can be ascertained with any degree of certainty. To add to the confusion, they keep hearing some mysterious noises outside. It is edge of the seat stuff. When the air filter system malfunctions Michelle is sent through the narrow duct to fix it. She spots something startling that makes Howard's behaviour highly suspicious. The plot dramatically shifts gears, twice thereafter, leading to a totally unexpected climax. Even the end is very ambiguous and far from clarified.

10 Cloverfield Lane is a brilliantly creative thriller delivering terror at multiple levels – psychological, physical and supernatural. A sequel looks very likely

Films with a social message are usually loud and boring. Nil Battey Sannata is a glorious exception. It is a very engaging film on girls' education.

Chanda Sahay has big dreams for her daughter Apu and toils daily as a housemaid and does odd jobs in various sweat shops. On the other hand, Apu who is in class 10 is least interested in school and keeps repeating that her ambition is to become a Bai like her mother. Mother and daughter constantly bicker over this. Chanda's employer, the kind and wise Dr Deewan (Ratna Phatak Shah), comes up with an artful plan and gets Chanda admitted to the same class as Apu. This leads to even more friction and a bit of competition between mother and daughter. Their weakness is maths and a boy, suitably looking nerdy in thick glasses, helps them get over their fear with some astonishing mnemonics.

There are plenty of emotion charged scenes, and if you find your eyes getting wet, it is not because the film is manipulative but because of brilliant scripting and endearing performances. Swara Bhaskar as Chanda and Riya Shukla as Apu are both excellent. Pankaj Tripathi's comically stern principal is a splendid cameo.

The title of the film literally means zero divided by zero and is a local idiom for an idiot. There are a couple of irritants, which I don't want to pick on in what is essentially a very heartwarming and feel-good film. I would recommend that you take along your domestic helps to watch it.

Kuttiyappan is rich and eccentric. The film begins with him riding a horse to go home after drinking so that cops cannot breathalyse him. His elderly woman caretaker has to climb a ladder every day to deliver his bed coffee through a window. He prays to Gandhi and observes Marilyn Monroe's death anniversary by wearing black. He buys a girl for sex, but makes her cry by pretending to be the corpse of her father. He felicitates retired sex-workers by taking them out in a procession. Dark humour like these is strewn all over this complex, rather difficult to understand film.

There are other quirky men in the film. There is Pillechan, who plays Sancho Panza to Kuttiyappan's Don Quixote, as they go in search of a tusker. There is a very efficient pimp, who is always dressed in white. The men are almost always boozing. The film reeks of liquor. The "Leela" of the film appears only in the second half and utters just a single word. There are other women in the film, who are gladly willing to be prostitutes.

The film delivers a visual overload and there are plenty of symbols: of Christianity, sexuality, communism etc. There is an angel and of course, the most important symbol of all – the elephant. Making sense of what the elephant stands for is central to the understanding of this film.

Leela is a dark and depressing film, but paradoxically shot against the lush backdrop of Kottayam. It demands application of your gray cells to make sense of it. I got the feeling that the director and writer are deliberately challenging the viewers. Even the title "Leela" is a pun. I was able to work out what the elephant represents. It is something that you need to do it yourself.

On a rain-drenched polling day, five friends travel to an idyllic spot for a boozing session. After getting inebriated, their deep rooted prejudices start surfacing. And finally they play a game in which the players draw lots to be designated as King, Minister, Cop and Thief. The Cop identifies himself and then has to guess the Thief from among the other three. Saying anything more about the plot will amount to a spoiler. Suffice to say that the climax is chilling and deeply disturbing.

But the film is not a statement against rampant alcoholism in Kerala, as some people thought during the post-screening discussion. Alcohol is a mere lubricant to bring the bigotries and duplicities out of the closet. It is a deeply layered film with metaphors strewn all over, perhaps demanding multiple viewing to understand them all. The film often cuts to a lovely pond after intense sequences; the director is apparently holding up a mirror to our face. Are we any different from those characters? Brilliantly done, I think.

