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City of dreams 2 review

City of dreams 2 review


Second season city ​​of dreams it has more pulp, almost no juice, says Srihari Nair.

Season 1 Nagesha Kukunura city ​​of dreamsfor all its meatiness, sought to portray an epic vision of Mumbai’s corruption.

You can find this vision featured on the cover of the show, which depicts a fleet of fishing boats – this original iconography of Mumbai’s spirit as well as its sins – competing with the metropolitan skyline for screen space.

The web series season 1 managed to give us a smut on each of its characters while keeping us in close proximity to the basic humanity of each one.

I also felt that the show was surprisingly sexy because while it was primarily about pigs, we were nonetheless dealing with a set of visceral, adorable, multi-dimensional pigs.

Season 2, however, drops all pretense of depth: it’s “pulp served straight up” (definitions of categories are important, especially at a time like this, when a great B-movie, the darn enjoyable Sarpatta Parambarai, comes up). to the status of a heartbreaking masterpiece).

If you want to know what “pulp served straight up” is, check out Dream city 2 for example, the following incident occurs between a corporate brat and his fiancée in a Japanese restaurant.

Bride: I like how cheeky you are.

Corporate brat: I hope you like my dick.

The aforementioned beat feels more like a defining characteristic than an anomaly this time around, and if you find beats like this tasteless, you won’t get too far into the season.

After all, the most interesting episodes of the second season, including fellatio inside a parked car, seem to be invented by a screenwriter with a keyboard between his legs.

The swollen writing may have paved the way for some excellent exchanges, but unlike the first season, these exchanges are not balanced this time around by trying to understand the texture of feelings and thoughts.

On that subject, here’s another throbbing chatter that’s going on between Ameya Gaikwad of Atul Kulkarni and an up-and-coming badass politician.

Ameya Gaikwad: You are said to be the new tendulkar of student politics. What’s your name Sachin?

Explosive politician: Mahesh.

The second season is replete with such sizzling conversations, but no behavior is seen.

Each character was reduced to one or two salable ‘adjectives’, but no one ever moved as if with a real ‘verb’.

The show wants to be a subtle indictment of the Indian democratic system, but with the exception of the active players, the supporting characters as well as the faces that make up the crowd seem equally lobotomized.

I think I know why things seem different this time.

Season 1 came out of Nagesh Kukunur’s curiosity about Mumbai, whose plates were shifting where new centers of power were being formed. (In this New Order, Khargar was shown to be gradually replacing South Mumbai as the haunt of choice for stinky secrets).

The show looked pretty boring, but Kukunur had a fast-paced outside world giving a surge of Negative Abilities due to the constant pressure that caused the latent currents to suddenly come to the surface, and we had to interact with people, not types. .

Much of the action in Season 2 takes place in living rooms and boardrooms, mansions and dark warehouses. External shots are clearly too hasty and do not provide the necessary georeferencing.

Therefore, you don’t feel like there is a city in the background creating a force field of sex and death. And so, although the show continues to look uninteresting, the confrontations that crackled last time seem strange this time for his sake.

It was as if the emotional strength, the inner strength, had completely disappeared from the story.

The story picks up where the first edition left off: Ameya Gaikwaid, paralyzed after an assassination attempt, mourns the death of his son and the loss of power that was orchestrated by his daughter, Chief Minister Purnima Gaikwad (Priya Bapat), who is simultaneously striving to lay the foundation for a cleaner form of government and keep their sexual orientation secret.

There are a dozen other stakeholders in this story, and like a webshow, the goal is to keep the story moving (the fight between father and daughter eventually comes to a boil) while also taking us deeper into the lives of the characters. individual stakeholders.

But Mumbai, the object of their quest, is made up of only a few tabloid obsessions (Riots, Subway Construction, Remote Controlled Chief Minister Paradox), and so when the characters try to testify to their power over this piece of land, they, seems to be spewing pearls into the void.

And they utter the most banal aphorisms of art: “Power is money”; “There is no peace for the wicked”; “Imitation is the best form of flattery”, not to mention banality, Casablanca and Godfather.

