The hero emerges amidst Latino mafia tunes, strolls down the beaches in designer coats and rides imported cars. Wide, close and top angle shots are lavished on his incredible escapades and you desperately look for a halo around his face. Unless you belong to the league of techno- nerds who watch a film for its cars, gizmos or even leather jackets you will be damned watching Sagar Alias Jacky. Even if you decide to let reason take a back seat and give yourself over to frenzy, the film fails to create any fizz. It is crafted in such a jaded mode that even the star won’t be able to derive any narcissistic pleasure watching the overplay of his stardom.
Lal shows the exhaustion of an aging superstar facing his last innings in an attempt to project himself as the unbeatable mafia don. The director, obsessed with technical gimmickry, randomly joins a series of wellshot scenes creating nothing but spurn. While creating a visual collage overdoing camera and sound he conveniently forgets that having a script is no luxury. In the film Lal ceases to exist as a human being and becomes an allpowerful demigod ready to take over the whole world, but his swearing hero lacks intensity and fails to create an impact. As his mighty hero is far above the standards of ordinary human emotions, he often wears a steely expression to match his ranking. As a result one of India’s most talented and flexible actors gets degraded into a lousy bundle of flesh getting in and out of cars gunning down enemies.
SAJ leaves all other characters under-developed and the film gives no opportunity to our minds to register any face other than that of the larger-than-life Dubai based gangster played by Mohanlal. All others are sidelined and reduced to peripheral pettiness. You find Lal’s own band of baddies, but they are so insignificant that they can be called A, B or C. There are a number of villains, but all are as flies to the wanton boy Lal is and fail to create any jolt. Shobhana who appears as a weepy housewife is there not because her character requires high acting potential.
Rather she had to be there to support the iconic status of the hero as only an actress with her credentials would match the role of hero’s friend. The film can also be seen as an extension of Lal’s role in Red Chillies, a film released just before SAJ. In the film a venerable Brahmin scholar played by Jagannadhavarma keeps a life size portrait of Lal in his prayer room and declares him his only god.
When Lal is not riding a Hummer or killing a deadly torpedo with a three-inch twig (forget the killer had the most advanced gun and looks brawnier than the chubby Lal) he is on a saving mission, protecting television reporter Bhavana from thugs. After two or three encounters she falls head over heels for him and a senseless song sequence starts rolling.
Bhavana in her blue-rimmed glasses is wasted as she is just there like cars and jackets. You feel nothing but relief when her character dies as it spares the audience from the ordeal of another duet featuring the two. In the climax scene Lal forays into the villain’s hideout and kills nearly three dozen armed goons and slits the throat of the villain. He comes out victorious after his killing spree without even a scratch, a luxury even 007 can’t afford. The film has the camera angles fit for a Hollywood film, but when a roly-poly Lal engages himself in highly stylized fight sequences it becomes a striking incongruity.
Though we have the cast and crew rapping that the film is not the second part of Irupatham Nootandu as the credits roll at the end, the only ingredient that makes any bang is the remixed theme tune of the original film.
Though the scene in which Lal discloses his identity to the journalist played by Bhavana has been crafted the same way as in Irupatham Nootandu, we feel the original scene filmed twenty-two years back with Ambika playing the scribe was much better. The film just couldn’t live up to the hype and excitement it created as all and everything about SAJ lacks depth and credibility.
Jagathy’s character appears artificial as he fails to fit in. He seems to be the result of a deliberate drill to accommodate him and completely fails in his mission to create comedy out of nothing. To top it all there is a skimpily clad Jyothirmayi and her Goan beach dance. But she fails terribly to keep the poise and presents a pathetic faux of a sultry seductress.
In between the song sequences she mutters ‘no regrets’, but after watching the whole film we plead to differ.
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