The film is based on a short story, but only loosely scripted according to the director. The characters are not played by professional actors and the dialogues reportedly evolved during shooting. This gives a life-like hue to the film. The camera becomes an observer, even an accomplice during the disturbing climax. Television news about the election provides much of the background score; music appears only towards the finale.

Ozhivu Divasathe Kali is a brilliantly nuanced film, which makes for compelling viewing. It will haunt you for a long time.

Joy has been held captive in a tiny garden shed for 7 long years and is raped every night by her kidnapper. Jack, her 5 year old son, born in captivity, has no concept of the real world outside. His only "contacts" with the external world are a television with often blurred signals and a skylight. Jack is cheerful and finds new ways to amuse himself every day, playing with shadows or a rat that intrudes into their "home". Joy is biding her time, waiting for Jack to grow up so that he can be told the truth. The bond between mother and son in that claustrophobic Room is extraordinary. This is the better half of the film.

In the second half, Jack and Joy gain freedom in a rather ingenuous and dramatic way. They have to now come to terms with the real harsh world. As they struggle to cope with their newfound lives, so does the film in keeping pace with their struggles. We can see Joy's pain, but cannot empathize with her. How does fortitude desert her so quickly? This is where the film tends to stumble a bit.

Though Brie Larson's "Ma" fetched her an Oscar, it is 10-year old Jacob Tremblay, who stuns you as the 5-year old Jack. It is a portrayal that will haunt long after you have returned to your rooms.

In the idyllic kingdom of Zootopia, with six different types of ecosystems to accommodate every taste and comfort, animals have shelved their differences and both predators and prey cohabit peacefully. There is one shortcoming though; the police force lacks a rabbit. This is soon plugged thanks to the policy of inclusiveness pursued by the mayor and Judy Hopps becomes the first rabbit officer, much against the wishes of her parents who want her to become a carrot farmer. But the police chief, a buffalo, isn't too impressed and assigns Judy, the lowly job of parking enforcement.

Don't let this yarn make you yawn. Serious trouble begins to brew in this Utopian metropolis; 14 animals go missing and rest of the film is about how Judy, aided by a clever fox, gets to the bottom of the sordid mystery.

Zootopia is a thinly disguised parable on intolerance, xenophobia, stereotyping, discrimination and such contemporary social malaise that we see all around us. The 3D animation is astonishingly beautiful; I wanted to stay forever in that enthralling world.

Zootopia is not really a film for kids; I saw many of them getting restless. The content is too adult to be subjected on the innocent kids. But it is utterly delightful viewing for the adults, especially for those who need to be reminded on what is wrong with our world.

A suicide squad owing allegiance to al-shabaab is getting ready to embark on a deadly mission in Nairobi. Their actions are being monitored by a tiny drone camera, disguised as a beetle. Watching intently is a colonel (Helen Mirren) sitting in her plush drawing room in London. She is in touch with a pilot who is sitting inside a bunker somewhere in Nevada. His finger is on the trigger to launch a missile that can neutralize the terrorists. Welcome to the new-age of counter-terrorism, so deftly captured by Eye in the Sky.

When the pilot is about to pull the trigger, a chirpy little girl walks into his cross-hair. She is selling bread and sets up a table adjoining the compound where the terrorists are holed-up. The moral compass of the pilot does not allow him to pull the trigger.

The moral predicament is kicked upstairs. The quandary involving military, lawyers, bureaucrats and ministers spans time-zones across 4 continents. As time ticks inexorably, the buck keeps passing back and forth. Sadly, the tension didn't get to me, though my intellect was sufficiently tickled by the arguments. I felt I was watching from Moon or somewhere else in space.

Eye in the Sky has an original premise but fails to grab the eyeballs. I left the theatre a bit sad and a tad scared.

