More low comedy from the Dwapara
Am still following Kahaani Ekta ki Mahaabhaarat Ki (earlier posts here, here and here) on and off. Its amusement value has, alas, diminished. Ronit Roy’s performance as Bheeshma briefly threatened to salvage the show, but all those camera swooshes and whooshes will eventually make even the most personable actor look like an idiot. And the less said about the rest of the cast, the better. People keep telling me that Makarand Deshpande (Vyasa) is a really good actor but so far in this role he has spoken his lines in a manner which suggests that the scriptwriter just ran over his favourite pet. Very sullen and detached, definitely not the level of interest that you’d expect from a poet who has composed the greatest story ever and is getting it transcribed by a celestial being.
As discussed earlier, there are way too many of the Vyasa-Ganesha sutradhaar scenes anyway, and most of them are exceedingly dull. One unfortunate development is that the actor playing Ganesha has suddenly decided to start acting with his eyes (which are basically the only identifiable features on his face) and the editing being what it is on a Balaji production, this often produces inappropriate results: for instance, when Vyasa announces “Maine Ambika aur Ambalika ke saath niyog kiya” (“I steeped in as a surrogate to impregnate Ambika and Ambalika”), we get a reaction shot of Ganesha with his eyes widening and his eyebrows twitching excitedly. Not very restrained and Godlike. You almost expect him to say “Give me the details, quick!”
There isn't much to tell anyway. After an overwrought, faux-suspenseful build-up (where the presumably clueless viewer learns that the princesses are to do niyog not with the dashing Bheeshma but with a scruffy sage), Vyasa impregnates Ambika and Ambalika by shooting light beams into their navels from afar, whereupon they squeal and clutch their tummies, and princely babies emerge a few months later. All very pristine. But there are other, more deliberate digressions into low comedy.
Vichitraveerya (after big brother Bheeshma abducts three princesses for him to marry): Bhaiya, teen rajkumari! In mein se ek ke saath aap shaadi kar lo. (Three princesses! Why don’t you marry one of them?)
Bheeshma – determinedly celibate as ever – responds by taking out a suggestively shaped dagger with a downward-curving blade and waves it at the young king. I’m not sure what the message is here, but Vichitraveerya seems to get it.
Vichitraveerya: hee hee! Arre bhaiya, aap jaante hain ki main to sirf mazaak kar raha tha! (Brother, I was only joking! I’ll bed them all. Really.)
So Bheeshma smiles and puts away the dagger. Shortly after this, Vichitraveerya dies of indigestion, which suggests that purposeless banter has no place in the Dwapara Yuga.
In another scene, the wife of the bald Shakuni says something like “Yeh toh maine socha hi nahin tha!” (“I didn’t think of that”), upon which her husband points at his head and says “Sochne ke liye iss ka hona zaroori hai.” (“To be able to think, you need to have this.”) And the lady replies, “Accha, iss ka matlab hai ki mujhe bhi mundan karaana hoga?” (“So that means I’ll have to shave my head as well?”)
I’m willing to be open-minded about these scenes (after all, why shouldn’t these kings and princes have been just as buffoonish as the people on modern-day Ekta soaps?), but what I dislike is that all this is accompanied by those goddawful squeaky sound effects from the Kader Khan-Shakti Kapoor comedy sequences in 1980s films. It sounds like a family of mice running up and down a guitar chord, and it’s terribly grating. What I would really like to see is tomfoolery played out to stirring and heroic music. A few tips from Monty Python movies would be just the thing.
As discussed earlier, there are way too many of the Vyasa-Ganesha sutradhaar scenes anyway, and most of them are exceedingly dull. One unfortunate development is that the actor playing Ganesha has suddenly decided to start acting with his eyes (which are basically the only identifiable features on his face) and the editing being what it is on a Balaji production, this often produces inappropriate results: for instance, when Vyasa announces “Maine Ambika aur Ambalika ke saath niyog kiya” (“I steeped in as a surrogate to impregnate Ambika and Ambalika”), we get a reaction shot of Ganesha with his eyes widening and his eyebrows twitching excitedly. Not very restrained and Godlike. You almost expect him to say “Give me the details, quick!”
