This was going to be a blog on a totally different topic, but Facebook changed it all.

A friend pointed out to a group on the social networking site which lists Indian media companies that refuse to pay people on time.

Named “Blacklist” and started by stylist Sapna Bhavnani, the group is full of complaints and horror stories of companies holding back payments for months together.
“Instead of paying huge and irrelevant amounts to stars, why don’t these producers pay their technicians,” reads a message on the group wall.

‘Blacklist’ has more than 2,500 members, all of whom have presumably been at the receiving end.

Increasingly, India’s media industry is being viewed as a booming, thriving sector, where corporate culture is making every process streamlined and transparent. Bollywood alone is a multi-million dollar industry, so is Indian television.

And yet, there have always been stories of non-payment of dues, or artists being asked to leave midway through a shoot. If you have any connection with this industry, you are bound to hear these tales.

The industry has seen two strikes in the last six months alone, and I would say the reason for both is basic lack of structure and transparency that plagues one of the most creative industries in the world.

The Federation of Western India Cine Employees (FWICE) estimates its membership to be around 45,000 but the number of people who work in this industry must be far more.

If the same thing happened in corporate or government office, things would be different. Why isn’t it the same in the creative field?

Surely it isn’t much to ask to be paid on time for services rendered. What do you think is the solution?

Somewhere in Bollywood, there has to be a movie-making machine.

All you do is insert a reel, change a few specifications (perhaps the hero’s name and occupation or the reason for a romantic obstacle with his leading lady) and wait for a “masala” movie to pop up, fresh and ready to hit unsuspecting audiences.

How else do you explain a movie like “Short Kut: The Con is On“?

This one is supposed to be a sometimes funny, sometimes emotional comedy about a struggling filmmaker and his double-crosser friend. It turns out to be neither.

Akshaye Khanna plays Shekhar, an aspiring filmmaker who believes in taking no shortcuts to success and is in love with actress Mansi (Amrita Rao).

Arshad Warsi plays Raju, a down-and-out actor desperately looking for a break. A producer promises to make a movie for him if he brings him a brilliant script. Raju steals the script written by Shekhar and the resulting film is a hit at the box-office.

Shekhar’s life pretty much collapses around him but he is determined to get back to cinema, which remains his passion. How he does so and gets his own against Raju forms the rest of the plot.

Given how much importance is given to Shekhar’s script for the film within the film, I am surprised director Neeraj Vora didn’t pay much attention to his own script, which is laden with holes.

At the heart of “Short Kut” is an interesting story idea, one borrowed rather heavily from the Malayalam film “Udayananu Tharam“.

However, the implementation of the idea is shoddy and half-hearted and does not make for good entertainment.

For a movie that talks of originality in Bollywood, it takes some shortcuts of its own and that is never a good sign.

Of the cast, Akshaye Khanna shows only glimpses of his immense acting talent, making you wish he would choose his roles wisely. Arshad Warsi, for all his comic timing, looks jaded.

“Short Kut” is a movie that will force you to look hard for positives and who knows you may even find them. No harm in trying, is there?

A feeling of numbness and disbelief is not uncommon after a movie-watching experience. Sometimes you are awed by the sheer vision of the director or the depth of a particular performance. Sometimes, it is a thought expressed, or an expression that stays with you.

But after watching “Kambakkht Ishq”, I was left numb at the thought someone could make such a bad film.

Yes, there is no other word for it. This extremely expensive film, with cameos by Hollywood stars and flashy fight sequences, isn’t quite the entertainer it promised to be.

Akshay Kumar is Viraj Shergill, a stuntman in Hollywood who likes to play the field. Aftab Shivdasani plays his younger brother, Lucky, who falls in love and gets married to Kamini (Amrita Arora).

Kareena Kapoor plays Simrita Rai, Kamini’s best friend and a part-time model and medical student who has a militant hatred of men, believing that they want “only one thing.”

Of course, in the tradition of Bollywood love stories, Viraj and Simrita hate each other at first sight and indulge in some mindless bickering in the first half.

There are also mindless song sequences, some corny double meaning innuendos, and jokes which lack punch and are often offensive — especially to women.

Then, to make matters worse, Viraj meets with an accident on the sets and ruptures his intestines. Guess who gets to operate on him? Yes, you guessed right.

So when Simrita operates on our hero, she mistakenly leaves behind a watch in his body.

