Hard-boiled: A description on the act of consuming a favourite breakfast.

Yes, that’s the three half boiled eggs that I had last week. Not pigeon diarrhea as the legend proclaimed.

This article from The Sun Daily interest me deeply. I could absolutely relate to it. Half boiled egg is not only my favourite breakfast these days, but has since become almost compulsory activity for weekends, like movie watching and toe nail clipping.

As one can note from the feature there, it is about customers complaining about the need to crack the half boil eggs themselves. They are better off if the eggs come from cracked shells as presented at the eateries of choice. Well, they are not alone in this. I am with them, and by Jove, when I say I am with them, I am not actually physically with them, I have never met them.

But we are all one in agreeing the issue at hand. Get it? Hand. That handles those egg which, when handed to you, not only singes your finger but provokes your previously calm self into yelling unprintable words. All the social media stuff you posted tirelessly preaching manners, values and quotes of your favourite Swamiji goes down the drain because you feel they have handed you couple of hot coal instead of eggs.

Now, apart from Nasi Lemak Bungkus, half boiled eggs are fast becoming my favourite breakfast meal. It provides me enough energy to before my biological battery is reduced to a single bar about ten meters after I leave the table. The one I currently like the best is in Rawang, where somehow, they have the right soy sauce it; and – this is the best part - they crack the eggs for you.

Wait, let me rephrase that. They break the eggs for you. Most other outlets, especially Mamak restaurants/stalls, you hafta do it on your own. You struggle with the eggs which are usually hot enough to melt metal step ladders. Hence, I end up using the serviettes on which I place the eggs and crack it using the ceramic spoon. These Kopi Tiam spoons, by the way, are designed to dig up sloppy things like porridges or parts of bread toasts you dunk too long that have drowned themselves in the coffee. They are not for cracking egg shells.

Because, these spoons do not respond well to egg shells, they are shy that way. With force often reserved for hammering concrete nails, one can create cracks on the shells which is deemed damaging enough to be able to rip the egg apart...hopefully into two. It does not appear to be so. Well, it will never appear to be so, each bloody time. It’s not a clean crack you can split with both thumbs. No.

See, I use both hands, carefully placing thumbs nearing each other on the widest possible crack spotted, for the centre to be pulled apart only …. the eggs shells start cracking at places that I had not wished for it to start cracking, with the crack’s hairline extension spreading quickly all over the egg. Happy?

Not yet, because the cracks are held together by stubborn inner membrane layer holding on to the cracks loyally like an insurance agent during the client's dying days. In efforts to finally rip the shells apart, I break more corners and by then the white of the egg and the yolk had already leaked out, mixing onto each other, with bits of those bits of shells in it….

… and then, onto the saucer, or bowl, it goes. Then, you gotta scoop out the remaining stubborn whites and yolks clinging hard to the inner wall of the shell...where you might unintendedly crack more of the shells and they start crumbling again. Meantime, the serviette you used to hold the egg shells looks assaulted and disgraced that you might even want to throw it out on your own, secretly, because it looks like a disposed tissue paper used to cleanse the results of nightly self-persuasion.

That is why I prefer the Rawang outlet. They break it for you and the sauce is delicious as long as you use the right number of squeezes (gently) or you will end up drinking egg flavoured dark salty gruel. Also, they give a tiny spoon, instead of the kopi Tiam ceramic spoon, as you can see from the pix.

Scooping the egg in that tiny spoon, sipping that coffee (not that great, but at least better than most here, and definitely better than the filtered through fresh-from-the-field-footballers-socks coffee in Mamak shops) …. makes the weekend worth waiting for.

JAILER (2023)

 

I have not watched a single film directed by Nelson, so I am saved from comparing this to his earlier films. He is making a star-driven flick and when the star is Rajinikanth, it inevitably comes with shitload of expectations. Nelson knows that, and most importantly Rajini knows that too well – almost all the films (bar one) post 90s, he has been making films for those who whistles, dances, and behave like alcohol-less drunks during the screenings.

And then, there are those like me. I was a Kamal Haasan fan growing up, then became a full fledged Sivaji Ganesan fan and that allowed me to appreciate Rajini better, later. Rajini the actor impressed me more than Rajini the superstar, and I had long wanted to see the performer side of him, because, dammit, at one point during the history of his career, he was directly competing with Kamal Haasan in that  department.

But that’s me. This film will satisfy all parties: Fans of Nelson’s previous flicks – which I have not seen, but am able to see the signature on this – will appreciate some aspect; fans of Rajini; and dudes and gals like me. The first half especially was most satisfying for me, as I got to see Rajini back to his roots, a stage artiste turned onscreen performer under the guidance of K. Balachander. It was all there, every moment, every tic, every movement, the facial expression, the body language – lessons of underplaying a part, is all there. The man has not lost it as I had long feared.

Then, the one power he had not used for long time was brought back. There is only one actor in this industry, for me, who could exude that one thing – menace. As a little boy, I recall being terrified of him in this gem of a film called Moondru Mudichu (1976). That scene where, after letting Kamal’s character drown and making no efforts to save his onscreen buddy, Rajini rows the boat and sings a song in a terrifying M.S.V voice, I cried. I hated him. I feared him. I would never be his fan for a long time. He was menacing in Avargal (1976), in Bhairavi (1977) and later in Thappu Thalanggal (1977), a curious look at the life of a henchman. Hell, even for a song in the glorious masterpiece, Mullum Malarum (1978), you know that nobody is gonna mess with him.