Their father is in jail and the mother is doing her best to cobble together the lawyer's fee so that he can be brought home on bail. But the two kids, in a Chennai slum, whom we know only as Little Crow's Egg and Big Crow's Egg, nonchalantly go about their daily routine, which includes stealing eggs from crow's nest and coal from the nearby railway tracks. This, dare I say, tranquil world is rocked when a pizza chain sets up shop outside their slum, and gets it inaugurated by a film star. The 2 kids start lusting for a slice of the pizza. 300 Rupees, which is required for the pizza, is far beyond their reach. But when they finally have that money in hand, a dramatic turn of events shakes up the entire city.

Kaaka Muttai (Crow's Egg) uses the pizza as a metaphor to deliver a powerful social message. It is to the credit of the director that he doesn't make a sermon out of it. Kaaka Muttai is thoroughly enjoyable, even entertaining in a comical way, but every frame is replete with meaning. It asks uncomfortable questions of us, much like an innocent child is wont to do. The script is clever and takes unexpected twists towards an entirely unpredictable denouement. The performances are natural by non-actors and this further uplifts the film to a brilliant satire.

Kaaka Muttai's family gets 2 TV sets from the government because they have 2 ration cards, but they don't have enough food for even one square meal. The cuckoo lays its eggs in the crow's nest and fools it into hatching them. Did you get the symbolism?

Best thing about Spotlight is that at no point of time during its 120 odd minutes, does it give the impression that you are watching a movie. You just want to lean forward and try to take in what is unraveled thick and fast. You are sucked in and made part of the investigation quartet at Boston Globe. Spotlight, the intrepid inquiry team at Boston Globe, exposes the rampant pedophilia in Catholic Church. Spotlight, the movie, tells us how they pursue this project with single-minded doggedness.

Spotlight is not a very visual film. It takes the plot forward through conversations – brainstorming discussions and one to one interviews, accompanied by quicksilver editing. So convincing and intense are these interviews that you absolutely empathize with the victims. It is also a sort of thriller, sans blood and bodies. The sinister machinations of the Church are chilling to the bone. Though the film limits its exposé to the archdiocese of Boston, it drops a bombshell that the system is rotten right up to the doors of the Pope.

As good as the content of the film, are the performances; oozing with sensitivity and sincerity and utterly credible. It makes you fall in love with newspapers all over again; a huge achievement in this impatient age of social media.

Aligarh is a study of loneliness; loneliness brought on by shame and guilt; loneliness that makes you avoid eye contact; loneliness that transforms your walk into a shuffle; loneliness that makes you drink alone while listening to soulful melodies; loneliness that turns your eyes into liquid pools; loneliness that makes you startle at shadows; loneliness that makes you live behind doors with triple latches.

Essaying this loneliness is Manoj Bajpayee, who delivers the performance of his lifetime as Prof Siras, a Marathi poet and teacher at Aligarh University, who has been hounded out because he is gay. The film is based on a true incident that ended in tragedy. In a totally convincing performance, Bajpayee delineates a character with which one can so readily and fully empathize. His are most melancholic pair of eyes that I have seen in a long long time.

Siras's dark secret surfaces in a sting operation, allegedly instigated by his jealous rivals in the university. While the film plays itself out against the backdrop of judgments on Section 377 and the right to privacy, Siras battles the demons within him and the deep sense of embarrassment as he repeatedly finds the spotlight trained on him. It is a performance that towers above DiCaprio's in The Revenant.

For a subject that is being passionately debated in the country and rest of the world, Aligarh is a gentle and muted film, with long silent pauses. Siras is totally uncomfortable about being branded as gay. The reticence of the soft-spoken professor is broken only by the pushy, yet sympathetic reporter, Deepu Sebastian, who manages to bring out the real story to light. The many conversations between the two are the most delightful morsels of the film.

