It is once again promos versus the actual product. Dil Chahta Hai, in many ways,blunders along the Aks way—while the ads and 'trailers' give the impressionof it being a light, breezy, coming-of-age movie about friendship and angst, the realfootage is often dour and slow, with too much of grim and 'gray' lighting. Thedirector is obviously out to make a different kind of film—something in the Bollywoodavant garde mould, which combines the early Vinod Chopra, Bombay Boys and Raakh,that old Aamir Khan arty adventure. This is art cinema with the new-age,Hollywood-inspired sensibility, but Farhan Akhtar is Javed Akhtar and Honey Irani'sson. The father, of course, has long since retired from serious screenwriting, but themother had been behind the rise of the '90s marka NRI mush. She scripted quite a fewof the DDJSs and the DTPHS. The son's debut, therefore, had to touch base somewherewith the origin. So, the new-age story gets the familiar twist towards the end—the'mod' heroine becomes queasy and traditional, and the climax takes you back tothe weddings with long, flowing robes.
Dil Chahta Hai could have been a landmark film. The friendship shown initiallytries to break the yeh dosti hum naheen todenge type of mould. Friends act morelike real-time buddies. This element of fun, insincerity and male bonding is actually aSalim-Javed byproduct—remember Amitabh Bachchan's mausi scene in Sholay?
Farhan's attempt to revive that strand in a modern idiom gives us attitude-drivenimages—a cool, gelled, naughty Aamir and a carefree, bemused Saif. Their charactershave a novelty reminiscent of the old Amitabh-Vinod Khanna-Amitabh-Shashi Kapoorchemistry. But it also presents a reticent, boring, word-chewing Akshaye Khanna tryinghard to be some kind of Bambaiyya Marlon Brando. Clearly, the director is still trying tolearn the ropes. Somewhere along, the kid in Farhan also comes out—friends breaktheir bond on silly trifles, characters shout suddenly and situations start getting triteand repetitive. There is a lot of play with mood, the slow pace, in fact, is an attempt todownplay the chutzpah and bring out a dry attitude, but the effort fails to succeed.Chiefly because the director tries to tread the thin borderline of both his parents'legacies. A more consistent adherence to the Salim-Javed ethic would have suited the toughdemeanour better, but the invisible intrusion of Honey Irani mars the mood.
Dryness appears devoid of sufficient subject matter—it also remains basicallyGeneration Y's half-baked effort to become men. Then there is no dimension, whichunderlines the emotion behind the hardiness. Taken from obvious western numbers, music byShankar-Ehsaan-Loy is peppy but surprisingly off-colour in parts also. The choreographyand cinematography too give a laid-back, casual look, which, because of the lack oftension, appear flat and listless.