Viraj walks out of the hospital with a watch lodged near his intestines and our heroine is left wondering how she can get him back on the operating table and get rid of the offensive object without being sued.

This is the problem the film focuses on in the second half of the film.
Hollywood actors Sylvester Stallone puts in an appearance as himself in two scenes as does Bond girl Denise Richards.

Richards even agrees to marry Viraj, before she is unceremoniously dumped for Kareena in the climax. And don’t miss the scene in which all of Hollywood stands up for “India’s national anthem” in the Kodak theatre. It’s hilarious, especially because it isn’t meant to be.

Of the performances, Jaaved Jaffrey and Boman Irani play some of the most mindless roles in film history. Kirron Kher, (who has perfected the loud, Punjabi mother act by now), hams it up as Kareena’s aunt and Aftab Shivdasani and Amrita Arora look like they would rather be home asleep in bed than on the sets of this film.

Kareena Kapoor is stuck with what is barely a role, and though she tries hard to pull it off, you feel no sympathy for her character. But it is Akshay Kumar who is the real disappointment.

Here is an actor who has managed to pull off some of the most badly written roles of recent times — whether “Welcome” or a “Singh is Kinng” — he manages to look good in a bad film.

In “Kambakkht Ishq”, his magic fails and his famed penchant for humour is nowhere to be seen.

This is a movie that is so bad, you have to see it to believe it. So go buy tickets.

By international standards, Kabir Khan’s “New York” is an extraordinarily ordinary film. It hasn’t impressed critics abroad and reviews in international media haven’t been very charitable.

But even if you were to ignore the mediocre performances and shallow characterisation, “New York” does raise several issues about life for South Asian Americans after 9/11.

Khan says that while researching the film he discovered “a huge volume of prejudice” and at least 1,200 people from different nationalities who were detained on the “basis of suspicion alone”.

“New York” puts the spotlight on that prejudice through the story of Samir, an American of Indian origin who turns to terrorism after he is picked up by the FBI and brutally tortured for months only because he took some photographs of the twin towers for a school project.

The movie already looks set to be a monster hit in India, with massive collections in the first weekend after its release.

It’s got all the ingredients of a blockbuster: a star cast, an emotive story line and a viewpoint very sympathetic to Indians.

Khan is emphatic that unlike most Indian films on terrorism that are often jingoistic “New York” provides “a balanced view“.

But the question is: is it more balanced? Isn’t “New York” a one-sided look at a very complicated issue dividing the world? Isn’t the film likely to fan more hatred and anger with its underlying anti-Americanism?

(Reuters photo: The cast of ‘New York’ poses for a photo at a news conference in Mumbai)

A new reality show in which a bunch of suitable men vie for the hand of Bollywood starlet Rakhi Sawant is an interesting twist on the prevailing custom of Indian men choosing their brides.

"Rakhi Sawant ka Swayamvar", which harks back to the ancient tradition of princesses choosing a groom from a line-up, began airing on Monday night, pitting more than a dozen men from varied backgrounds -- and with varying singing and dancing abilities -- wooing Sawant, a colourful personality known more for her antics off camera.

It may be yet another publicity stunt for Sawant, who claims she will marry one of the men at the end of the series in a traditional wedding ceremony.

It may be yet another move by the channel, fighting for eyeballs and advertisers, to score high TRPs - or Television Rating Points that show how popular a programme is.

Still, it offers some respite from the female stereotyping on the Indian airwaves: from ads that show women as being incapable of any decision save the right cooking oil for the family, to shows that glorify child marriage and female foeticide under the guise of ushering in social change.

A soap featuring a child bride married at the age of eight claims it "very sensitively portrays the plight of children who are unwittingly forced into marriage, in the name of tradition".

A brief blink-and-you-miss-it disclaimer at the end of the show says child marriage is illegal.

Competing for shock and awe value on the same channel is another soap that features a village where newborn baby girls are drowned in a pool of milk.

Not recommended viewing in a country where the gender ratio is so skewed in some states that it has set alarm bells ringing. The networks claim they are raising awareness of these "social evils".

But that is not a primary concern; they have TRPs to deliver, viewers to satisfy and advertisers to please.

Sure, TV is capable of sparking debate and bringing about change, but for a casual viewer seeking an insight into how India treats its women, what's on primetime telly is scarcely redeeming, is it?

It was the late 80s and I was in school, contemptuous of rules and looking for a cause to rebel against parental interference. I was too young to run away and wise enough not to push it so as to end up without dinner.