That menace is brought back here. It was not even in Baasha (1993), where he was just angry in those supposedly tensed moments. Baasha’s performance pales in comparison to what we get to see here. A full blown rage, at times under control and at times erupting like a sleeping volcano waking up without notice. He still moves like panther, stalking the prey – hordes of henchmen who looked like they have escaped the 12^th century monastery, you’d know if you have seen that underrated murder mystery, The Name Of The Rose (1986)  starring Sean Connery. These guys come from that school of henchmen which is supplying baddies for Tamil films, all looking perfect in unkempt beard, face like first few seconds post-acid attack (damndest thing, because acid plays a part in this movie). The lead bad guy (Vinayakan) was also made up to look like that, and unfortunately he was no match for the star. It’s same old performance that a more capable villain veteran like Sathyaraj would have chewed and spat had he started his career much later. This performance was passable within the context of the film.

Somewhere between the story of a retired jail warden, played by Rajini, living peaceful wife with his wife, and his cop son’s family, the director co-opted the plot of Thanggapathakkam (1974), and those who had seen that classic knows how the film is going to end. It was no spoiler for us fans. Shocking as it was back in 1974, this time it was expected – thus losing the supposed gravitas. There was even a nod to Alex Pandiyan of the Moondru Mugam (1983) fame when we are given a short flashback to 15 years earlier where Rajini was de-aged (not that technique, but good makeup and lighting) looking terrific as the jailer that can make criminals leak in their pants. Both ways.

There’s violence and blood everywhere. But as it still is, in Tamil films, amateurishly splashed all over the place with little regards for physics and goddamned biology. That is why the film is rated something or other for excessive violence, though that is pretty laughable considering what you see is silly, though what was suggested was far more sinister (acid dunk, yippee, pretty sadistic for a hack director).

The pace was uneven… at times, we are not quite sure which part of the revenge plot are we in. There is a scene taken from ye olde James Bond film, Goldfinger (1964), where a whole bunch of folks had to play possum, likewise reactions of the henchmen who were given crash course of watching old Jackie Chan flicks on the exaggerated spasm when getting shot or beaten up with a small fist.

But amateurism is expected. Once overlooking all those, there’s Rajini lording over like Collosus as he crushed his opponents second half onwards. There is supposed cleverness in his vengeance plot (that  Goldfinger schtick) though it felt drawn out, only the relief being the much welcomed cameos by Jackie Shroff, Mohanlal, and some guy to lighten up the proceeding. This is first time Lal-ettan (as the industry calls Mohanlal) appearing with Rajini… and I always felt Lalettan was more of a Rajini-like performer energetically compared to Kamal and Mammooty who works from inside out. Seeing both together brought smile to my mug. 

Then, the plot lifted from Thanggapathakkam rears its ugly head and sort of dumbs down everything that has passed, including needless lives taken out violently earlier that makes Rajini’s character not that smart after all. When it is dealt with, there was none of that “Twinkle twinkle little star” moment, or for those who had not seen the Sivaji film, that deep, heartbreaking remorseful moment. Not sure why Nelson downplayed it. Speaking of which, there were some humour here and there, where I chuckled but I keep hearing that the film had comedy in it. It must have flew by me, I have no idea it existed, and it definitely didn’t come from the comedian-flavour of the season, Yogi Babu who’s about as hilarious as a funeral director.

Speaking of funeral, they dug up another past sell-by-date actress Thamanna to add sizzle that looked bloody out of place amidst two wig wearing characters which look more at home in an old stag shorts. They couldn't stop getting nostalgic with actress who does talking with dubbed voice...some oral fascination there 

Well, I thoroughly enjoyed Rajini in this film, and definitely will go for a second viewing. Otherwise, this is not what I really wanted from Rajini the Actor. This is fan service number with a bit of stretching of talent involved for him. I want more of that. I want the Rajini that could give Kamal a run for his money, let alone the pretenders who are still vying for his crown. That crown stays were it is, just that its power is still not fully utilised yet.

Barbie (2023)

 

Review. (This was a post in my Facebook page, typed direct there rather than posting it here)

For a story based on kids toy, the story for this film is very adult. Alright, before fantasies are launched, let me be clear. Yes, it's about girls' (and some boys, don't be coy here) most popular toy doll .... And it doesn't take a big stretch to know that we continue to play with dolls when we are adults. Well, some of us anyway especially those who collects merchandises ( I had James Bond and Aston Martin scale models not too long ago).

Why adults may like this? That's because the film goes deep, becomes more of a satiric take on existential crisis some of us have or are driven into when the question about mortality and the meaning of life start bugging us (or, are asked by jerks who sell religions). It's that moment in most of our lives when we really question all that's around us and makes us try to get closer to our creator.

That what exactly happens to Barbie here and it's beautifully told by the filmaker and the scriptwriter who understood how to get the story across to kids and adults alike.

I was looking forward to this films simply because of being a Margot Robbie fan. But as much as she was perfectly cast, I was completely drawn into this world despite being colour blind all... And, being a very, very amateur philosophy enthusiast/student, the films take on existentialism, with a bit of theological undercurrent intrigued me. 

I mean, here I was , both drooling and admiring Robbie's performance (there's a slice of her Harley Quinn somewhere, I know) and then immediately taken into the intricate world of mother daughter relationship and thrown headlong emphatically understanding into the pain of growing up as a woman, the expectations in being perfect and I am sure this also makes a perfect film for mother and daughter outing and bonding.

As usual with films that thrive in concepts, the pace sags somewhere in the middle but picks up anyway. I really enjoyed it and it pretty much matched my expectations. A special mention must be made to the production design...it's immaculate recreation of the Barbie's world is a sight to behold, I suspect it will get a nod during the award season next year. 

Now that we have been seeing the friendly rivalry with Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer, it's intriguing to know that one of Barbie's early designer had also worked with Raytheon, a god-damned defense company (story link in the comment space)...how about that?

#rakeshmovietalk