Piku
Director- Shoojit Sircar
Actors- Deepika Padukone, Amitabh Bachchan, Irfan Khan and Moushmi Chatterjee
Rating- 3.5
Gorgeous
ˈɡɔːdʒəs/
Adjective
beautiful; very attractive.
Gorgeous
/ðɪ:pee’ka/
Noun
beautiful; very attractive
It’s high time Oxford and Webster made that change. Deepika Padukone in and as Piku in one word is strikingly gorgeous. Ok I admit those are two words. But she really is. She has proved that you don’t have to slip into in a teeny weeny Manish Malhotra creation or gyrate to a certain ‘Lovely’ to be gorgeous. You can wear a loose sweat shirt, clean your stinking kitchen sink, wash clothes or discuss the texture of your father’s pooh with the doctor and yet be super stunningly gorgeous. If this is what clinical depression does to you, I would love to be depressed all my life. And then there is an equally gorgeous Irfan Khan who dumps the old lonely man of the Lunch box and swings the Delhi dude swag on and leaves you speechless with his craft. No wonder when you have such ‘dishy’ actors around an upset tummy is hell so expected.
Piku is as much about potty as pretty. Everything about Bhaskor’s pooh is discussed in details; its color, texture and frequency in not only words but even diagrams.
Amid all constipation talk, Piku also explores the symbiotic relationship of parents-children, women empowerment and vulnerability that sets in with old age sans moralizing or getting too serious about it.
Bhaskor as many parents is loving yet manipulative. His fear of loneliness makes him control his daughter; he sulks, scolds and even blackmails. He talks about ‘purpose of life’ and hence dissuades Piku from getting married. He doesn’t want her to be subservient to any man who would take her life decisions. Ironically he himself becomes ‘that’ man controlling her life unapologetically. Liberalism is a term sadly mistaken by most parents. Our neighbor in Delhi once gave full career freedom to his son Monto. He said ‘I don’t push my decisions down his throat; he can be anything he wants; a dentist, a surgeon or even a general practitioner. Doctory mein bada paisa hain afterall.’
Discussing and almost priding in his daughter’s sexual life to stranger-potential suitors in the name of independence ‘might’ make Bhaskor Banerjee a liberal progressive parent, alas, only so superficially. Piku sums it up so well towards the end in an exasperated moment, ‘kabhi socha hain, main kya chahti hoon.’
It’s this warped sense of women empowerment that runs throughout the film. Rana once observes, ‘driving liberates a woman.’ Say whaaaaaa???
Juhi Chaturvedi is a writer par excellence. The quirks she gives to each character is simply applause worthy. Bhaskor loves his monthly supply of Bengali newspapers, no matter how stale the news is. Piku’s mausi (Moushmi Chatterjee) enjoys pottering around in her house in a see-through nighty when no one is around. Piku prioritizes her father over her dates but would never miss a chance to nonchalantly propose marriage to a man, casually chomping on a roll, flirtatiously flashing her dimple and keeping her terms and conditions of adopting her 70-90 year old son. Bravo. Simply bravo. And so are the performances.
Amitabh-now-available-in-a-fake-paunch-Bachchan is irritating, and I mean that as a compliment.
Depressed-Deepika-Impresses-Padukone is brilliant. There is a new sense of confidence, self acceptance that makes her so easy-breezy-sexy on the big screen. Piku knows she has a crotchety-cacophonous father but she never admits it to anyone. The way Deepika hides Piku’s vulnerability behind a –no-there-is-no-problem- façade is sheer brilliant.
Irfan Khan is a chameleon. He transforms from the old man of the Lunch box to Roohdaar in Haider to Rana in Piku with such ease that you hardly see the actor in any of the characters he plays.
The film does get verbose. Very very yes very verbose. To the point that it sounds like noise pollution. There is a scene when Piku tells Rana to sit quietly at the Benaras ghats. I instantly thanked her. The toilet humor is not crass, lines are funny but in an attempt to crack one more joke, it just gets so garrulous that it paces down the film. At a point Rana shouts at the voluble Bengali family in an argument – ‘Chuppppppppppppp’!” I felt his pain.
There are a few jarring brand placements, not like the Flair pen in Krissh or SRK doing a mini Nokia ad in Chennai Express but be ready for a friendly appearance of a certain Snap Deal, Mainland China and of course Kayam churan.
And then there are wigs; hideous wigs; wigs that will make Jaya Bachchan (and her haystack-hair) worthy of being in the next L’Oreal ad. It’s almost like a war of the wigs; Amitabh Bachchan’s and Raghubir Yadav’s wigs are so fiercely competitive that they could feature in the next season of Roadies or Bigg Boss. Together they have replaced the images of Medusa or Einstein for bad hair forever.
Fake hair is well balanced with real moments and real people. The early morning milkman, the newspaper delivery boy and his cycle, the misty wintry mornings, the old Kolkatta buildings and the roadside kachoris make Piku a delectable ride. Watch and drool.
fByLokesh 