Transformers: Revenge of The Fallen

It was when driving back after watching the latest Transformers, when it struck me that they cribbed the plot from the Bible. Yeah, I am that slow. But then, tell me which part of the Bible did not become source for story telling in Hollywood. If not God, Satan has helped to make Tinseltown’s cash registers to ring.

It’s all there. The bad guy is The Fallen, who was a Prime (yes, they have races/caste amongst them too) who became bad and went to the dark side. Yes, there’s Star Wars for you. He becomes The Fallen (angel, Lucifer, get it? That’s Michael Bay, the director & his writers attempting something more intelligent than makeshift toys). And then, you get the main character, Optimus Prime dead and then resurrected to beat the ultimate bad guy. In fact, three characters get to come out of from being dead.

If you have seen the first one, then I shall not bother to go on the details. You have the same Autobots (led by the sagely Optimus Prime) and the Decepticon (led by Megatron who look like he was sculpted with razor blades). Then you have shitloads of bots. All kind. There is definitely going to be Transformers 3 and if Bay is going to one-up the number of robots here, he might as well do a film in a planet filled with bots and do away with human.

Shia LeBeouf returns as Sam whatsisname and he tags a long with Autobot again to fight the Decepticon, and he did well. Seems to be good actor, this chap. I was impressed with him here, amidst the bang bang boom boom, Shia delivered good performance.

Then you have Megan Fox who is there for obvious reasons and John Torturro who is there for same obvious reasons (comedy, former unintentional, and sex, as we get to see the latter’s butt).

Okay, first thing I notice was the violence. Granted there were no blood, thousands die in this film, no thanks to the gigantic robots rampaging like Ultraman’s enemies. You see bodies flying, floating, and one being stomped, stuck on a bot’s feet and is dislodged as the Bot lifts its feet. And about 30% of the audience are kids! They were supposed to be part of the target audiences.

As for the bots themselves, if you have seen the original, then there is nothing new. There was one about a bot, begetting a bot, begetting thousands. It gave me a headache. Also, I am still wondering why it takes them, especially Optimus, long to transform. In the cartoon, I recall, it was a matter of seconds. Here it takes longer than a girl dolling up for candlelight dinner. I know, it’s basically to show off the CGI splendour, but frankly I didn’t give a damn.

Frankly, too, I didn’t give a damn during the action sequences. It was a blur. I can’t tell who is pummelling whom, all the bots look alike. Hell, they may even be violently making out, for all I know. I yawned and yawned during those scenes. Particularly the climactic battle, that went on and on and on like that freaking Duracell rabbit. Reminded me of Ridley Scott’s Black Hawk Down, where the entire film is about one ground combat; also a “based on true story” film so detailed that they missed out a crucial rescue effort by Malaysian soldiers. Hollywood.

So, there you. A CGI fest based on some toys they made back in the 80s, given some biblical back story, and with script tied around the so called major battle scenes. The last time I was really impressed with CGI was back in 1993 when Spielberg unleashed some dinosaurs onto poor unsuspecting us. So, the bots didn’t do much to me. The action scenes bored me. The comedy did tickle me. But come on, I was not even interested in those extensive long slow-mo shots of Megan Fox’s bouncing boobs in a lowcut blouse with explosions in the background. Did I say 30% of the audience were kids?

(Another) Day The Music Died.

The career of being a pop or rockstar can be rewarding, but it is also one that is susceptible to short life expectancy. As you know, Michael Jackson died today (our time, Thursday their time) at the age of 50, a young age for these times.

This man, the icon of those who grew up in the 70s and 80s, is perhaps the most influential person in the pop/lifestyle/entertainment scenario. His popularity back in the 80s here in Malaysia was immense. People who usually do not listen to Western/English pop song were suddenly listening to him.

I remember well, that it was the day my grandmother passed away. While the adults were in mourning, we kids were outside discussing the new Thriller album. That’s how big he was at that time.

True, fascination for his music slowly turned into fascination of his personal life, but no matter what crazy thing he does, no matter which court he had to appear, no matter which woman he decided to marry that week, we know that this man gave us, if not more than, three of the most important albums ever, and inspired the entire generation of kids worldwide to, if not picking up, but to gawk at those cool dance moves that were his trademark.

His music videos became the prototype for future artistes to tell story while hawking their music-wares. They were big budgeted affair with elaborate script and extended moments and were mostly very, very entertaining. In fact, it was so important that Jackson roped in one of the greatest film directors in US, Martin Scorsese to direct the single, Bad, from the album of same name.

More than anything his stage shows were stuff that legends are made of, except that they were real. True, rockers, in particular the likes of Led Zeppelin, Queen, Pink Floyd and Kiss (among others) took stadium performance into one step higher in terms of sheer spectacle, but Michael, just one man, one star, rather than a band, took it further. To have been to his concert is to have witnessed miracle too difficult to be detailed. I was unfortunate to have not been any single one. But watching them on TV, I can feel, perhaps, 10% of what it’s like over there.

As for the albums, Dangerous, released in 1991, took a tumble in quality and sales as well. There were few good tracks. Then 2001’s invincible triggered the question: Is the King of Pop now a burnout case? Not the right moment to answer that.

As saddened I was to hear of his death, I was not that shocked. He has been in and out of the hospital several times and he already looked like he was staring at the grim reapers face. The clock was ticking. As I said, the higher you are in the stardom pedestal, the possibilities of shorter lifespan abounds. You know what happened to all those great stars in the past.

He was going to do a series of concert, mainly to pay back the mounting debt he had amassed over the years. Ironically, now, it is his death, with ongoing surge of album sales, future compilations that the recording company would milk dry, and royalties from other merchandises that will help to settle the debt and take care of his kids.

As a forum member (mi6.co.uk) said, Michael the human being is gone, Michael Jackson the artist will rock on. Goodbye Michael. We will miss you.

Attention Please

When I saw this headline in The News Straits Times Newspaper today, I didn’t know whether I should giggle, cry, shout in rage or stab myself for living in the same world like the moron in the subject. Here’s the headline:

Cycling in diaper to set a record

And the lead (opening para):

By tomorrow, a personal instructor wearing a diaper could become the first person in Malaysia to cycle nonstop on a gym bike for 48 hours.

