And you won't guess which film tops Raja's list! And why.
2016 has been a year of makeshift marvel.
Most selections on my top 10 come with built-in caveats, and yet they are films I'd rather celebrate than blackball.
Here, after much deliberation, are 10 misfit movies that sum up an odd year.
10. MS Dhoni: The Untold Story
There are a lot of problems with a film like this -- not least the fact that it is a biopic partly produced by the subject himself -- but Sushant Singh Rajput's superlative performance in the lead role makes it worth watching.
Also, the way Neeraj Pandey's film captures how all-knowingly we consume cricket in this country stood out for me.
In my review, I'd said: 'The film brilliantly shows these family members and friends watch Dhoni bat on television, sitting superstitiously in the same positions each time, developing their own match rituals, and growling angrily each time Dhoni gets out, full of suggestions about what he should have done instead -- because of course they know better.'
'It is exactly how too many of us watch cricket, too involved, too irrational, too all-knowing, and, with this masterstroke, Dhoni the film makes us feel like the family of Dhoni the man.'
9. Raman Raghav 2.0
I watched Anurag Kashyap's latest film on Netflix a few nights ago, and while this is a film plagued with issues -- insufferable chapter headings, a sloppy screenplay, the weakly written cop -- it still shows off craft and style.
It also clearly got under my skin, some moments proving hard to dislodge.
This is a reasonably uncomplicated serial killer film -- one that wonders why we shun who we shun -- and motors along thanks to the fascinating Amruta Subhash and the uniquely smouldering Sobhita Dhulipala.
Kashyap doesn't make Nawazuddin Siddiqui dig deep enough into his bag of tricks to bring us something new, alas, but the director has always had enough flair to make both violence -- and the tension of waiting for impending violence -- work.
Some films need to scream.
Aniruddha Roy Choudhury's film about the toxicity of the male gaze couldn't afford to be subtle.
Thanks to its everywoman casting and its overall clarity re: message -- even if not re: plotting, which has a fair many loopholes -- it does impart a message the Indian man needs to hear.
In my review, I'd said: 'The old man goes for his morning constitutional at pranayam-o'clock, a persecuted prisoner crouches behind a policeman's desk like a personal stress-toy, an academic admits he "can either be truthful or be liberal," and politically powerful men sit in court and grumble helplessly instead of cinematically throwing their weight around.'
'The first half of the film -- steadfast in its refusal to either show the incident or even let us hear an account -- is built on silences, on unmet gazes, on leaving it all between the lines.'
7. Dear Zindagi
What screws us up?
The short answer is anything.
Gauri Shinde's sophomore film Dear Zindagi started us off with an irascible, unlikeable protagonist and slowly let us see what her insecurities were made of.
The very fact that her childhood issues were not cinematically scarring ones born out of molestation and murder, for example, showed how each one of us can and, often, does need a therapist. As a maid in the film casually says, everyone should try it sometime.
In my review, I'd said: 'The intermission is a nightmare. This is true for the format in which Hindi cinema is traditionally exhibited, as the interruption creates a narrative chasm that messes up both filmgoer and filmmaker, but it is doubly true for Dear Zindagi, which ingeniously uses a bad dream to slap recess upon us and allow us out of the theatre.'
'While the heroine lies awake in bed, jarred by an acute fear of being judged, we walk around and, over coffee and cola, do that very thing and judge her as we pick apart the film, in our own heads or in packs.'
6. Ae Dil Hai Mushkil
This film is a wail.
Karan Johar has made a career out of showing us well manicured people in varying states of frequently familial anguish, but Ae Dil sees the filmmaker at his most stark and emotionally naked.
A treatise on the idea of unrequited love -- something Hindi romances have traditionally conditioned us not to acknowledge -- the film may overreach in its desire to subvert genre expectations, especially with a laboured climax, but it stays stubborn to the end.
It may be inconsistent, but when this film works it stuns, with its intent as visible and as hard-hitting as a flowerpot weighing down a heart.
In my review, I'd said: 'Ae Dil Hai Mushkil is a film about 'tedha love' -- crooked love, love that refuses to stay straight -- and about the unshared, pure potency of unrequited passion. It is a film about words long and sharp, elaborate and precise, and about the way we muck up and often manage to slip -- inadequately and without definition -- between them and between the lines.'
'The heart wants what it wants, and sometimes all we need is a compelling reason to cry.'
5. Kapoor & Sons
I wasn't smitten by Shakun Batra's film on first sight, but scenes lingered persistently in the head.
A second viewing -- while confirming my issues -- made me a lot more appreciative of the nuanced writing, characters and of Batra's unerring ability to find the vibe.
Batra tells us of a family that, like so many of ours, teeters perilously on the edge of being a fractured one, and this he does with sensitivity and skill.
In my review, I'd said: 'It starts off so well, establishing an interesting, textured family -- a nonagenarian grandpa who keeps faking his own death in desperate greed to be noticed, a father who failed at being an entrepreneur and now lives on borrowed money, a mother who complains and gripes and flings barbs while looking to her perfect son to make things at least appear sunny, aforementioned perfect son who has his hands very full trying to remain as perfect as considered, and, finally, the younger son, a bartender who wants to be -- like his big brother -- a successful novelist.'
'This is a film, in short, about people who want more attention than the world grants them.'
4. Udta Punjab
'I don't like the drugs, but the drugs like me.'
