55
Shyam P. Madiraju
2020, 100 mins.
A boy becomes a man, one theft at a time
Here’s a 21st century update on Charles Dickens’ classic, Oliver Twist. In this case set in present-day Mumbai where crotchety Fagan is much differently represented by former English teacher—disgraced by a trumped-up charge of student fondling, Sagar Bhai (Emran Hashmi displaying the best acting chops of the cast)—as he leads his orphaned/homeless charges with unflinching tough love and appropriate profit sharing.
At the centre of everything is “55” (all of the “harami”—a sinner or someone who has done something forbidden—boys have abandoned their real names and become merely a tattooed number in Bhai’s platoon of team pickpockets). The actual pickpocket scenes are a hoot to watch, even if many will wonder “Why put my wallet/valuables in such an easily “snatchable” place” in these days of “trust no one” smarts. But then there would be no movie.
Driving Madiraju’s narrative (along with co-writer Shahin Khosravan) is 55’s huge score: the entire dowry from a proud father who, once discovering his loss, commits suicide to avoid the unbearable shame.
OK. No more plot spoilers. What the film really explores is how a thief inadvertently ends a life, then seeks restitution by those still living. Hmm… Give back the cash (impossible due to the sharing-the-spoils contract with the boss), confess all to the current love of his life (and hooker to make ends meet)?, then surreptitiously repay the grieving daughter (Dhanshree Patil, stoic and loving as required), or just go back to work with his thieving mates.
Sadly, the film’s most important character transformation is 55 as his thin physique and hardly budding moustache makes him seem more like a playmate or cheerleader of his potential/current female partners than a bone fide lover. The acting’s fine but the chemistry is MIA.
Certainly, the most redeeming feature is when “dreamer” 55 manages to, hopefully, break the mould and rehabilitate himself by learning to read and savouring/understanding the all-time classics. Perhaps Dickens, might be a good place to start. JWR
Almost Home
Menhaj Huda
2025, 20 mins.
Time isn’t healing
The horrors of war are well documented: the heroic, the bad and the ugly. But try to imagine being a Muslim American Marine in Afghanistan (2017), charged with destroying other Muslims who don’t salute your flag or wear your uniform. Then try to imagine ending the young life—as part of “duty”—of someone whose only “crime” was to be caught in the crossfire of adults trying to settle somewhat dubious scores (the masters of the troops on both sides in almost every battle never putting themselves at risk on the front lines).
Aamir (Kanal Khan convincingly acting in his own screenplay), manages to survive the battlefield, but once back home in terra firma California, can’t lose his nightmares, memory losses, and dangerous triggers even as he (amongst countless thousands in similar PTSD circumstances) is more likely than not to lose his family.
The writing alone, although sincere if a bit too predictable, deserves a wide audience if only to further sound the alarm as to the post-conflict results of American citizens forced to fight themselves on their own turf. It should be required viewing for the likes of Pete “No Beardos” Hegseth and dementia-addled DJT, but neither would get the point. JWR
Trapped
David Cutler-Kreutz, Sam Cutler-Kreutz
2025, 14 mins.
Narrative caught itself
Late-night janitor in an upscale private school (with his very young son on his hip), stumbles across some of the senior boys chugging vodka and setting hundreds of mousetraps in their gym. Really?? JWR