Zilla Ghaziabad

This is unabashed celebration of violence. In the confines of a theatre this is a loud unabashed, unaccountable socially insensitive festivity of violence. Such scripts are bound to spill on the sheets. The film maker is no polemicist taking on an orderly society that is yearning for change. When such violence is marketed with consistency it is bound to spread on to the streets. The blood drenched scripts spill into the streets. Suddenly our newsprint is red!! The heroes of our cinema are refracted on the streets. Take this cinema and with it the ones who are influenced by it. It is not an exposure on how we have lost it. It is a glorification of how we can make it big. It is an enticing road map pushing you to believe in the brawl and the unaccountable dust it can throw up. Forget sociologically, even within the precincts of a crass predictable Bollywood masala, this product does not work. Simply doesn’t. The Gangs of Ghaziabad is that way different from the Gangs of Waseypur.
Journey into a malevolent and male violent Ghaziabad. Watch seamless, senseless reels of violence. Rush to the nearby wash basin to wash your hands and seemingly stained clothes, rush to the mirror and check if you have lost your sensitivity. The script remains the stuntman’s delight and a challenge to a sociologist. Without sounding fascist and daring to trespass into the space of the creative artist (?), the time to loudly call such cinema as unhealthy has more than just arrived. Surely this is not even pretentiously art. Whether it is commerce is a moot point. At a time when far less damaging cinema is made to deal with muscle flexing pressure groups, it is tragic that cinema of this variety finds such comfortable place and reference in the space of entertainment. In all of the 144 minutes there is not a sombre moment, nor a sober thought. Entertainment thy name is causeless, thoughtless orgy of blood guns and riot. Give a smooch or a suggestive scene in bed, the moral keepers of “Mera Bharat Mahan” are up in arms. Some snide take on a religion, a local leader or a specific social group, there are protests and debates aplenty. In contrast, what when such high voltage violence is dished out. Jinhe Naaz hai……..woh kahan hai, kahan hai, kahan hai!!
Story line: The bad guys (Arshad Warsi, Ravi Kishen, Aushotosh Rana et al) are terrible; the good guys (Vivek Oberoi and family inclusive of Chandrachud Singh turn bad at the drop of a hat); the law men are anarchic (Sunjay Dutt and team). On the streets of Ghaziabad they are constantly mouthing profanity and shooting people with the ease of other social niceties like greeting strangers and friends. Now within minutes into the movie, you have guys just shooting and killing and you have all the characters just participating in some mayhem that has caught up with the streets of Ghaziabad.
The drama unfolds and ‘unkindly blood rushes’, the stars are performing stunts mid-air in physics defying spells. It is embarrassing to watch the more than fifty (even at the waist!!) Sanjay Dutt dance and act as if he were an adolescent. Surma filled Arshad Warsi fails to click as evil, Vivek Oberoi is lacking in punch. It is only Zarina Wahab and the ever reliable Paresh Rawal who do anything worthwhile.
This is avoidable stuff – nay must be avoided stuff. Every ticket bought is an encouragement to the thought that you can go about shooting men shooting without cause put them together and call it cinema. L. Ravichander.