I am thinking about the process the reporter would have to go through writing that. Did he (say he is a dude) struggle to find an angle? Did he had problem writing the lead trying to put too many information into one sentence as I used to ponder on during my newspaper days? Or did he just slit his wrists for getting shit assignment like this.

Moving on, here’s more delightful stuff:

Wong Wai Hoong, 31, is only allowed a 15-minute break every three hours. Therefore, he requires the added support of a diaper in case he needs to relieve himself during his attempt to cycle into the Malaysia Book of Records.

So why not the record read first person in Malaysia to cycle nonstop and pee on a gym bike for 48 hours. Why can’t he relieve himself during the 15 minute break? What is he drinking, beer? Plus if you calculate, he gets about 240 minutes of free time, that’s like four hours, meaning he is only riding the bike 44 hours. Shouldn’t that be the right record, you ding dong!

Here comes the part where I bet the journalist wiped his tear before typing:

The freelancer is eager to prove his mettle to inspire Malaysian youth.

"They must pursue their dreams," he said before starting on his feat at the SynarGym at Kuala Lumpur Sentral at 10am yesterday.

I take it that Wong’s dream, I mean, all he wanted to do in his life, even it takes tremendous amount of humiliation, extreme effort and hard work, was to cycle for 48 hours in diaper.

Interesting dream. What a way to inspire Malaysian youth, which is currently exchanging ringtones, comparing iPhone features or sharing tips on the latest thing on their Xbox. Come to think of it, they can do all that in a diaper.

Moving on, if you read the report, you will understand why. Here’s the catch:

The event is organised by SynarGym Sdn Bhd, a subsidiary of Malaysian Resources Corporation Berhad.

The entire thing is a promotional exercise by the company to promote its product, which I suppose is the use of the gym, its equipments and possibly SynarGym Diapers (Slogan: It Leaves You High and Dry).

If you think the social networking culture online is basically folks crying attention to themselves, then this is a big budgeted cry to seek attention and this is not new. That is if you are not aware of the imbecilic publication called The Malaysian Book of Record.

I know it well, because I worked for them briefly as a scriptwriter. In the entire six months time I was covering events like the longest sausage, the biggest dodol and the Biggest Pineapple Rice was the final straw. It was built in UE3 shopping complex, right in the middle. They stuck lots of pineapple onto a wire mesh built to shape like a pineapple. By evening the whole place stunk of rotten pineapple. I think I got sick

For the next job, in my resume, I added this as reason for leaving that place: “If those are records, then my dying grandfather is Ricky Martin”. It actually got me the next job.

Oh, let me add final para of that report:

Deputy Youth and Sports Minister Datuk Razali Ibrahim, who flagged off the cyclist, urged the media to cover positive aspects of Malaysian sports like Wong's trail-blazing attempt.

I leave it to you to make up your cynical remark for that.

Cha’ah In USJ.

It finally happened. In fact, it was 20 years in the making. Sprinkling of schoolmates (only a fragment, unfortunately) from the high school my brothers and I went to, Sekolah Menengah Kebangsaan Cha’ah, finally got together last weekend.

First and foremost, for the benefit of non-Cha’ahrians (as we call ourself for now) Cha’ah is a tiny town, which if you are travelling from Yong Peng to Segamat on trunk road, you can see only if you are driving at around 30kmph. Yeah, it’s one of those sleepy blink and you miss town. Here’s more detail. Don’t know who loaded it, and I didn’t know Cha’ah is well known for frog dish.

Thanks to online social portal Facebook, suddenly folks I have not met for twenty years appeared; most of who are puzzled that I no longer looked like a nerd that I used to look (just the look, intellectually I was still the dimwit I am today).

Getting there

Anyway, my brother and I planned to go together, in his car, discuss through email about the time to leave from our homes, etc, and then came an email from him that send chill down my spine, “Do you know how to get there?”

You see, the meetup was to take place in a place called Country Barn Pub & Grill in an area, and my fingers are shaking as I type this, called USJ (UEP Subang Jaya as I learned later).  

The township of USJ - and I strongly believe in this - is most likely has been designed by disgruntled ex-NASA engineers. The place is so complex that getting lost there is as frequent and regular as sunrise and sunset. The areas are arranged in such manner, that you can find USJ 2/19 next to USJ300/0.44. And while you are peering at the signboard, you might even find a lost Bigfoot whimpering by the junction.

We took meagre direction from the pal organising the event, Jeremy De Silva, who only highlighted the Majlis Perbandaran Subang Jaya (MPSJ) building and how to go to the pub from there.

Never mind, I thought, it’s a challenge we have to face. But the trouble is, good sense of road direction is never our forte. My brother, Balan, is a brilliant man, an intelligent conversationalist, a provocative blogger, and is successful as the Head of Operations in a leading bank, but when it comes to direction, let me put it kindly, his 7 year old daughter is better than him.

I used to travel around with Balan and his family, and two of the favourite words to come out of him would be, “How now?” which is a translation from “I am lost, how do we get there?” His wife, Nisha, would be the guide who would always get us to our destinations with very little hassle. She’s so good in direction that I strongly recommend her services to the search and rescue missions as resident orang asli guide.

I have been to USJ Summit, a shopping complex, quite a bit so we managed to get there within 15 times from Selayang (where both of us live). Then, the adventure began. We took the first turn in the right and assured ourselves that we are still in USJ and all we have to do is look out for the road sign.

About ten minutes later, we sighted our first major landmark, the unmistakably magnificent Stadium Shah Alam. Balan made a very helpful comment, “Yeah, we are in Shah Alam”. I don’t how, but throughout the journey, while I was frantic and cursing myself for even poorer sense of direction, he was as cool as cucumber slices in a dish of fiery Nasi Lemak.

So, we had to turn back, and I made the first distress call to a pal. “Bro, I can direct you to USJ, but not USJ 11 (where the pub is),” he said. At least he brought us to Subang Jaya, a good start.

Then, I remembered and called another friend who lives in the main part of Subang Jaya, Subendran Dali (not related to Salvador, but is just as goofy). His immediate response was “Dey, USJ is a (very bad word) maze-lah, dey”. It was disturbing that a man born, bred, fed, studied, played, loved and probably killed (kidding) in Subang should use “dey” twice in the same sentence.

I immediately asked him about the MPSJ building, and after sighing in relief (he probably wanted to disembowel himself, rather than trying to explain USJ roads), he managed to direct us towards the building.