I was itching for an icon, a just cause to let out my angst, when I saw him for the first time on our black and white television one night.

I could have sworn Michael Jackson was looking straight at me and I stared right back, unabashed, mesmerized. “He knows,” I remember thinking.

Back then we had no cable connection and only a single channel — the government-run Doordarshan — that like a venerable grandfather took our education in its hands, combining crop rotation with calculus and regional films with Indian classical music.

Some urbane, convent-educated, upper middleclass families did listen to “Western Music” comprising mostly Bach, Mozart and the occasional Belafonte.

But when MJ unashamedly burst into the screen during a programme on Doordarshan called the Hot Tracks, with his hip gyrations, metal-studded jacket, top hat and sheer energy — it was just too much.

“Why would any self-respecting adult declare he’s ‘Bad’ on national TV? What’s happening to lyrics?” my father seethed with righteous indignation. But I wasn’t paying attention.

I had got my icon, the man who was to be my hero for the next 10 years.

Over slamming of my bedroom door, angry bursts from the stereo, breaking into the moonwalk in the shower and lifesize posters inside closet doors.

Looking back, I know I was doing exactly what millions of teenagers across the world were doing. I do not know of any other celebrity who became as much a youth icon as MJ did from New York to Tokyo, Sydney to Alaska.

When MTV came to India, I immediately fell in love with “music videos” and Michael Jackson was the master of them.

Far from the generation of soul singers perched on straight-backed chairs, MJ exploded into the scene, shook up a generation and forced it to look at pop like they’ve never done before.

Like a million others I was unable to breathe, unable to look away, swearing to him that I will never fall in love with anyone else. Ever.

But when globalization brought with it access to western music and the entire world of rock, jazz and country opened up to me, I am ashamed to say my single-minded devotion slowly gave way to something stronger, something different. I had many suitors now. And Jackson was a school girl’s crush.

With his nose jobs and drastically changing looks, I squirmed in embarrassment remembering my juvenile dogged love for a man who was so clearly a “has-been”.

Until last week, that is. News of his sudden death made me sit up from my sleep-deprived stupor. “Michael Jackson is dead.”

As I write this I keep asking myself, how could I have not seen this coming? This is his game. This is what he does best.

Look at him, dead for three days and still able to shake up the charts, kick the crowd in the teeth and hold them spellbound in disbelief.

It’s a sappy thing to say but I just have to. Sometimes dead lovers remind you of what you could have had and what you made of your choices.

When I think of MJ, I will have to find a way to separate the debt-ridden man, mired in ugly controversies and struggling with his personal appearance from the “imperfect genius” he was, larger than life and stylish as hell.

Coming as it does nearly three months after a big-ticket Bollywood release — Kabir Khan’s “New York” is a relief.

The story of three friends whose lives change in the aftermath of the September 11 attacks in New York, the film manages to hold your attention for the most part, mainly because of some astute direction and its performances.

Sam (John Abraham), Maya (Katrina Kaif) and Omar (Neil Nitin Mukesh) are three friends who lead a carefree life on the grounds of New York State University. 

Omar harbours a secret crush for Maya and is devastated to learn she loves Sam. He moves away from their lives, only to re-enter it seven years later, in totally different circumstances.

Why he does so and the circumstances emerging from that incident form the gist of the story. The film is a story of three people and their relationship over the years but it is also a comment on the aftermath of terrorism and the practices we use to curb this dreaded menace.

Like I said earlier, Khan manages to hold your attention for most of the film, and there are some moments of pure magic. 

Of course, the film is a very simplistic version of facts, with Russians being portrayed as arms suppliers and the FBI headquarters shown to be in New York when it is in fact in Washington DC.

But such are the trappings of commercial Hindi cinema.

Also, I wish Khan had chopped off about 30 minutes from the running time. At more than three hours, this film grates on your nerves sometimes. 

But you are willing to forgive these failings because “New York” has its heart in the right place.

The three main leads all share a great chemistry on screen and it adds so much to the film. John Abraham is brilliant, especially in the second half, as is Neil Nitin Mukesh. 

The one who surprised me the most in this film though, was Katrina Kaif. Despite having the least screen time, she impresses with a fresh and riveting performance.

If you do have the time this weekend, I would say buy tickets for “New York”. It is a film that will grow on you. Also, it is better than much of the fare Bollywood churned out this year.