There isn't much to tell anyway. After an overwrought, faux-suspenseful build-up (where the presumably clueless viewer learns that the princesses are to do niyog not with the dashing Bheeshma but with a scruffy sage), Vyasa impregnates Ambika and Ambalika by shooting light beams into their navels from afar, whereupon they squeal and clutch their tummies, and princely babies emerge a few months later. All very pristine. But there are other, more deliberate digressions into low comedy.
Vichitraveerya (after big brother Bheeshma abducts three princesses for him to marry): Bhaiya, teen rajkumari! In mein se ek ke saath aap shaadi kar lo. (Three princesses! Why don’t you marry one of them?)
Bheeshma – determinedly celibate as ever – responds by taking out a suggestively shaped dagger with a downward-curving blade and waves it at the young king. I’m not sure what the message is here, but Vichitraveerya seems to get it.
Vichitraveerya: hee hee! Arre bhaiya, aap jaante hain ki main to sirf mazaak kar raha tha! (Brother, I was only joking! I’ll bed them all. Really.)
So Bheeshma smiles and puts away the dagger. Shortly after this, Vichitraveerya dies of indigestion, which suggests that purposeless banter has no place in the Dwapara Yuga.
In another scene, the wife of the bald Shakuni says something like “Yeh toh maine socha hi nahin tha!” (“I didn’t think of that”), upon which her husband points at his head and says “Sochne ke liye iss ka hona zaroori hai.” (“To be able to think, you need to have this.”) And the lady replies, “Accha, iss ka matlab hai ki mujhe bhi mundan karaana hoga?” (“So that means I’ll have to shave my head as well?”)
I’m willing to be open-minded about these scenes (after all, why shouldn’t these kings and princes have been just as buffoonish as the people on modern-day Ekta soaps?), but what I dislike is that all this is accompanied by those goddawful squeaky sound effects from the Kader Khan-Shakti Kapoor comedy sequences in 1980s films. It sounds like a family of mice running up and down a guitar chord, and it’s terribly grating. What I would really like to see is tomfoolery played out to stirring and heroic music. A few tips from Monty Python movies would be just the thing.
on Saturday, July 26th, 2008, 8:36 am in Humor, Religion, TV › 
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I had to see one of the episodes on youtube myself and now that I have, I regret it. Talk about a 300 hangover! It’s so bad, it’s funny. As cheezy as the original serial’s clothes etc were, I still think that the Chopra version rocked!
Fantastically cheesy! Check out Yudhistira’s gambling scene.
Shakuni is going to probably going to play ‘Shikhandi’ in later episodes. He sure sounds suspicious to me!
They messed with the story too, didn’t they? Wasn’t Draupadi in seclusion because it was the time of the month? Also, if all the women in that time had open and flowing tresses, what’s the big deal about Draupadi’s vow regarding her untied hair?
Fun times and yes…fantastically cheezy indeed!
interestingly the intro sequence on these show’s are done fairly well (dare i say anime style poses)
then the actual filming is done in the typical, horrible, soap style.
ouch. it is more stylized. the protagonists are more buff, and the sets more elaborate but the script doesnt hold a candle to the work done by Dr Rahi Masoom Raza for the original TV series.
In the obscure parlour game known as ‘Six shades of Jimmy’ - Dr Raza is just once removed from the original Jimmy :-). The Mahabharat and Jimmy… could Dr Raza be the real bolly sootradhar, a ganesha for our times?
I think you are quite elevating the Dwapar comedy to higher levels… its horrible. I saw the u-tube bits- Ater th first 18 minutes- its dreadful stuff. Horrible. How can you watch it?
er…with my eyes?
You mean there are people who actually watch this kind of stuff dished by Ekta Kapoor. One needs to be a zombie to watch such stuff. Watching such stuff is my idea of corporal punishment.