All of Punjab may well be mouthing that Marilyn Manson anthem, even if they haven't heard that song and frequently, like with spurious substances, end up settling for cheap local purveyors of groove.
Abhishek Chaubey's rollicking film, through the story of a drug-addled singer and the people he encounters, tells us just how sickly a state the state is in.
This could have been a rollicking film -- it has a Guy Ritchie sensibility at its core and lifted some bits from a britcom novel -- but Chaubey and writer Sudip Sharma make sure theirs is a very now, very Punjab film.
It's a riot, certainly, but also a revolution.
In my review, I'd said: 'It is in the second half, after the preachiness has made way for plot, that Chaubey's finesse comes to the fore and the film gleams with originality. The leaps forward are unexpected, the narrative choices brave, and the detailing exquisite.'
'We hear about a good-for-nothing Tommy having gone to the UK to study, and near the start of the film there appears a giant sign proudly advertising 'Without IELTS,' promising the chance to study in Britain without clearing the basic English language hurdles.'
'Preet has a GMAT book by her desk, showing that even the crusading doctor wanted escape.'
'There is a brilliant moment as Sartaj embraces the anonymity offered by a pagri, and there's something magical about the way he keeps saying 'sissdi' because for him the word cafe means a branch of Cafe Coffee Day.'
The best shot film of the year, Ram Madhvani's directorial debut was both inspirational and relentless.
Telling us the true life story of Pan Am purser Neerja Bhanot who, when pushed to a corner, chose to react more valiantly than any of us could imagine, this film is a compelling exploration of the fundamental idea of bravery, and of what makes a hero.
Throughout the narrative, Madhvani -- who tells his story through several long and unforgiving takes -- finds his strength consistently through sparseness, by skimping on obvious cinematic sentiment and keeping things as realistic as they appear.
In my review, I'd said: 'The frequently claustrophobic, frequently handheld cinematography adds to the feeling of narrative turbulence even though the plane is stationary.'
'Cinematographer Mitesh Mirchandani captures the rising anxiety with a perpetually moving camera and his frames are made special by abrupt pans: The view swings down suddenly, rapidly, to briefly peek at a nervous child peeing, or at a dog scratching himself restlessly next to his sleeping mistress.'
Nitesh Tiwari's strikingly effective Dangal takes on our country's warped gender expectations -- and knocks them out for the count.
This film about wrestler Mahavir Phogat and his champion daughters Geeta and Babita Kumari shows us a highly flawed but focussed man driving his daughters ruthlessly hard, in an attempt to emerge victorious.
He succeeds, and the brilliantly acted film pulls no punches in its depiction of his methods.
Where you stand on the-end and the-means says more about you than the film, which -- solidly and spectacularly -- exists to rouse and to evoke.
What price to pay to catch the fox? This is what the Phogats paid, you decide how right it is.
What cannot be doubted is that it is thanks to this trailblazing family that the fox now exists within reach.
In my review, I'd said: 'It is when Phogat realises girls can win golds that the epiphany drives him into a fascistic tiger-dad, pushing his daughters to breaking point. Richard Williams, father of Venus and Serena, had drawn up a 78-page plan to turn them into tennis legends, and started pushing his girls into the sport as early as four, later banning them from boyfriends and decapitating any Barbies that may come their way.'
'Mahavir Phogat, who mercilessly chops off his daughters' hair and exposes them to much jeering, gets it.'
This may be the most flawed film on this list.
It is also, without question, the most fearless.
Every other Hindi film this year has been one you have seen before, in some shape or form.
We have seen films like them before, from other actors or other countries, films of their shape or genre or style, but Maneesh Sharma's deeply misunderstood Fan is an entirely audacious new creature that is all its own.
It is a commentary on stardom and on the idea of fans speaking for -- and even above -- those they claim to worship.
It is a film about aspiration and fame starring the biggest actor on the planet, set in a country that unhealthily deifies heroes to the level of demi-gods.
And, as if that wasn't intriguing enough, it breaks ground and casts him in both parts: A man who broke into our lives playing obsessive lovers, here playing both obsessor and the object of his own obsession.
I have gone on about the astounding twin performance before, but there is much more to see.
It is inward looking, deceptively profound and even surprisingly confessional, a film that makes us question what we think about Shah Rukh Khan as much as it questions what Shah Rukh Khan thinks about his own stardom.
Fan is far from perfect. It gets too caught up in tropes it is rightfully trying to skewer, giving us many overlong action sequences that dilute the film.
Yet even if 'only' for what might cruelly be called the casting gimmick -- one that shows off a heartening willingness to go out on a limb, both on the part of India's biggest studio and India's best-known actor -- it is one of the bravest Hindi films I've ever seen.
Twenty years later, it'll be the one on this list we'll still be arguing about.
In my review, I'd said: 'Lookalikes don't really resemble the celebrities they attempt to ape. Styled to accentuate a passing resemblance, they more often than not look like a wonky, wet-watercolour version of the real thing, something sculpted with less finesse and more raggedy edges.'
'The fleeting moment of doppelgänger magic only takes place if and when they manage to find precisely the right light, the right angle and the right expression -- for that one instant, the star's the limit.'
'Limit isn't a word too familiar to Gaurav Chandna, a West Delhi cybercafe owner who dreams Mannat-sized dreams.'