Then, as expected, we got lost there. We were going round and round, and amidst getting lost, Balan was even trying to figure out shortcuts, that’s how innovative he is on the road.  I had to make third distress call, to one of my classmates and relative, Premanand (Prem), who was there already. He managed to direct us to the damned pub. Phew!

The reunion

Right at the entrance we were greeted by Jeremy De Silva, senior, Godfrey Adrian Lazarro, a junior. Gosh it has been years. Inside, there were more folks. Peter Johnson, his brother, Xavier, Annan Nair, Gunalaraj, Steven, Godfrey’s brother Ian, and later joined by Christina Vanathas and her brother, Chris followed by Yvonne Gomez and her husband.  These are the people I have not seen for two decades!

That excludes Prem, as we’ve been in touch regularly. A few words about this him, who also happens to my distant cousin. Prem was L'enfant terrible of Cha’ah, the bad boy who broke rules and regulations and did things that only adult would. You can hear laments about how he thought this feller to do that bad thing, and that feller this bad thing, which is not necessarily the truth because some are pricks anyway. He was so notorious that parents of other students feared him, teachers shook at the sight of him (not really, they were mostly pissed) and the principal knows him on the first name basis simply because their frequent meetings for wrong reasons.

Prem has no problem taking the blame for all the bad things the others picked up. So, if your spouse suddenly found out that you consume particles from your nose, blame it on Prem. Brother Prem, seeing that I am getting married soon, your services will be appreciated.

And so, there we were, not many of us, but was enough for that venue. Oh, a word about that place. It looks like any other pub, except that the band (guys who are related to Jeremy, so bro don’t take offence on the following remarks) played mostly country…a music genre that Balan, Prem and I loathed. I know, we classic rock fans can be real anal and snobbish when it comes to musical taste, but we also know that there are quarters who thinks that rock music has similar artistic quality and ambiguity of a dog poop.

Music was not an issue, as we are there to catch up. But later, Prem pointed out the major grouse he had that he never frequented the place for ten years. The dancing patrons. I was not aware of them, in midst of mingling. Collectively, the patrons are about same age as Planet Earth, and they were doing that folk dancing thiny! And there was even a seemingly organised line dancing! The only consolation is that with them around, we (all in thirties, the oldest being 39) felt relatively young.

The best part about the meet is the memory of some of these people; they seemed to know more about you than you care to know. Ian, for example, asked me if I am still a James Bond fan. I was surprised that he remembered, as he was in primary school then, and me, high school, when we palled in the school bus. I expressed my surprise. “Oh, you used to frequently bring James Bond newspaper clippings to the bus,” he said, with hint of childhood trauma in his voice.

We all exchanged information about what we are doing and how many wives and kids we had. I mean, whether we are married and have kids, phew, sorry guys. Of that group Godfrey is the only one who is single, though it took almost police-like interrogation to get the truth out of him. And of course, I was curious as to who had the biggest belly and least head of hair. Okay, there are contenders for the paunch, but am afraid am still the baldest guy, though Prem is seeking second opinion, pointing out his own little bald patch. Boy, we are getting old.

Alas, the day was coming to an end. After drinking enough beer to induce us to be intimate with inanimate objects like bar stool, and consuming enough chicken wings to start developing a pair ourselves, we decided to call it a day.

Prem volunteered to save us again and said he will lead us straight to NKVE (highway) that will take us faster back to Selayang. So, we followed him, reassured that we will get it right this time. What a guy. A fitfull ending to a terrific time we had. Thanks everyone, we had a fabulous time there, and really looking forward for the next reunion that promises to be bigger like Transformer sequels.

Oh, by the way, on the way back, we missed the NKVE.

Idol Whine

I bet that you guys hate it when a writer starts a sentence like this:

“Normally/usually, I don’t watch/listen/eat/etc ____, but…”

The writer is basically trying to put himself above the readers by saying that, look I got class, but I can compromise on my taste too. What an arrogant prick!

Okay, having had that off my chest, let me state for the record that I normally don’t watch American Idol….Okay, okay, I know what you are thinking, slam me all  you want in the comment later.

Truth is, I still had no intention to watch it this year, my complain being that the show always end up producing generic talents. They all sound like others that you get in the market. It’s like right after you paid for a kg of red snapper in the market, the fishmonger comes running to you, “hey, we just got a fresh one, it just sighed its last breath. Wanna buy?”. No thank you, I’ll take the one I paid for and curse you afterwards.

Okay, I know you are disagreeing saying that they are unique and all. Even, my fiancé, a regular fan since day one (eight seasons now), denied vehemently that the talents are not original. I say that because I’d always wanted to use the word “vehemently”. Nice word.

Anyway, this time around, I sat with her as they were showing the marathon compilation of the auditioning which was good sick sadistic fun as we see folks who are in serious denial about their talent getting trashed by the Idol judges, especially the delightfully frank Simon Cowell.

Then, he appeared. Complete with eyeliners, glam/punk-ish hairdo belting out Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody like nobody before. I liked Adam Lambert there and then, as I did with few more other talents. Then, the competition rounds came and that man blew me away.

It was like seeing reincarnation of Elvis Presley and Freddie Mercury. His vocal range is outrageous, and I mean it in good way. He is like a frickin Humvee or something that can scale a mountain and can still scour your neighbourhood.  Whether he is hitting high note or low, his emotional response was to the song, not to the strain of having to hit those notes, as the other competitors did. Plus I’d never heard a voice like this before, such was the originality.

Add that to the sense of theatricality, Lamberts costume and make up changes each week, whether it’s the leatherworks for belting out a rock number or cool suit and tie crooning a Rat Pack tune. Cowell complained about his final performance rendition of Tears For Fears’ Mad World, as “over theatrical”, and I thought that was what Lambert was all about. He is supposed to be theatrical as we saw week after week.

On top of that, he was oozing with charisma and strong presence. When was the last time we saw a talent like this. The last time I was excited about a talent was probably in the mid-90s when Russell Crowe snarled and broke a chair and I was, like, going, “Brando’s alive!” (he was then, just that Brando the actor was dead long time ago).

His talent was so huge that the largely conservative US (yes they are, look at how they are handling the gay marriage thing) did not vote for him in the final and voted for mildly talented, generic vocalist Kris Allen.

