Lone Man Standing...

Watching My Name Is Khan earlier today, I felt like I’d had a very poor version of my all time favourite Chocolate ice cream. The critics? Well, Liars…Liars…(that’s what our protagonist calls every I-gotta-theory-to-follow fundamentalist)

The film starts off in a pretty no-nonsense, I’m-finally-here-to-do-business-after-four-lousy-films-in-a-row fashion, lifting your spirits about the possibility of leaving the hall young and fresh. The Coke placed in your seat, special people strutting into the hall 20 minutes into the film, mobile phones beeping amid silence and weight—all do not seem to matter once Khan takes centrestage and goes about his business meticulously. The first 30 minutes would definitely leave you pleasantly surprised and in my case, I was already thinking of how wonderful this review here would look like.

My Name Is Khan is a diligent attempt by writer-director Karan Johar at foraying into, let’s call it, proper cinema. The plot essays the life of our wed leads (Shah Rukh Khan as the Asperger Syndrome victim Rizwan Khan and Kajol as Mandira Rathore) gone horribly wrong post 9/11, and the attempt of our protagonist Khan to mend ways by undertaking an over-the-top, unrealistic journey to fulfill his dream of reuniting with the love of his life. That’s it. Simple as that. During the course of Khan’s journey of course, Johar wishes to squeeze in several messages he intends to convey through the film. The predominant one, of course, being the one proclaiming all Muslims aren’t terrorists. Fine, point taken Khan, however, must speak these words to the President of America to get to reunite with wife Mandira. Another one being ‘there are only two kinds of folks in this place of ours here, good and bad’. Fine, point taken. Script’s all right. The screenplay, the manifestation of the script in the characteristic Johar fashion, however, is reminiscent of his previous works and it throws the film into a slump it never recovers from.

For instance, the sub plots infused into the script are hopelessly naïve, narrow-minded and avoidable. Take for example Khan putting his President expedition to a standstill and singlehandedly steering a village in Georgia ravaged by Hurricane Katrina, to safety while the whole of America does not get the idea. Or for that matter, the rather out-of-place sequence of him besieged by a Jihadi terrorist. Another problem I have with the film is the sweeping, loose way in which America is portrayed in its post 9/11 scenario, with every fair skinned guy smashing TV sets in stores owned by Muslims, ripping apart burqas, or even Mandira’s heavily reputed beauty store going bankrupt over night. The ‘personal tragedy’ that befalls upon Khan and Mandira too is extremely shallow, out of sync with sense. The film gets very preachy in the second half, its precept getting nauseating beyond a point. Oh, and the mundane Media hullabaloo in Hindi cinema. Hell, stereotypical. This could’ve only been a Hindi film, rather only a Karan Johar film.

Yet, despite all the disastrous shortcomings in screenplay, My Name Is Khan has got its heart in the right place. It is an earnest script, with sincere things to tell the world. Some might find it moving, inspirational and revolutionary. For me though, the execution was a dumb pantomime, expected to render viewers ‘Ah………………………..’ and put endless tissue paper to use. Might’ve worked for a few. Sorry, doesn’t work for me. Instead of paying a little respect to this thing called subtlety which is a very powerful tool in films aspiring to be effectively preachy, My Name Is Khan’s emotional melodrama shamelessly, unrestrainedly pounces upon you and pins you to the floor. That’s when you’d realize the guy’s missed the trick again. Noble intentions, but business gone woefully wrong.

The film, however, gets a bingo with its casting. Tanay Chedda is a wonderfully gifted young actor. His presence in the opening few moments of the film is deeply moving, thanks to an amazing portrayal of young Khan. The film also benefits from the inspired casting of veteran Zarina Wahab as Khan’s mother. Wahab aptly captures the sentiments and emotions of the average morally-preachy Indian mother. Yuvaan Makaar as little Sameer Khan (son of Rizwan and Mandira), Jimmy Shergill as Rizwan’s elder brother Zakir Khan, and the rest of the ensemble do a good enough job. Kajol as Mandira puts in a restrained, simmering performance. Natural as ever, Kajol encompasses her character with a sense of maturity that has experience written all over it.

Profiting enormously from the writers, Shah Rukh Khan is outstanding as the mumbling, reclusive, queer, autistic protagonist. We’ve never seen him act with this pedigree. Shunning the temptations of getting carried away by the nature of the character and reducing him to a cartoon, SRK delivers what is by far the best acting performance in a lead role in Hindi cinema for a very long time. Watch him in that sequence where he hides his countenance and gleams into his palms when Mandira proposes marriage, the homily he speaks at the Memorial meet in Georgia, the airport interrogation ordeal in the beginning of the film, or even the excellently executed voice-overs throughout the film. The character tugs hard at your heartstrings even long after you’ve left the hall. Now and then, SRK does pleasantly surprise. We felt so watching Darr, Swades and Chak De India. In almost all his other films, we’ve seen Shah Rukh Khan—the superstar on celluloid, not the flesh and blood of the character. Screw the film, I’m privileged to have watched this film for this act. This is astonishingly good acting, and labeling it anything lesser than that would be denying well deserved approbation for art of extraordinary pedigree.

You WANT to like a film of this nobility. You rue, however, about Johar's conventionally awry treatment of a promising script. Watch it definitely, for Shah Rukh Khan—the mindblowing actor.

Rating:- **1/2