Movie Review-Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal

Arshad Warsi, John Abraham in Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal

Remember when Saif Ali Khan [Images] played the guitar for Parikrama? It was a nice gimmick, with Saif doing just about okay but backed up by a solid rock act, and everyone more pleasantly amused than impressed. Except for giggly Saif-groupies, who went into obvious paroxysms of oh-he-can-do-this-too joy.

Similarly -- since apparently every actor's extracurricular talents must be lauded -- John Abraham [Images] can juggle a football well. Which is why a couple of scenes in his latest film, Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal, are watchable: they're standard-issue Pepsi-advertisement style shots, with John and a bunch of talented kids playing stunt soccer while calling each other by legendary nicknames. Clap, clap.

Outside of that, however, this film is a complete and utter drag, and a case in point against thoughtless derivative sports films, a trend threatening to grow following the success of fine films like Chak De! India and Iqbal.

And when I say devoid of thought, I don't mean a harebrained cliche-parade (okay, that too) but Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal is a very callous film, one that raises an extremely bizarre perception of anti-Asian racism in the UK. While the concept of Aston Villa not playing their top striker simply because of 'colour' might have been plausible in the 1950s, today's Britain is one of extreme diversity, where Sahas and Ronaldinhos are heralded just as much as Rooneys.

In sport, it's doubly so. I remember signing up for cricket sessions at University and -- while I'm no S Ramesh T -- the English lads, gleeful at an Indian joining, scribbled my name optimistically in the first-string sheet. English sport positively thrives on getting the best from all over the globe. Outside of Lewis Hamilton, the UK hasn't had a homegrown world-class hero in years, but this doesn't stop them from picking top players and making them their own.

Is the film a rip-off? The question is inevitable, the answer even more so. Sure, every sports movie is. But here director Vivek Agnihotri -- who last massacred The Usual Suspects to make his Chocolate -- while picking significant plot-points from the decidedly middling Goal, even riffs off bits from the completely undeveloped desi sports genre, with moments from the aforementioned Chak De (SRK's [Images] speech is reproduced near-verbatim) and Iqbal. There's even a wet Dhoom 2 [Images] moment, if you so wish to call it.

This is a how-do-you-count-the-ways kind of bad film. The dubbing is hideous, with characters often appearing more adept at ventriloquism than soccer, not moving their lips -- as a result, you don't know who's saying what; not that it matters much.

The 'ensemble' cast isn't one to speak of, with less than a half-dozen players getting speaking parts, while the rest of the team skulks around anonymously in the back of the badly-painted bus. The ones who do get to talk are severely underwritten -- save for Raj Zutshi's garrulous Sikh, who aces a few one-liners -- but this is clearly not a team you can care about.

For one, they aren't British. This dogged Southall United Football Club is supposed to be a band cobbled out of Brick Lane butchers and Southall softies, and while we're told these kids were born and bred there, it doesn't seem ruddy likely, with not one of them even trying to attempt an accent. Instead, they speak in Bombay-Hindi, their eyes opening wide as they look at a bunch of big banknotes with the Queen's head on them. "Pounds," they say with awe, one awestruck footballer after another, giving you enough time to roll your eyes between players. That is, of course, when they aren't being pissy drunks.

And then there are the pained subplots. Boman Irani -- who acts very well indeed, simply because it's hard for him to do otherwise -- frowns in the middle (presumably for being in this film) of these inane morons, penance for once having Geoffrey-Boycotted (read: vanished and ditched) his team during their potentially finest hour.

Arshad Warsi [Images], an irritable Pakistani diner-walla, is also required to glare balefully and pretend to be focused, while his wife goes from pregnancy test to baby in the course of what must be football's longest-running tournament.

John Abraham plays bratty super-striker Sunny, looking out for himself, free of all kinship towards Southall, or India, for that matter. It seems justifiable, him having lived in the UK all his life. Yet there is a strain of unexplored jingoism through the film -- imagine a cricket film with Monty Panesar getting dirty looks at the local Gurudwara -- and his actions are given some bizarre psycho-babble roots in his father's past. Honestly, years of familial strife could have been avoided had Daddy told Sunny about his past, instead of waiting for well-timed happenstance.

Bipasha Basu [Images] -- in absolutely the single most moronic role of her career -- plays Warsi's sister, an incompetent physiotherapist who applies lotion on the nostrils of a man with a smashed septum. Of course, this could be because the bimbette is utterly smitten with Sunny, and makes use of these extreme close-up shots to tell him she cares because she's a doctor. And, um, that she's 'bahut sexy.' No kidding. She follows this up with, 'you're pretty sexy yourself,' in staccato Hindi, and giggles.

I could go on and on -- a la this most predictable of movies -- but I'm hoping you get the idea by now. While the matches are competently shot, the football itself is unspectacular -- save for a neat panoramic shot introducing us to the Manchester United grounds -- and the matches bore, simply because the team doesn't grab your interest. If there is one scene in this whole film you find unpredictable -- save for John Abraham driving his Porsche down the wrong side of the road and resultantly getting zero traffic -- tell me. I liked the 'Pammi's Hair Salon' sponsorship gag, sure, but this was ditched sooner than you could spell R-e-e-b-o-k.

In the mood for soccer? Switch on Man-U TV or Futbol Mundial. For a sports film? I hear the Chak De DVD is fun. For John? Dhoom, No Smoking, Karam -- take your pick.