Immediately all sorts of conspiracy theory abounded. Some say that his sexuality (possibly gay. So what? So was Freddie) frightened them. Some say, it’s because most voters come from Red (read red-necks) state. It could be because he is Jew. Then, New York Times revealed that the Telco, AT&T, could be behind it having had provided free text messaging services at parties held by Kris Allen fans. And soon, I will not be surprised to read that the Aliens from Planet 9 are behind it. That’s enough stuff for the next Dan Brown novel.

Anyway, my point is, finally we got ourselves a genuine, original talent. There are already excitements in the air about what his debut album is going to be like. Or whether, as us fanboys fantasised, he would tour with Queen. Yup, Brian May, that genius guitarist, did say that he and the drummer, Roger Taylor, wants to have a “meaningful conversation” with Lambert, which is not surprising seeing that the band had to put up with dull (in comparison with the colourful flamboyant Freddie, I mean) Paul Rodgers. It’s time Queen put glamour back to the band.

Whatever Lambert is planning to do, I’d be among the millions waiting to buy his album. Admit it; he is the Scaramouche who can do the Fandango. 

A Coffee A Day

A coffee a day.

I have not been well of late. First, about a month ago, the doctor told me that I had high blood pressure.

I was experiencing headache, dizziness, nausea, heart palpitation for few months by then. It could be anything, work related stress, early middle-age crisis or, I feel this is more accurate, too much of Cartoon Network, especially too much of Tom & Jerry, and especially when I find myself relating to Tom all the time.

So, I got up my courage, fear of needle or not, to meet my doctor who is constantly suggesting that I have a minor surgery on my posterior, even when I go there for flu and fever.

"I have to put you under tranquiliser," he said, with a glint on his eye, smirk on his lips and hair around his ears.

Immediately, I had a mental picture of him chasing me in the deep recess of tropical jungle with a tranquiliser gun and gunning me down. Of course, what he meant was, he’d be giving some sort of relaxant and sleeping pills, as the culprit could be my decade old insomnia problem.

So, that night I was sleeping like a baby on cough syrup (ask you baby sitters, they know what I mean). I got up next day wanting to sleep some more, but that will cost me my job.

Next day, my pressure went back to normal. One night of good sleep and it went back normal, can you believe it? If I had known that, I would have gotten special permission to sleep during office hours long ago. All those days trying to ward off sleep using various methods including asking someone to punch me when I feel dozy headed. Oh boy, did it work.

Aside: Dagwood Bumstead will never get high blood pressure. Sore ass, yes, but not high blood pressure. End of aside.

So, that got me thinking. Sleep is important, and what is causing this insomnia? All those nights awake thinking this and that and why Eastwood didn’t do one last Dirty Harry movie.

Then, it occurred to me that it was simple: Years of caffeine abuse!

You see, even before the journalism days, I was basically living off coffee. I’d do nothing less than 6 mugs a day, or go on to 8 mugs. I maintained that, and sometimes exceeded during the journalism days.  When working on some magazines, I had to work overnight, and, boy, you wouldn’t want to know how much coffee I had. That amount could send an elephant to clear the entire Amazon jungle!

Alright buddy, I told myself, even though I am sometimes my worst foe, it’s time to stop. Stop, I tell ya! Enough of the abuse.

So, I stopped. Just like that. No more. There was probably hiccup on first few days, a coffee here, and there, and then I completely stopped. Even during weekends, waking up to the usual hangover, I didn’t drink coffee at all. I had English tea…ewww.

And it was around that time when this nasty headache started. Like scheduled services, it starts around 12 in the afternoon, hits the peak around 3 something and subsides. Massive pain around the forehead and the back of the head. It’s like the Ghost of Headache possessed me at that period, and had different shift after six in the evening.

I tried Panadol. Nope, it doesn’t work. Then, I switched to Aspiring, the stuff I keep hearing in Hollywood, where the victim would be lying on the ground with amputated leg and severed neck and someone would helpfully suggest, “here, take an aspirin, you’ll be alright in a couple of seconds”.

Guess what? The Aspirin didn’t work too! Damn Yanks!

Alright, time for doctor, but not the same guy who wanted my rear probed and have me tranquilised. Time for second opinion too, so I went to this clinic I’d go if I really am to lazy to drive to the original doctor.

This time, a lady, had ample of time to chat with me and I told her about the blood pressure in the past (she checked and found it to be normal), and what is happening and what had caused me the high blood pressure (I left out Tom & Jerry part). We were both figuring out what caused this damned headache till it was revealed that I had stopped coffee.

“That could be the reason,” she said, “It could be caffeine withdrawal syndrome.”

I was, like, what? “Is there such thing?” I asked. She said yes, and she went through it herself. Never question one who also suffered.

So, it could be it. The abrupt stop of caffeine supply in my body. It’s as if there was a creature in it, living off caffeine and after the delivery stopped, it rebelled by giving me a splitting headache.

She gave me painkillers, asked me to also get my eyesight checked, and drink lots of water. They say that all the time, don’t they? Drink lots of water. You go there to get them to help with your receding hairline*, they’ll tell you to drink lots of water.

I was also told to drink coffee irregularly, to ease down that monster’s quest for caffeine. Once in two days perhaps. Great, that’s how you get started in the first place.

If things do not improve, I may have to get my head scanned. Probably my friends were right when they told me to get my head examined.

*of course, not your hairline, you lucky people!

 

Naan Kadavul

With still half an hour to enter the cinema hall, I sat in a little restaurant nearby with a drink, a book, but with wandering thoughts.  I was going to watch Naan Kadavul, and I saw cinema patrons, Indians, and many of them women and children.

Whoa! Because I heard from many that this film is not suitable for children and the soft hearted. Alright, I thought, you people asked for it.

Of course, idiot that I am, these folks are there for the special Valentine’s Day’s screening of Varanam Ayiram. There were hardly more than 10 people for the 9pm screening of Nan Kadavul that I attended on Friday the 13^th, 2009. I hope this will not be the case with the screening of this film in other cinema halls.

Nan Kadavul.

This is director Bala’s fourth film in almost ten years, and I have not fully seen Sethu or Nandha. I liked Pithamagan, but was not impressed with Vikram’s Zombie-esque stunts. Of course, who gives a shit on what I think, since Vikram won National Award for best actor. The award committees are sucker for those kind of stunts and gimmicks; they gave Kamal best actor award for a performance that can hardly be seen, blocked by layers of latex. In their entire history the Indian film National Award committee (then known as Bharath award) it never awarded Sivaji Ganesan for best acting performance. Yeah, the award committee is goofy that way.