Neerja is a well-made film of the September 1986 Pan Am hijacking in which the eponymous 23-year old stewardess smartly outwitted the hijackers and in the end gave her life. It is an inspiring story, grippingly retold. The build-up to the hijack with crosscutting keeps you glued to the screen, despite knowing what will happen. The numerous flashbacks to Neerja's failed marriage were unnecessary; it failed to drive home the strength of her character.

Despite being excellent as Neerja, Sonam Kapoor finds her thunder stolen by Shabana Azmi, playing her mother. It is one of the most perfect performances in Indian cinema. She puts just the right amount of playfulness, anxiety, hope and grief into her cameo. The film should rightly have started with her speech, which has now been relegated to the end.

An interesting detail in the film is Neerja's obsession with Rajesh Khanna. It keeps surfacing repeatedly when least expected. But clearly the director has stretched it too far in the "dying message" from Amar Prem. The film inadvertently ends up as a tribute to Kaka.

The Revenant is an intense but excruciatingly long film. It recounts the true story of the incredible return of Hugh Glass, an ace fur trapper, who was left behind as "dead" by a treacherous accomplice after being badly mauled by a bear. Without subtitling, barely a sentence can be understood of the heavily accented drawl. Not that Leonardo DiCaprio, who plays Hugh Glass has much to say; most of the time he is grunting or grimacing. Other than that he also bites into live fish, eats raw bison liver and sleeps inside a dead horse. It is definitely not an Oscar winning performance.

While the snowscape is exquisitely photographed, it can hurt your eyes. There are some stunning sequences, among them the bear attack. Despite the film being so long, not much footage has been devoted to Glass's miraculous recovery. It defies belief, even if based on a true incident. The director has tried to inject some doses of mysticism, but it comes across as a pompous exercise in film-making. What linger at the end are not the travails of Hugh Glass, but the sad eyes of the native Indian chief searching for his abducted daughter.

Deadpool is an extremely violent film; picture an adult version of Tom and Jerry, if you will; only the characters are not a cat and a mouse. The film also dishes out a steady stream of obscene one-liners, many of which are over the top because it alludes to previous films of the director. But both these should not deter you from enjoying a well-constructed spoof of the superhero genre of films; unless you are queasy about intestine churning violence and/or prudish about offensive obscenities. The film makes its irreverent intention clear right in the beginning with a hilarious credit sequence that almost begs you not to take it seriously. Lest you begin to start taking the violence and vulgarity a bit too earnestly, the film breaks the fourth wall putting things in proper perspective for you.

Amidst all this style, violence and vulgarity, the film also manages to tell a solid story; and it is nothing less than a love story. Just when our hero finally finds the love of his life, he is struck down with cancer. The torturously exotic cure that he seeks out leaves him horribly disfigured but endowed with superhero powers. Does he get back his girl? Does he get back at his tormentor?

I am no fan of Superman, Spiderman, Batman or X-men, but I liked Deadpool. It stopped me dead for 100 odd minutes.

Critics have panned Saala Khadoos for being predictable and I wish to defend it. I will do that by drawing comparisons with the hugely praised Airlift. Saala Khadoos is predictable, but not just because it adheres to a formula; more because we have seen and heard of the events it portrays or alludes to – sexual harassment and corruption in sports, throwing away matches, match-fixing, doping, sports quota in government jobs, sibling rivalry, parents living off their daughters. While Airlift glorifies a true story, SK reminds us of shameful truths. In doing so, Airlift takes more cinematic license than SK. Airlift brings out the patriotic pride in us and we feel good at the end. Saala Khadoos exposes the underbelly of our society and we feel guilty of encouraging, if not actively participating in, such divide and discrimination.

Saala Khadoos is too melodramatic for its own good. It lacks finesse and screams at you. The background is insufferably loud. But the boxing bouts are staged masterfully. The camera movement conveys the raw energy with great conviction. The romantic attraction between the coach and his ward is handled with great subtlety. Madhavan sheds his chocolate hero image and beefs up to play the maverick and larger than life boxing coach.

In comparison Airlift is packaged more attractively, but SK tells us a more uplifting story.