Just chuck this Goal. It's infuriatingly ironic for a soccer film to be this lame.

Rediff Rating:

You take it for granted, that obviously, if precious time, money and effort has been spent in producing yet another sports story, there's bound to be something separate these folks want to say. And then you watch Goal and you wonder what the goal of the film was (excuse the unimaginative pun).

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Honestly, this Goal is all jhol -- there's this group of Indian immigrants in England who form the Southall United Football Team and are aiming at winning the League, to save their club from dissolving.

Typical underdog, emotional tug-at-heartstrings element. Except here, the team is such a sorry bunch of overweight, over-the-hill losers, you don't see why you should root for them. It's not a Chak De, where you're hoping the talented, starring team beats others silly and emerges the solo winner.

Still, it's a movie, and in the name of creative license, things come together pretty quickly. The team's captain Shaan (Arshad Warsi) is determined to turn the team's fortunes around and finds an old coach Tony Singh (Boman Irani). The coach has given up on football long back owing to a sob story, and now wears an unshaven look, a grim expression and tweeds, and says dialogues like - Tum Mein Jeetne Ki Himmat Hai?.

Perhaps they wanted to avoid a clich. Singh swears to turn around the team, even as you marvel at his bravery, bordering on foolishness. At the same time, the band of boys decides they need money, a bus, a doctor and sponsorship, and all that happens rather effortlessly. A rousing song later, they suddenly become superlative players.

Read Taran Adarsh's review on Goal

Heck, they also get the cool dude footballer Sunny Bhasin (John Abraham) who earlier wanted to play with the goras, but was left out because of racism. Dejected, Bhasin decides to take up the coach's persistent offer to "play with his people".

Then there are dialogues like - Hindustan choda hai, hindustaniyat nahin. The desperate use of racism to instill faux patriotism in the viewers is not very dignified. It is, in fact, desperate, and doesn't work.

Once they start winning matches (inexplicably), they break into a celebration where the item song Billo Rani comes in. There's also a kid, the captain's brother, who hangs around mysteriously everywhere, looking as confused as the script.

There's a twist at the end too, connecting two people and their stories, and the coincidence of that turn is so inconsequential to the story, it elicits no response.

There are attempts as being funny by including a Sikh in the team, one who looks miles away from being an athlete. But he's good-hearted you see – he's kept his garage girvi for raising money for the team – a positively mental thing to do.

As always, the Sardarji is the joker of the team, what's more, his coming into the frame is marked by bhangra music in the background. And this film talks of racism?

Goal is extremely chauvinistic in its interpretation of patriotism – the Brits are often referred derogatorily as 'You gori chamdi'. What is the need to do that? Nobody clapped.

Then the film encapsulates other givens of a game movie – the coach is a taskmaster who keeps telling everyone – 'You're late' and does inspiring locker-room dialogue-baazi before every game. The end, as always, is the hit-or-miss situation marked by the last goal. You already know what's going to happen first frame onwards. It's just a dreary ride till getting there.

Of the cast, Boman Irani saves the film on many occasions. His rendering of the coach is note-worthy and interesting, despite the empty characterisation. John suits the role -- He looks the part and acts well.

Bipasha is a doctor, one who doesn't do anything when Sunny is lying on the ground injured, instead is hysterically screaming his name typically like a Bollywood heroine. The rest of the team is best forgotten, this may be the time you may thank yourself for having a short memory.

The cinematography tries to impress but is unnecessarily mobile, such that at times you want to intervene and physically steady the camera yourself. The screenplay is predictable. The dialogues range from the bizarre to somewhat ok. Here's an example – In a supposedly romantic scene, John's Sunny claims that Bipasha's nuts, and she retorts: 'Main bahut sexy bhi hoon'. You cannot help agree with the former observation. Editing is unforgivably lax.

There's one area where this film misses the goal completely – Sound – which is of foremost importance in a sports movie. Everyone's using sync sound now, and you wonder why, given that UTV is producing the film and assuming there were no major budget constraints, the film was dubbed. It's painfully unnatural to see scenes of game-playing in an open stadium with no ambient sounds; just that of the dialogues and the ball being kicked. The era where this kind of sound was acceptable has passed, and filmmakers must take note.

Of the positive points is the stylish scene between Boman and John where the coach challenges him to a match. Also John and Arshad's like-hate mischief is interesting – especially in a couple of fleeting comic scenes. The ending minutes are riveting, but again, it is adultered adrenalin, diluted by blatant formula-following. Bipasha's role has nothing much, but her lovely laugh does light up the screen ever so often; and the kiss between the famous off-screen lovers, despite their comfortable chemistry, is nothing to salivate over. The Dhan Dhana Dhan song is effective and eminently hummable.

If you don't like sports, you might not like the movie; thing is, if you like football, you might dislike it even further. Every sports film has its own victory song—this one's wordings go - 'Don't mess with me dude'. Pretty much the viewers' plea to the filmmaker.

Verdict: Two stars out of five

Duniya Goal hai

PVR Juhu came alive at the premiere of Goal on a chilly Thursday night. Warm vibes were the order of the evening as B-Town folk mingled and singled each other out for praise.
Cosy twosomes and merry singletons ate and drank. The bonhomie reached epidemic proportion, infecting everyone. As is evident, everybody seemed to be having a great time, at least before the show began.
After that, it was a entirely different story. But we'll leave that for another day.