(Click here to watch video)

Bollywood and Indian culture is getting plenty of attention worldwide — thanks to the “Slumdog Millionaire” effect.

Danny Boyle’s rags-to-riches romance about a poor Indian boy competing in a TV game show scooped eight Academy Awards earlier this year.

The film’s global box-office success brought its relatively unknown young stars on the global stage (with lead actress Freida Pinto slated to star in Woody Allen’s next project).

In the U.S., Bollywood’s arc of influence is creating thriving ancillary industries and garnering buzz for the likes of celebrity stylist Shalini Vadhera.

The Los Angeles entrepreneur, with her Global Goddess beauty products, sits atop a business that brings in a million dollars annually.

“I always feel like Obama winning for the African Americans is ‘Slumdog’ winning for us as Indian Americans and South Asians was fantastic,” she says.

“Because it created an awareness that there are a lot of talented South Asians out there whether it’s in the field of entertainment or fashion or beauty and it’s been wonderful for my business.”

Bollywood and its steady infiltration into Western culture is also boosting the profile of Rajan Shah, a self-taught player and music producer.

“The other day I was walking in Hollister and guess what music they were playing. They were playing ‘Jai Ho’ by A.R. Rahman,” says Shah, who is based in Washington D.C.

“And not just A.R. Rahman but bhangra music is everywhere now.”

What do you think? ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ and Bollywood may have helped Indian culture make inroads into America, but is it just a temporary phase?

The last Hindi film I watched in a theatre was Nagesh Kukunoor’s “Tasveer”, an improbable tale about a man who has ‘photographic visions’ and can revisit the past. Then Bollywood took a break and I hoped it would serve the industry well.

After all, isn’t that what a break is supposed to do? Refresh and enliven, so that you can come back feeling fresher.

Unfortunately, Bollywood seems to have gone from bad to worse in that time — if you go by the first release since the film producers’ strike — Vivek Sharma’s “Kal Kissne Dekha”, starring debutante Jackky Bhagnani and Vaishali Desai. A jaded, disjointed and totally mediocre film about a boy who can see into the future.

Bhagnani plays Nihal Singh, who comes from Chandigarh to Mumbai for higher studies. It is another story that his college, hostel and surroundings look nothing like Mumbai. There he meets Misha (Desai), the arrogant, rich girl who hates him at first sight.

We are also introduced to Professor Varma, played by Rishi Kapoor in an ugly wig, and told that protagonist Nihal has the power to foretell the future.

Eventually, after misunderstandings, fights and a lot of meaningless song sequences, Nihal and Misha fall in love.

With that settled, director Sharma moves on to the action part of the film, introducing the “terrorist” element — a plot to plant bombs all over Mumbai.

I am not sure what this film was meant to be — a college romance, a thriller, an action film or the one genre that encompasses all three — Bollywood masala.

It ends up being nothing, thanks to the barely-there script and the director’s and producer’s obsession with showcasing Jackky Bhagnani’s talent (or non-talent).

It seems Jackky is in every possible frame, showing off his rippling muscles, dancing moves or facial expressions. Which is fine when your father is the producer of the film, but there is such a thing as overdoing it, isn’t there?

The young actor has a decent screen presence and definitely has the body, but needs to sharpen his acting and diction skills a great deal. Vaishali Desai is reduced to a stereotypical Hindi film heroine, wearing skimpy clothes, dancing in exotic locations and screaming for the hero to save her in the climax.

Riteish Deshmukh is wasted in a convoluted side track.

The locales and action sequences are good enough. But after two months of no movies, this offering makes you wish Bollywood would take another, much longer break. That is definitely not a good thing.

Deepika Padukone is one of the most charming actresses you could hope to meet.

I have spoken to her several times and she has always been extremely polite, composed and not given to overt displays of emotion.

That is why, at a Mumbai event to unveil the first look of her forthcoming film “Love Aaj Kal”, I was surprised to see the 21-year-old at a loss for words.

She barely managed to speak more than two sentences when asked to do so by co-star Saif Ali Khan, and even while speaking those she stumbled.

“I am really nervous today, I don’t know why,” Padukone said.

Later, the actress confessed that if she hadn’t stopped talking then, she probably would have broken down.

“This film means so much to me, I do not know if anyone else will ever understand that,” she said.

I nodded. I probably wouldn’t understand. A film, like most works of art is best known to the people who created it, and even though the rest of the world may judge it, they may never fully know it.