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It took me a whole of six months watching Netflix almost every day to get to my first-ever Turkish movie. And when I was done watching “Mama’s Boy”, I was glad I did, although not so glad that I discovered the realm of light-hearted Arab comedy so late. There’s evidently a lot more to watch where this comes from.

Originally titled “Qalb Ummuh”, ‘Mama’s Boy’ is a 2018 slapstick comedy that is also somewhat of a spoof of gangster movies. There’s fun, drama and melodrama for the whole family, all packed into this 1h 42mins film that is thoroughly enjoyable—just for entertainment purposes. I mean there’s no takeaway or life lessons or any ‘larger purpose’ here. Just some refreshing entertainment while you watch it.

Mama’s Boy is literally about a mama’s boy, Younis (Hesham Maged)—an almost middle-aged man—who lives under the control of his strict mother (Dalal Abdulaziz). Younis’ life, including his career and love life, is dictated by his mother. He wants to be a screenwriter, a career course his mother disapproves of. She is also strictly against the woman Younis is in love with and wants to marry. Then, one day, when Younis does something against her wish, she gets a stroke and is rushed to the hospital where the doctor informs Younis that her brain is dead while her heart is still working.

On the other hand, there is the gangster Magdy Takhtokh (Shikoo) who is having issues with rival gangs while also planning a major smuggling operation. Now Magdy is a big man, literally too, and a formidable figure whose violence knows no bounds. He’s one of those gangsters who ‘shoot before they speak’. But unluckily for him, a freak accident punctures his heart the same day Younis’ mother is admitted to the hospital.

Then the strangest thing happens which leads to a major confusion in the lives of the characters. Intimidated by Magdy and his gang, the doctor at the hospital replaces Magdy’s heart with Younis’ mother’s, and that’s where the story takes the motherly turn. The gangster’s body is now pumped by a sexagenarian mother’s heart.

Against his own will and control, Magdy starts developing maternal instincts for Younis, a dangerous thing for a gangster. That sets in motion a string of incidents and events, which are improbable in real life but hilarious to watch in a spoof movie nonetheless.

Directed by Amr Salah, Mama’s Boy sure doesn’t have the finesse of Hollywood or other major movie industries, but that does not make it any less enjoyable in terms of creativity and presentation. Yes, certain scenes are shot in amateur-looking sets with flimsy props but the filmmakers don’t seem to be trying to hide anything.

There’s this unapologetic attitude that says it doesn’t care for the trivialities, which can be sensed. Throughout the film, there are momentary lapses in all aspects including direction, cinematography and acting but as no one seems to be promising perfection, it all seems intentional and part of the act. (Or is this typical of all Turkish movies?)

Average performances in all fronts that compliment each other are what make Mama’s Boy enjoyable. But still, actor Shikoo playing the gangster Magdy deserves a special mention. Despite all the shooting and murdering, Magdy is still a lovable character. (Well, that’s classic slapstick for you.) The big man manages to play a violent gangster without looking evil and when it comes to parts where he has to show Magdy’s motherly nature, he manages to do it without appearing feminine. There’s tremendous control in Shikoo’s acting that puts him in charge of how he wants to frame his character onscreen.

Who should watch it?

“Mama’s Boy” is made for all those who love slapstick comedy. But again, be warned, this genre and style might not please everybody.

Mama’s Boy

Genre: Comedy

Rating: 3.5 stars

Director: Amr Salah

Actors: Shikoo, Hesham Maged

Run time: 1hr 42mins

Rated 8.5 on IMDB, “Visaranai” (Interrogation) is one of those undiscovered gems in Netflix that needs more attention. The 2015 Tamil-language crime thriller is based on the novel “Lock Up” by M. Chandrakumar and adapted for the screen by multiple award-winning writer/director Vetrimaaran. The film itself is a winner of the coveted National Film Awards among other national and international accolades it has collected so far.

