This is the second worst movie I've ever seen in my life (the first being Monsters by Gareth Edwards), but to explain why however is complicated. A story with an unlikable character is fine, Scott Pilgrim was one of the freshest offerings we've seen in recent cinema and the title character couldn't be more of a pathetic dick. Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans was a story entirely about a maniac cop who uses and brutalizes others and how the system allows people like him to exist.
Laila, the film's protagonist, is selfish, moody, pitiful, takes advantage of her disability, consistently and effortlessly avoids consequence or karmic retribution for her horrible behavior and in the end, having learned nothing, having gained nothing and having treated the people around her like garbage, she learns to love herself, which is represented metaphorically by, no joke, having Laila end the film by going on a date with herself and giggling flirtatiously at herself in a mirror.
Bad Lieutenant this is not, the story goes out of its way to paint Laila as a beautiful human being despite her numerous short-comings and lack of any redeeming quality besides the inherent sadness behind being physically handicapped and then ends by having the people around her reaffirm their happiness with her and having her realize the deep love she's learned to allow herself.
The film is riddled with countless other flaws, writing that seems to rely on cinematography to tell its story and cinematography that is unclear and obfuscated. Kalki Koechlin seems to be a sort of anti-Christopher Nolan in her incompetence at relaying vital information. Scenes appear and disappear with no function, even as introspection or down-time. Characters are introduced and dropped having plenty of screen-time and no influence on the plot, which is thin enough as is, then leaving without explanation. The director is so frightened by the idea of having a tense scene for even a moment that the movie will drop levity into a scene the very moment a character is given a tough situation or bad news, just so the audience doesn't feel uncomfortable for even a second.
But every single complaint, big or small, that I could lob at the movie is overshadowed by the writer's crippling love and forgiveness for a character who has an ugly heart.
This is not the indie masterpiece that's going to bring much needed representation to cerebral palsy. It's not cultural touch-stone that will introduce or represent Indian culture or cinema to international audiences to any meaningful degree. It's a selfish fantasy by this generation's worst independent screenwriter.
It's free on Netflix. Give it a try if you really must, but I can't warn you against it enough.
Laila, the film's protagonist, is selfish, moody, pitiful, takes advantage of her disability, consistently and effortlessly avoids consequence or karmic retribution for her horrible behavior and in the end, having learned nothing, having gained nothing and having treated the people around her like garbage, she learns to love herself, which is represented metaphorically by, no joke, having Laila end the film by going on a date with herself and giggling flirtatiously at herself in a mirror.
Bad Lieutenant this is not, the story goes out of its way to paint Laila as a beautiful human being despite her numerous short-comings and lack of any redeeming quality besides the inherent sadness behind being physically handicapped and then ends by having the people around her reaffirm their happiness with her and having her realize the deep love she's learned to allow herself.
The film is riddled with countless other flaws, writing that seems to rely on cinematography to tell its story and cinematography that is unclear and obfuscated. Kalki Koechlin seems to be a sort of anti-Christopher Nolan in her incompetence at relaying vital information. Scenes appear and disappear with no function, even as introspection or down-time. Characters are introduced and dropped having plenty of screen-time and no influence on the plot, which is thin enough as is, then leaving without explanation. The director is so frightened by the idea of having a tense scene for even a moment that the movie will drop levity into a scene the very moment a character is given a tough situation or bad news, just so the audience doesn't feel uncomfortable for even a second.
But every single complaint, big or small, that I could lob at the movie is overshadowed by the writer's crippling love and forgiveness for a character who has an ugly heart.
This is not the indie masterpiece that's going to bring much needed representation to cerebral palsy. It's not cultural touch-stone that will introduce or represent Indian culture or cinema to international audiences to any meaningful degree. It's a selfish fantasy by this generation's worst independent screenwriter.
It's free on Netflix. Give it a try if you really must, but I can't warn you against it enough.