Anurag (Black Friday) Kashyap’s ‘No Smoking’ is hindi film-noir way ahead of its time. Which is not another way of saying that it is self-indulgent mumbo-jumbo that sacrifices comprehension, logic and a corroborative plot at the altar of superficiality.
Smoking as an abhorrent & destructive indulgence is taken as the moot point of argument between morality, righteousness and social responsibility on one hand and individualistic freedom of choice on the other (maimed one). What begins as the cocky John (Kafkaesque) Abraham’s reluctant battle to quit his addiction at the nagging of his wife (Ayesha Takia) and the coaxing of his freshly liberated squint-eyed pal (Ranbir) quickly turns into a nightmare from the deep dungeons of hell. K goes down to meet Paresh Rawal (Shri Baba Bangali of Sealdah) at his no-retreat Prayogshala and is forced into signing an agreement (tome) to the effect that he wishes to quit smoking. K acts irreverent, stubborn, incredulous and is outright disobedient at the apparent omnipotency of the Baba but is forced to fall in line when the default penalties start to come true. As part of his ‘treatment’, he loses his hearing, friends, brother, wife and finally his soul; that last treasured possession that defined his existence. His astitva finally dissolves in a pink ghoulish soul-soup. But then, wasn’t it his soul that had compelled him to do as he pleased? Not have to listen to anybody?
At the film’s promo-events, John spoke naively about the film being a timely message to the youth about the dangers of smoking but what unfolds is a tangential tale. Stephen King's Quitters Inc ' inspired' No Smoking is replete with black humour, delusional fantasies, paranoia (of the kind caused by withdrawal symptoms) and retributive gore attached to the difficulties of extreme choice. There are excesses like cartoon thought blurbs, quirky references (infidel castro castrated cigars) and an over exposed yellow, grease stained rusty underground atmosphere that’s too reminiscent of C grade torture flicks like Saw and Hostel.
No Smoking’s production values are top notch and out of sync with its target audience. There isn’t any. What target audience can a film which starts with quotes from Plato, Socrates & a Sinatra blurb and then ends with a mandatory Bipasha Basu item number have?
Therein lies NS’s identity crisis and its predictably short life. But here’s a niche film that dares to burn new ground. It provokes without closing its loops and rebukes without passing judgment.
Smoking as an abhorrent & destructive indulgence is taken as the moot point of argument between morality, righteousness and social responsibility on one hand and individualistic freedom of choice on the other (maimed one). What begins as the cocky John (Kafkaesque) Abraham’s reluctant battle to quit his addiction at the nagging of his wife (Ayesha Takia) and the coaxing of his freshly liberated squint-eyed pal (Ranbir) quickly turns into a nightmare from the deep dungeons of hell. K goes down to meet Paresh Rawal (Shri Baba Bangali of Sealdah) at his no-retreat Prayogshala and is forced into signing an agreement (tome) to the effect that he wishes to quit smoking. K acts irreverent, stubborn, incredulous and is outright disobedient at the apparent omnipotency of the Baba but is forced to fall in line when the default penalties start to come true. As part of his ‘treatment’, he loses his hearing, friends, brother, wife and finally his soul; that last treasured possession that defined his existence. His astitva finally dissolves in a pink ghoulish soul-soup. But then, wasn’t it his soul that had compelled him to do as he pleased? Not have to listen to anybody?
At the film’s promo-events, John spoke naively about the film being a timely message to the youth about the dangers of smoking but what unfolds is a tangential tale. Stephen King's Quitters Inc ' inspired' No Smoking is replete with black humour, delusional fantasies, paranoia (of the kind caused by withdrawal symptoms) and retributive gore attached to the difficulties of extreme choice. There are excesses like cartoon thought blurbs, quirky references (infidel castro castrated cigars) and an over exposed yellow, grease stained rusty underground atmosphere that’s too reminiscent of C grade torture flicks like Saw and Hostel.
No Smoking’s production values are top notch and out of sync with its target audience. There isn’t any. What target audience can a film which starts with quotes from Plato, Socrates & a Sinatra blurb and then ends with a mandatory Bipasha Basu item number have?
Therein lies NS’s identity crisis and its predictably short life. But here’s a niche film that dares to burn new ground. It provokes without closing its loops and rebukes without passing judgment.
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