Anyway, the film opens with a middle aged guy and his daughters trek in the wilderness of spiritual Kasi in search of his son whom he had given away to an Ashram due to astrological reason (“there were many deaths and my business flopped”, he said, which apparently happens to anyone, me thinks).

Soon, he, and we, find out that the song, Rudhran has joined a band of hardcore, fist-in-your face band of swami’s, the Aghoris, doing headstand yoga, meditation, prayers and being basically mean, irreverent, and smoking grass. I have no knowledge of the Aghoris, and the film does a bit of explanation of who these people are. At the end they are basically folks who think that they are the special, chosen one, with the ability to grant Moksha (freedom from rebirth) and even to take away life. Of course, that is a simplistic understanding, there is more to that, as I would discover later in my quick research on Aghoris.

Rudhran is later convinced to follow his dad back home to meet his mom, but he remains who he is, never missing the meditation, the headstand yoga and the drugs. While he is there worrying his mom, mystifying the neighbours, pissing off a local cop, and basically got us in awe (Arya is awesome), we get to see another rag-tag band of folks which will make you sink in your chair out of emotional disturbance.

Yes, these are group of beggars under the payroll of a local mafia, Thandavam, who runs the outfit without remorse, regret or any show of humanity. The beggars are all disabled people. Mind you, they are not actors trying to be disabled, these are real people with physical deformities and the film does no shy away from showing them the way they are. And that they were treated like commodities in the first scene will really knock your souls out. Very, very disturbing. It will make you angry, sad, and question your own moral standing.

Right after the patronising Pitchai Pathiram song which shows them making livelihood being exploited by Thandavam, we are immediately thrown into their world and that is where the fun begins.

You heard me right – fun. Bala did the right thing by showing how much these people have adapted the life and learned to have fun with it. They are colourful, witty, funny, and knows how to appreciate life better than, say, the miserable keyboard tapping, internet lurking, freedom speech giving, armchair anti-establishmentarians like some of us.

The camaraderie among them is wonderfully brought to the screen by director Bala. These are truly talented actors, and I am sure Bala took the pain to screen thousands of physically disabled people to bring the best in front of the camera. And it works. I especially adored the midget who has the best lines in the whole movie. His cackling laugh still rings in my mind.

Their scenes together are the best in this film, so much so that you want it to go on. Of course it won’t, because Pooja enters.

She plays a blind orphan, part of a cinema mimicry troupe, and she does the singing part. Made to look ordinary, dark skinned and with white lenses for her iris, Pooja is Bala in the background here. She is the main subject of this film as we discover later, and that is where I began to lose interest.

I mean, if it was about one of the real disabled people in the film I would have been rooting, roaring out loud and literally squirming my seat.  But blind damsel in distress, who is clearly physically more beautiful than any of her cast members here,  is part of cinematic cliché of past. Pooja is the Fay Wray or Tanya Roberts of a likewise honest, fun, down to earth, serious film. She takes away the fun in funny, and removes the iron in irony…if this makes sense to you.

Plight of beggars traded like an ordinary business transaction and the one man who can sort things out makes Nan Kadavul a bit of a superhero film. But mind you, Arya’s Rudhran is neither a typical superhero, nor is he a reluctant hero. He is a creature that has existed in many myths all around the world ( Joseph Campbell) – a man sent to save mankind, a man send clean us all of our sins, a man sent to rid of evil in this world. Rudhran can see evil and if he sees that in you , you better have a getaway car ready, coz he’s gonna make a meatball out of you.

Rudhran, in short, is an extended version of Deus Ex Machina with a back story. He appears conveniently in what the director wants to be the most needful moment in the film (when the other disabled folks gets snatched, nobody gives a shit, but when Pooja crawls over to him for help, well). He brushes with the law but loophole and his own displaced attitude get him scott free from the crime he committed, and I say “crime” by common law definition – your moral stand is at your own discretion.

My grouses aside, this film is an intellect’s dream. And imagine how much it aches a semi-intellect amateur critic like  me. My brain was whirring and clicking (it’s still analogue, you see) throughout the film. You have issues dealing with parenthood, religion, spirituality, stand on rationale thinking, the morality on trades of any kind, modern day slavery, human trafficking and euthanasia, among others.

It’s a hard film to watch, if you have no grouses like I did with Pooja’s character. It’s a difficult film to digest, if you are emotionally disturbed with the disabled folks in it. It’s a complex film to dissect if you look at the amount of issues that cropped up with a story like that. In short, this is not the kind of film you are going to see that often in Tamizh film industry.

Most of the credit goes to Bala. This is certainly a better film than Pithamagan. It has well timed humour, balanced pathos, conscience triggering moments and, from artistic point of view, a well rounded performance for all worked in front of and behind the camera.

The cinematography is apt, Ilayaraja did not disappoint with his soul stirring background score, and the actors are great. They are such a find. All of them. A surprise was a comedian who appears as one of the group in many Vadiveloo comedy sketches, Krishnamoorthy, who gave a sterling performance as sympathetic caretaker of the beggars. I wish there were more scenes of him and his beggars, they really stole the show.

Pooja will definitely get lots of awards, that’s for sure. But she did not bring anything additional to the role. Arya, of course, is stunning. He has great presence, wonderful body language that defines his character (he speaks very, very little) and is a hope as far as upcoming great actors are concerned.

Add this one to the Tamil film industry’s cinematic milestone. Nan Kadavul is here to stay with us for a long time.

Good riddance, 2008.

Will you or not agree that 2008 is easily one of the worst years in the recent memory? At least for us Malaysians. Here’s my take on the happenings in 2008, especially on local politics.

Aside: Humour impaired politicians reading this; I’d like to remind you that this is more of a satiric take on what happened so save your money on hiring lawyers. End of aside.

Malaysia

From January to March, we saw endless barrage of news on the impending victory of the Barisan Nasional party in the upcoming election in March. Most mainstream newspapers carried news that the alliance was 357% confident of the victory so much so that people switched to alternate media which sourced news from squirrels.

Of course, March came  and the general election saw a BN winning by a shocking small margin, and the opposition coalition, Pakatan Rakyat, led by Parti Keadilan Rakyat’s de facto de niro leader, Anwar Ibrahim, managed to wrest Penang, Selangor, Perak, Kedah and Singapore. While wrestling, the latter slipped and fell and managed to crawl to safety.

