ZOR... SOUND AND FURY

We have to find a desi equivalent to that dismissive Americanism: tell that to the Marines! After goiing through the decibel assault of Zor, we are forced to say : tell that to the long-suffering journos. Especially when you make an intrepid journalist the hero of a familiar story in which over-familiar villains, picked from the assorted box of gift wrapped desi villainy, run amuck. If at all there is anything new in this high-pitched harangue, it is debutant (in Hindi) director Sivan’s touching faith in the power of over-statement. Given his track record, we expected far more sanity and a rational narrative where people stay in character and not too much violence is done to our sensibility in the name of populist story-telling.

Zor comes with the exhortation: “Never underestimate the Force”. The force of what? Sunny Deol’s formidable biceps to which Sushmita Sen clings as she does to her worn-out Miss Universe glamour? Or the repetitive mantra of Hindustan being the land where Mandir-Masjid should co-exist in harmony while conscienceless politicians, fake Godmen and minority leaders with underworld connections let loose communal riots for their own ends, while the honest DIG and hero’s father goes to prison on a trumped up charge? And the son goes on a one man mission to nail the real villains and bring back his misguided Muslim buddy (Milind Gunaji) to the path of true nationalism? So what else is new? Unfortunately, when the above scenario is re-spooled for our edification, it neither educates nor entertains because the script alternates between hysterical preaching and mindless killing. Yet another conscientious hero - so imaginative to call him Arjun to invoke the righteous warrior! -- takes on the “evil troika”. This phrase is evidently much favoured by the publicity handout to describe Swami Satyanand, smeared with a Chandraswami-sized bindi (Mohan Agashe), a devious Muslim leader Shah Alam (Om Puri) who favours a squadron of black-suited bodyguards, and an anti-national minister whose screen name is Sharad Patil (who speaks with a marked Marathi accent just in case we miss the connection).

The story and screenplay by NK Maharajan shows a woeful lack of geographical knowledge. The action veers from good old Mumbai to the Himalayan snow-clad peaks to Rajasthan’s undulating sands without a word of explanation or sequential logic. Jeeva, the cinematographer, is obviously intent on capturing furious horses thundering across the snow, motorbikes careening off glazed ice patches, camels and dupatta-draped damsels disporting themselves on golden sands and perched on picturesque jharokas. All to the accompaniment of ear-splitting digital sound which destroys nuances of spoken words — Sunny Deol usually has a nice touch with the quiet aside but Zor compels him to deliver thundering set speeches.

To underline the topicality, there are bomb blasts, Hindu-Muslim riots over a piece of land claimed by both for a mandir and masjid, a pious old Muslim-played predictably by AK Hangal who speaks in Gandhian idiom but even this ploy fails. The Hangal character and his pretty daughter exist only to justify how their death turns the crack BSP officer Iqbal Khan (Gunaji) into a terrorist working for a Muslim cause.

It is a pity that a sensitive and urgent issue like a Muslim’s threatened identity is reduced to sloganeering and the switching of loyalties is offensively casual. More realism and fewer declamations might have saved the day. Worse is in store for the women in the film. Sushmita Sen is supposed to be a journalist from the rival daily but her witless capers and even more witless colleagues are an insult to journalists. She tries to stall and then steal Arjun’s papers to get hot copy for her paper. When the silly, giddy girl is caught, the hero gives her a stinging slap and presto! She falls in love! Dina Pathak and Deepanjali supply the sentimental angle as the doting grandmother and irritatingly chirpy sister. Do filmi sisters have to be so irritatingly chirpy?

Agosh, the music-making trio comes up with a striking score but the background music is uniformly deafening. Obviously, the entire unit believes that bigger and louder the better. They have not pondered over the sub-title of their film. It should be changed to: “Never underestimate the intelligence of the audience”. The hero trusts his brawn more than his brain — and he is supposed to be a brilliant investigative journalist! — and expects his musculature to carry the film’s dead weight. Alas, Sunny Deol is no Atlas and the film is really not worth the effort.