Based on M. Chandrakumar’s real life experiences as a migrant worker being wrongly detained and violently interrogated for a crime he had not been involved in, Visaranai chronicles the story of four Tamil laborers—Pandi (Dinesh Ravi), Murugan (Aadukalam Murugadoss), Afzal (Silambarasan Rathnasamy), and Kumar (Pradheesh Raj)—who work in Guntur, Andhra Pradesh. The migrant workers are so poverty stricken that they sleep in a nearby public park.

Despite the hardships, all is well for them until one night they are captured at random by the police. Trying to solve a high profile robbery, the police round up these Tamil-speaking laborers so that they can pin them as criminals and close the case. When they do not accept the charges, they are physically and mentally tortured for a confession.

The innocent group of scared young men finally yields to the vicious beatings and agrees to confess. But when they’re taken to court, they complain to the judge about the police misbehavior. In a Telugu-speaking court, they have a hard time convincing the judge, when police inspector Muthuvel (Samuthirakani) from Tamil Nadu steps in to translate for them. Muthuvel, who is in Andhra Pradesh for a case, manages to convince the judge and helps them walk free.

If you think we have already spoilt the film for you, the narration till now is actually a build-up to the story full of police brutality, treachery, power struggle, and the sacrifice of innocent lives to fulfill the ambitious of those in power. Not having read the actual book yet, this screen adaptation by Vetrimaaran is superbly adjusted to make it relatable to the audiences of developing South Asian countries.

Visaranai exposes the flaws in policing and their potential impact on the judicial system. The migrant workers from Tamil Nadu, who do not speak fluent Telugu, are metaphorically voiceless when attacked by a corrupt system. And as the film progresses, it also shows how members of the same system are then themselves victimized by those more powerful than them. The vicious circle of power struggle and chess-like pawn sacrifice is what Visaranai revolves around.

As writer and director, Vetrimaaran’s work in the film is exceptional. Not only is the screenplay tight and engaging, the film feels much shorter than its 1h 57mins length because of creative visual storytelling. Using actors who mostly play side roles in bigger-budget and stereotypical Tamil/Telugu films, Vetrimaaran has packaged real-life story into a reality-based film that is more than just entertainment. The movie not only entertains, it makes people think and be aware of the darker side of law-enforcement. Also, it asks people to be skeptical of media reports put out by powerful forces.

The actors have also contributed in giving life to the screenplay. With none of the actors identified for ‘iconic’ roles and appearances, they settle down perfectly within the storyline. Samuthirakani, one of the most experienced and versatile actors in the cast, stands out in his role as Muthuvel, a police inspector, who by turn becomes the savior, perpetrator, and victim within the film’s span.

Who should watch it?

Visaranai is the kind of South India movie that Bollywood will probably remake in years to come. But as Bollywood is known to distort things with its glitz and glamor, it’s best you watch this Tamil version, albeit with subtitles. Visaranai is an important film for serious movie buffs as well as casual audiences.

Rating: 4 stars

Genre: Crime/Drama

Actors: Samuthirakani, Dinesh Ravi, Pradheesh Raj

Director: Vetrimaaran

Run time: 1hr 57mins

I have always been a little skeptical about translated works as it takes a lot to keep the essence of the original text intact. Often, a lot is indeed lost in translation. But as I want to read as vastly as possible I also frequently find myself searching for translated books. Had I given in to my cynicism and stayed away from translated works, I wouldn’t have discovered many writers that I have come to adore. Orhan Pamuk, Isabel Allende, and Haruki Murakami are on the top of my list of authors whose English translations have charmed me. At times, though, I wish I could read the original works.

Likewise, I love reading Urdu poetry in translation. I first read the English version and then struggle with Urdu. There is something extremely romantic and calming about the way Urdu rolls off your tongue. Try it! Faiz Ahmed Faiz and Mirza Ghalib are my constant favorites.

I picked up Saadat Hasan Manto’s ‘Bombay Stories’ because I wanted to read more Urdu writers and not just stick to the occasional poetry and I couldn’t have had a better start. Translated from Urdu by Matt Reeck and Aftab Ahmad, you can see, hear, and feel the stories—through characters Manto feels most drawn to: immigrants, prostitutes, gangsters, those struggling to survive, the hopeful ones, and the hardened souls.