What’s more interesting about the election was the fact people were so angry with the ruling party they are willing to vote on anyone standing opposing BN, including an amateur cell phone cameraman and a dog named Boo.

But the biggest blow to the ruling party was the fact that among the losers were MIC president Samy Vellu, Gerakan then acting president Dr Koh Tsu Koon and Wanita Umno Deputy Chief Shahrizat Abdul Jalil. This embarrassed Samy Velu so much that he resigned from MIC as its president.

Gotcha! Not only he didn’t resign, he said he will stay as the president until others can pry his seat away “from my cold dead hands”.  After his passing, there will be an official definition for “spiritual leader”. Since he is still alive, he is embarking on rebranding exercise to entice more and more Indian members who hates his guts.

In the meantime, former Prime Minister Tun Dr. Mahathir blamed Prime Minister, Abdullah Ahmad Badawi for the ruling party’s less than stellar victory demanding his resignation. In fact, he blamed Abdullah for everything, including the bad coffee he had that morning.

While bickering continued on whom to be blamed for the defeat and Abdullah insisting that he will stay as a president “until I fulfill my promise to clean this country of dirty toilets”. The drama was heightened when PKR’s de facto di caprio leader Anwar Ibrahim announced that Pakatan Rakyat will take over the entire country on September 16, by peaceful means including transcendental meditation and yoga. However, he did not clarify which year. “It could be 1963, for all you know,” an insider was quoted as saying.

(It should be noted that Anwar was facing a fresh charge of committing unnatural sex against Monica Lewinsky during this period).

Considering the Sept 16 take over will involve defection of member of parliaments, BN members suspected that the culprit might be it’s very vocal component party People’s Progressive Party (PPP) because PPP’s members were dissatisfied with the abbreviation which, in Tamil, means, “Shit, shit, shit”.

When reminded that none of the PPP members won the election, the fingers (including the thumb) was pointed at Sabah and Sarawak which, for years, have been complaining of neglect.

Here’s an excerpt of an actual report taken from Bernama (Dec 27, 2008) and I am not kidding:

Kimanis MP Datuk Anifah Aman of Sabah had even implied that they would not mind moving out from the "bungalow" (BN) and live in a terrace house (PR), as they were only allowed to "sleep near the toilet", even though there were "many rooms in the bungalow".

Threats of defection further elevated when Sabah Progressive Party (SAPP) pulled out from the coalition costing BN of two MPs, four state seats and lifetime supply of Laksa Sarawak.

In July, Anwar’s wife Wan Azizah vacated her Permatang Pauh seat due to overdue rental pressure from landlord, paving way for her husband to sit on it, despite the fact that he had bad back, poor front and weak inside.

Of course, he won easily, and kept on mumbling, “We have the numbers” on possible defection come September 16. In fact, that is all he says when met by press prompting speculation that he might actually have the forecasted number for the next 4D or Toto lotteries.

Confronted with fear of defection, BN sent its MPs to Taiwan for tour on agriculture and “how to talk and behave in parliament as Taiwan has always been exemplary in this area”. This proved to be valuable trip as we discover later during parliament proceedings.  

September 16 came and when, with nothing happening except for some bad case of flue for this writer, but Anwar insisted that it will happen in a different date, “Probably in the near future or when hell freezes over”, not realizing that his party members have already started congratulating Deputy Prime Minister Najib Tun Razak as future Prime Minister.

Yes, finally Abdullah relented and accepted his fate and started cleaning toilets in different floor. He will pass the mantle as PM to Najib next March and wowed that he will continue lavatory reforms…but not until after he cleans the one attached to his bedroom.

Yet, former premier Tun Dr. Mahathir still insisted that Abdullah step now. “What March? Step down now, today, this minute, this instant! Only after Abdullah steps down can we get better grade of coffee,” he said.

In the meantime, sources reported that Wan Azizah had made an urgent call to a doctor when she saw her husband sleepwalking and writing numbers on the wall mumbling, “We have the numbers”.

By the way, the JAKIM (Islamic Development Department) issued a Fatwa against Yoga, as it was against the teaching of Islam’s, since it “included elements of Hinduism, hints of Scientology and a sprinkle of voodoo-ism”. This will definitely hamper PKR de facto deVito leader’s attempt for peaceful takeover of the country.

On the economic front, the fuel price spiraled upwards, hitting the ceiling and the roof and later tumbled down, making consumers dizzy as the government increased the price of oetrol and diesel to the point where we had to sell our kidneys, and later decreased it to the point where the petrol kiosk owners have to sell their kidneys.

The economic crisis all over the world is apparently not hitting Malaysia. Both deputy prime minister and central bank governor assured that Malaysia is resilient and is crisis resistant. “Don’t worry, we will be alright. Next year should be good, and if there is any problem you can contact us in Switzerland,” an unnamed minister was quoted as saying.

In a more serious note, the year ended terribly for us when landslide occurred in Bukit Antarabangsa, claiming five lives and many homeless (some have still not returned to their home), only further asserting the notion that the government takes action only when lives are gone.

World

I can’t cover all, but two major happening occurred.

First, the year began with foul smell in the economic atmosphere as there were signs that USA is heading towards recession. “What recession?” the American economists said, “There ain’t no recession,” they added, not knowing that the sentence was a double negative, which means…

But months later, they came back and admitted that the country was in recession back in December 2007, “and we were already in deep shit then,”  “Really?” responded the international community sarcastically, “the sky is blue, and the crow is black, poodaa….”

But a major historical milestone was achieved in US when Barack Obama was elected as the president as this would be first time US, and this has never before happened, has a Klingon for president.

Interesting year so far. Hope the next one will be even more interesting. So, here’s wishing my blog visitors A HAPPY NEW YEAR. Take it easy on partying, you can get arrested.

Metal Health will drive you nuts!

Fans of hard rock & heavy/trash/speed/etc metal, beware! Head banging is dangerous. Or so, says an expert.

 

I was driving home last night, listening to BBC world over the radio, and the show featured an Australian associate professor, Andrew McIntosh, who said head banging not only can cause neck injury, headache and dizziness, but also brain damage.

 

Head banging is bad? In a song called Metal Health, by top notch heavy metal band, Quiet Row, the late vocalist Kevin DuBrow screams, “Bang your heeaaad! Metal health will drive you mad” That’s an instruction buddy, and you better bang your head.