And as if they were included, we have the journalistic clichés that make up the titles of the Episodes: Moment of Truth; Skeletons in the closet; Collateral damage. Just to keep up with the fantasy, I could imagine Nagesh Kukunur stating in an interview, “You see… all my characters are grey.”

It was clear that the main characters, since they exist in such a meaty atmosphere, must continue to discover new dimensions for themselves, otherwise they will begin to burden the viewer.

And while Priya Bapat (knows when to speak on camera and when to just stand back and let her lover take over), Ejaz Khan (tough, classy performer, equally adept at showing us the resourcefulness of collision specialist Wasim Khan and his personal struggles), Atul Kulkarni (elevates the sketchy shots simply with his understanding of the Maharashtrian psyche) are amazing, their characters begin to seem like talking portraits as the episodes progress.

We watch with embarrassment as their inner life and their natural reflexes are slowly depleted.

The brief for every actor seems to be this (and it smacks of the classic Om Puri from Kukunur’s own film). Bollywood is calling): “You must look and sound like a smiling killer.”

The pursuit of dullness intensifies so much that the idealistic reporter played by Githika Tyagi starts acting like a loser, a relentless idiot who needs to be shaken up.

The same kind of tyranny is felt on another occasion, when the scene of lesbian lovemaking is interrupted by an overly sincere boyfriend of one of the girls. “Shhh, boy; can’t you just shut up and let the girls do it?” I almost burst out.

I have enjoyed Ameyya Gaikwad’s quarrels with a snooty young politician who once eluded a cunning fox and who now reserves for Gaikwad the finest Marathi swear words even as he goes along with every plan the old hand concocts.

But with the exception of this arc, people in the second season mostly speak with the empty confidence of a person applauding themselves in front of a mirror, and so are quickly knocked down by someone else who has better practiced this routine.

Sushant Singh is added to the mix this time as the surly, cigar-chewing South Indian donna Anna, who speaks exclusively in telegrammatic sentences and carries Tamil cinema’s penchant for superficial sadism.

Anna is so unequivocal that you can’t classify him as anything more than an unwise career move for an actor.

Sachin Pilgaonkar’s Jagdish Gurav is the only one whose scope has been expanded and the meaning of character deepened, at least to some cited measure. Pilgaonkar cleverly turns the raisins of caresses into whispers, endowing them with a kind of self-doubt, and so you get an inside look at this invariably two-faced man.

Gurav is a cold-blooded bastard with no longing, no permanent human attachments, and in the world created by Kukunur, Gurav feels the least out of place.

There are two love stories, one exaggerated, the other implied, and only one of them, I expect, will be greeted with applause by literal-minded critics.

There is a love story by Sandeep Kulkarni and Flora Saini in which an ordinary middle-class man falls in love with a mole far beyond him, and the vicious tenderness of this section is reminiscent of the tango of Pam Grier and Robert Froster in Jackie Brown.

Now compare this charming, unassuming chemistry to what develops between the aforementioned Corporate Spunk and his fiancée.

It’s a love story that I’m sure will make most critics shed their liberal tears.

And yet, the whole arc in which the Brat opens a new leaf and his fiancée (Shriyam Bhagnani, I guess, not a professional actress, but her empty eyes work for her character) becomes the conscience of the series, struck me as a bigger lie than all the fucking early episodes.

Love stories teetering on the brink of danger, affections on the verge of change, plans that can turn around in the blink of an eye – there’s always something going on in Season 2. city ​​of dreams.

Lack of imagination is not the show’s real problem.

His problem is the same as our funniest stand-up comedians, who are smart but not deep enough to keep you interested in their flamboyance.

Of course, there’s always something going on in the second season. city ​​of dreams; and that is because The Indian Pig—complete with its excesses, its demons, its self-deception—when released, is sure to give rise to a story of constant twists and turns.

But the big aesthetic truth, I believe, is this: when an artist has true vision, he keeps the pigs from running away.

City Of Dreams 2 is streaming on Disney+ Hotstar.

Rediff Rating:


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