Born in 1912, Manto moved to Bombay from Amritsar in 1936 and made it his home. He had actually written a wistful declaration, ‘Main chalta-phirta Bambai hoon’ (I am a walking, talking Bombay) that expresses how the city was a big part of his identity. However, Bombay isn’t romanticized in Manto’s stories. As a reader you get a sense of the place and feel like you know its inhabitants, even if you have never set foot in the city.

Manto is best known for stories about the partition of the subcontinent after India’s independence in 1947. Most of the 14 stories in Bombay Stories were written after he moved to Pakistan in 1948. Thus, a longing for the city he had just left is clearly evident.

The most interesting character in the book is Manto himself who appears in several stories. He sets up meetings for his actor friends, tries to care for the women they hurt, and reflects on what men and women are capable of doing to each other. Manto, who died in 1955 at 42 after a long battle with alcoholism, has in a way been immortalized by and in his stories.

Bombay Stories feels as relevant today as it was when it was written over 70 years ago, though Manto did occasionally get tried for obscenity. He is believed to have said that if people find his stories dirty, it’s because the society they live in is so. Manto’s stories capture society from its least flattering angles and in that way forces us to look at what we would have otherwise never paid much attention to. And, best of all, Bombay—or Mumbai, as you would call it today—comes alive right before your eyes.

Queerness has always existed in this world and yet, despite all the progress humanity has made over the centuries, we still haven’t been able to accept people for who they are. ‘Shikhandi and Other Queer Tales They Don’t Tell You’ is a collection of 30 stories about gender and sexual identity that will change the way you think about sex.

Growing up on a healthy dose of Mahabharata on television, most of us are aware of Shikhandi. But Pattanaik also ferrets out instances from other epics and folk tales where various gods and goddesses have chosen to switch genders to restore order in the world. There is, of course, Shikhandi, who was born a woman but raised as a man; Krishna, who became a woman for one day to marry a man fated to die the very next day of his marriage; Chudala, who became a man so that her husband wouldn’t disregard her views; and Mandhata whose mother was a man. There are many other queer characters.

Where reinterpreting Hindu epics and mythology is concerned, there is perhaps no one who can do it better than Pattanaik. His writing is simple and to the point while being extremely detailed. In Shikandi and Other Queer Tales They Don’t Tell You, he is out to show that homosexuality is perfectly natural, and it has always been so. Nor is it a modern or a western concept. With gods and goddesses changing forms as readily as changing their clothes, homosexuality has always been a part of our life and culture.  

Also, our ancient texts and oral traditions are filled with references to queerness. Rigveda says ‘Vikruti Evam Prakriti’, which means ‘what seems unnatural is also natural’. According to many scholars, this refers to queerness. In the Puranas, Vishnu, time and again, morphs into a woman to trick demons and tempt sages.

The first part of the book, before Pattanaik delves into the stories, is an important discussion on queer behavior across the world. Just as patriarchy asserts men to be superior to women and feminism clarifies men and women are equal, queerness questions what constitutes male and female, says Pattanaik. And it is this idea that he explores in the book.

Retellings of epics and myths, Pattanaik says, have, over the years, adopted a patriarchal bias, which is how stories of queerness have been overshadowed, if not altogether lost. In Shikhandi and Other Queer Tales They Don’t Tell You, he shines light on instances where the line between male and female has blurred. Reading the book will force you to confront your thoughts and views on gender. It will make you pause and reflect on the battles of the LGBTQI+ community and wonder how the world came to be so intolerant.

Pattanaik’s works, I believe, make for brilliant alternate readings of our myths and epics. These are the stories we should be telling our children, for a better, more inclusive future.

Mythology

Shikhandi and Other Queer Tales They Don’t Tell You

Devdutt Pattanaik

Published: 2014

Publisher: Zubaan Books and Penguin India

Language: English

Pages: 179, Paperback