 

I am typically not your head banger….well, more of head bobber.  I mean, we all do that right, bobbing head, but it could go wild depending on the tempo of the music, the harder the rock, or the speedier the metal. It’s especially not good when you are in the car, at the traffic light, waiting for it to go green.

 

Next lane driver’s wife           : Why is he bobbing his head so violently?

Next lane driver                     : I don’t know. Rehearsing oral sex perhaps.

Next lane driver’s wife           : I want to go home NOW!

 

Though, I am not into head banging, I empathise with head bangers. That is an immediate reaction to great metallic riffs, and thundering drums. How many of you did not even move your head a bit when the Brian May kicks in the big one in the middle of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody – voted as the ultimate car song recently?

 

Speaking of car songs, how many of you have serious conflicts with your passenger with choice of radio stations or songs? I mean if you are driving, you have all the right…err…right?

 

Not so with my fiancée, Linda. The radio player hogging girl has control over it, and she hates my metal collection. Once, and this is unintentional coz the radio DJ must have dozed off, I was forced to listen to three Michael Bolton songs CONSECUTIVELY! Enough horror to make me Run To The Hills (Iron Maiden).

 

Now that, professor Andrew McIntosh, causes brain damage.

 

Aside: As a punishment, I made Linda listen to a Black Sabbath song, and warned her that next time it might be Slipknot. I know it’s cruel, but three Michael Boltons is torture of the worst kind. End of aside.

 

Alas, during the radio show, McIntosh cited Bohemian Rhapsody as one of the brain damaging songs. How could you Mac? Upon hearing it, I wanted to go to the Parliament and protest, and lodge a police report.

 

According to McIntosh, to avoid all those issues, compulsive head bangers can wear some sort of neck brace, to control the movement of the neck not to tilt to a dangerous level. Right. Imagine a rock concert with neck brace wearing head bangers.  Instead of throwing T-Shirts and underwear, the performers would soon be barraged by attack of the killer neck-braces the head bangers are getting rid off. In short, it won’t work.

 

McIntosh is also trying to get heavy metal bands to be the ambassadors of anti-head banging campaign.

 

Rock star: We’re gonna rock you, tonight. But before that, we have a public announcement to make, head banging is injurious to health…

Audience: Booooo…..

 

Marketing wise that would be suicide.

 

It’s funny that an associate professor from Australia should come up with this study. This, considering that he hails from the same country as one of the greatest hard rock/heavy metal act in the world, AC/DC. Yes, the same famous, wealthy, long living band that still forgets to buy its founder and lead guitarist, Angus Young, a longer pair of pants.

 

Another suggestion McIntosh came out with, and I am not frickin’ kidding here, is to alternate the heavy metal songs with softer ones. “You can listen to Spinal Tap, and then listen to Lionel Ritchie’s Hello. You can listen to (AC/DC’s) Highway To Hell and then, Fly Me To The Moon”.

 

Again, I am not joking. Imagine AC/DC belting out Highway To Hell, takes a break, and then Chairman of the Board, the Ole Blue Eyes himself takes the stage to fly you to the moon. In the crowd of head banging metal heads!

 

The final suggestion made me conclude that McIntosh is nuts. Not only that, he is dangerous to all hard rock/heavy metal fans in this world. I googled him and came with this and realized that he is not even a Heavy Metal fan.

 

Heavy metal fans of the world, let us unite. Let’s pool in some cash and get some professor to do a study that will conclude that listening to the likes of Bolton, Billy Joel, Whitney Houston not only turn your brain to scramble eggs, but also make you acquire all the tropical disease known to mankind and catkind.

 

Let’s start by writing the cheques to my name…

Goundamani: The Dark Superhero.

Warning: Strictly for Tamizh Film fans, especially of comedies.



Its phenomenal. About a decade ago, Tamizh film comedian Goundamani (or Kaundamani, or Koundermani) was dismissed by many has crude, crass and rude by many. He can only be enjoyed by those who don’t use their noodle all that much and enjoys slapstick.

Goundamani’s slapstick consist of only one thing – beating up his Hardy-esque partner. Senthil. If anyone really earns the literal meaning of sidekick, Senthil gets the honour.

Why phenomenal? Because of the growing interest as recently seen by the appreciative crowd, most of whom are in their early twenties here

Why, I myself have not been a great fan of his till of recent. Why the change of heart?

First and foremost, amidst all that kicking, and shouting on top of the lung, we missed to see the depth of his dialogues, the messages, and the not-so-subtle stab at the ridiculous aspect of the society and culture.

We neglected to appreciate Goundamani’s own original (he hardly mimics or spoofs other actor, strange for a contemporary comedian) brand of performance. His clear dialogue delivery, the modulation, the facial expression (the more he shows pain, the louder we laugh), body language, was there and I missed it first time around.

His graceless dancing, tone-deaf singing and terrible grasp of English language were supposed to be source of comedy (he is known to catch most of the Hollywood releases and recommends it to his colleagues). I didn’t laugh then, but now I am laughing my rear off.

I met a fellow member of the Tamizh film forum I visit, Prabhu Ram, who said, “To look at the slapstick element alone, you are missing the point,”. Truer words never spoken…at least it applies to Goundamani.

What astounded me, especially after revisiting those comedies is the amount of social commentary Goundamani included…also missed the first time around. So much so that the thread for his in the forum is named, “Philosopher Dr. Goundamani”, partly in jest, partly because, well, with all those satiric remarks that he tosses off without actually being smug about it (a crime Vivek sometimes commit).

Of late, something else occurred to me. That Goundamani could be the dark superhero for some of us. Yes, we all have good heart, we want to help the poor, the distressed, and we get thousands of super hero incarnation on screen. They are making millions out there in the box office.

But what about a fantasy creation that relates with the darker side of you. You know, the day to day annoyances, irritations that you have to deal with. Particularly people with the mental capacity of a hamster and is as annoying as that one immortal mosquito.

People like the characters Senthil played!

Watch those films again and figure out who was the annoyed one and who is the “annoyee”. Who was the provoked ones and who does the provoking? In Nattamai, why did Goundamani called his dad, played by Senthil, Dey Thagappa…extreme rudeness that had many fans of that time, even the faithful ones, put off? Watch that film again and you will realise what a rotten, womanising in a pathetic way Senthil’s character was. His action demanded no respect at all.

And how often we were subjected to the action of addressing someone with respect when we know that this person is rotten to the core. We had to do it, coz we have personal PR issue. Goundamani will do the name calling for you.

Admit it, there is a right-winger in even the most liberal of us. We want to dish out some painful insults to many annoying, irritating creatures that are teeming in this wonderful place call earth. Yes, especially the ones on the road.

Within the limits of given strict code of censorship, Gounder insults these bothersome creatures, kicks their butts (literally, instead of our whining of “I wish I could kick his butt), gets them in trouble. In one case, in indirect reference to what the bad guys did to a girl in the James Bond classic Goldfinger, Goundamani paints a less than beautiful male co-star with what I would call barrel belly with hot melting Silver! That’s for completely misinforming Goundamani the businessman and building his expectation sky high.

Most of Goundamani characters (mostly in the nineties) are remorseless, ruthless and relentlessly in pursuit of something and will not hesitate to insult and kick his way to achieve it. Witness the unconventional tricks he resorted to when he is determined to cancel the wedding in Ullathai Allithaa…and we get the heartiest laugh, especially when the plans fail. The “sotthulaa kallu” scene is boldly unconventional and elicits laughter from me anytime they show it again.

Tell me, can we be that insistent? Or consistent? We back out at early given embarrassment, but Goundamani hurls himself forward. We love him for it, plus he makes us laugh as a bonus point.

One forum member (Bala@crrajkumar) reminded me of one aspect of Goundamani’s character, “irreverence”. I’d add “total irreverence”, whether he is in a side comedy track or is next to the leading performers.

Speaking of which, I have yet to see any other comedians as bold as Goundamani when it comes criticising characters played by the biggest heroes. Witness Goundamani in Mannan and how easily he disses Rajini. Or how he teases Kamal in Singaravelan for his “latchiyam” or looking for “manastan” in Indian. Of course, the long “suffering” hero who has the best chemistry with Goundamani is Sathyaraj. The duos performance in riot-fest, Maaman Magal and Thai Maaman should have been given awards.

A rebel, an angry old man, a social critic, and now, a dark superhero, Goundamani is now set to make another round in the Tamizh film industry. Like or hate him, he has made his mark in the industry. He made all the other comedians that followed him dull after they run out of tricks. He is the ultimate superstar of the comedians.

Headlines and impressions.

There are those of us who read newspapers, and then there are those who don’t. There are those who read news online, either the mainstream ones or the alternatives, and then there are those who don’t either. The “don’t” type usually gets their news from text messages.

Anyway, those who do read either the physical paper or online, are bound to sometimes just scan headlines. I do too…not because I am in hurry or what…just plain laziness. So, what impression do they give? How much can a headline tell you? I decided to give my own interpretation from the headlines taken from The Star online:


Retrenchment ‘the last resort’

The government has identified a location, to be called, Retrenchment as last tourism resort if all tourism resorts in the country are closed down.

A spokesperson for the tourism ministry who refused to be identified but goes by the moniker groucho070 in illegal online forums, said Retrenchment will have “any goddamn thing you bl**dy tourists want, including spa that has fish eating your dirt or whatever”.

In a telephone interview, groucho070 said Retrenchment will also feature a water park complete with the Loch Ness monster in it. “Yes, Nessie will make its appearance. We haven’t got any confirmation from the Bigfoot though,” he said.

No further information was available when the phone line was disconnected after what appeared to be some sort of struggle over the other side of the line….


Tunku Imran resigns over Bruce Willis issue

Tunku Imran has resigned from the Petra group after being “fed up” with Bruce Willis.

“I mean, how many Die Hard film is he going to make” he said, reacting to a recent rumour that the Hollywood star may film a fifth instalment of the famous action franchise.

“And why was he bald in the fourth one. He had hair in the first three Die Hard films,” he said, adding that he will no longer watch any of Bruce Willis films and hoped that the Malaysian public will do the same…


Rear-seat dilemma for parents with four children

Not enough with global and local economic uncertainties, Malaysians are now faced with issue concerning the rear seat, especially for parents with four children.

According to parents with four children, rear seats in cars have been giving them many problems ever since the fourth child was born.

“How come parents with less or more than four children never have problems with rear seats,” asked Sam E. Velu, a father of two boys, a girl and specie yet to be identified by scientists.

Among the problems given by the rear seats include, refusal to seat the passengers, instant deflation causing springs to hurt the children’s rear and also constant cry for milk…


No decision yet on extending live telecast

The Information Ministry has not decided on extending the live telecast of the parliament’s proceeding.

A spokesperson said that it is already concerned with the content of the program which is described as “not only is one of the most boring show next to Teletubbies, but its content is lewd, gross and full of bad language.”

He added that the show might even be pushed to late night in order to not have children “exposed to that kind of language that a typical member of parliament tends to resort to during outbursts”.

“In fact, we are seriously considering 18SG rating for it,” he added….


Ampang Jaya OCPD shoots down claims

In what appears to be another security triumph, Ampang Jaya OCPD managed to shoot down “claims” that has been terrorising Ampang Jaya.

The “claims”, nick name for a monster made up of police reports made by politicians during the last few months rose when the stack of reports suddenly took a life of its own.

“After the March 8 election, every Tom, Dick and Harry politicians have been making police reports claiming thislah, and thatlah. That is what they claim; we don’t know what is happening actually,” said Inspector Ahmad “The one-eyed shooter” Khalid.

He said, somehow the reports got together, managed to get a life of its own and was terrorising Ampang Jaya residents, making threatening noises and even stealing a street corner Nasi Lemak vendor’s Nasi Lemak.

“The last act of terror was the reason why we decided to shoot it down,” said Ahmad…


Lifestyle Section.

Time to shop till you drop

There are times to shop, and then, there are times to shop till you drop. Find out what shopping experts opinion on the exact time to drop after shopping. Also, exact location to drop, as many shopping complex feature non-drop friendly floors…


Fish head curry, Chinese style

If you think only the Swahillians made fish head curry, think again. Fish head curry, Chinese style, goes back to the Ming dynasty when cooking was done on those famous vases. We talk to Chef Jockey Chan on how the curry has evolved and where it is living now…

Latest actor to portray Marvel's Punisher hopes third time is the charm

Nope. They will never learn.