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Dear Mr Ram Gopal Varma, I don't know in which capacity I am writing this letter to you. I am a never-say-he's-finished Amitabh Bachchan fan, having sat through his cock-chasing act in Jaadugar. I also demand some important designation in The Godfather fan club, having watched the Coppola classic more times than you have delivered flops from your Factory. And, of course, I have been a big admirer of yours, right from the time you had Nagarjuna wrapping the cycle chain around his knuckles in Shiva.
When you announced Sarkar and called it your take on Godfather, all one wanted to know was the date the first look would be out, the Sunday the promos would go on air, the Friday the film would be released. It was sheer wish fulfillment at work knowing that you, and not someone hovering between the mustard fields of Amritsar and the tulip gardens of Amsterdam, had taken up the task of recreating the Puzo pages on the Bollywood big screen.
Your cast couldn't have been more you  working for the first time with the legend, casting Abhishek as his screen-son, giving Kay Kay a role he has deserved for years, bringing back forgotten faces like Supriya Pathak and Rukhsar, and picking complete non-actors like Katrina and Tanishaa to join the list Before July 1, you had made Sarkar the most-awaited film ever for any Godfather freak who worshiped Bachchan.
The opening credits stoked the hope that your stunning sepia-tinted promos on the telly had kindled. But now, you labeled Sarkar your tribute to Godfather instead of the word "inspired" which you had been using all along. Probably you don't want the two creations to be compared but when the medium is the same, then a Kaante would be compared to Reservoir Dogs and a Reservoir Dogs to a City On Fire.
Also, when your first and last sequences  the heart of any screenplay treatment  are all about the establishment and the transfer of power, you can't keep the Nagares and the Corleones apart, even if you replace the American mafia moves with Maharashtrian political power play.
But you got it wrong, Mr Varma You wanted to show Amitabh in his 70s avatar, as rustled up by the pens of Salim-Javed. You wanted him to lurk around larger than life. You wanted him to be his own brand(o). Then how could you steal his voice in the name of using silence? How could you keep him rooted to his chair in the hunt for interesting camera angles? How could you leave him stranded without his voice and stature, the two things that have made his B so big? Coppola's Godfather cameraman Gordon Willis masked Brando's eyes throughout the movie because it didn't have the power to match that drawling husky voice or that sudden snap of the fingers. But you tried to repeat the Malik act from your very own Company. But Bachchan is no Ajay Devgan  his forte doesn't lie in the stagnant stare and the suffocating silence. You made the man look like a comatose patient, who's reminded from time to time to look at the cue cards and mouth those predictable one-liners. For that, Agneepath's there, any given Saturday.
Which Bachchan fan would go and watch Kay Kay Menon stealing the thunder from under his nose in the scene where Sarkar asks Vishnu to leave his house? Which Amitabh aficionado would go and watch him focus on achaar and carom, in a film that talks about power with a capital P in the promos? We can't handle so much in the name of restraint and understatement! You don't even allow the camera to rest on him for five seconds when he learns that his son wanted to kill him. Give me the old-school camera-only-on-Bachchan style, any given Saturday.
Kudos to you, of course, for making an actor out of Abhishek, first in Naach and now in Sarkar. You also allow him to show Mallika Sherawat that he can run as well as his father. Even in the short prison sequence, you really make the Bachchans come out of the text, an opportunity Shaad missed in Bunty Aur Babli. Wish the film could have been more a father-son story rather than a chaotic conflict between caricatures in the name of characters, who pop up like the ad windows on the Internet.
You also let the women more into the script than Puzo and Coppola did and again, you deserve all the Brownie points for squeezing them in so effectively. Pathak is a welcome return as the mother in the middle, Tanishaa lovable as the lovelorn girl, Katrina a revelation as Abhishek's confused lover and Rukhsar's silence speaks volumes.
But sub-plots do not a classic remake. When your free-flowing camera tries to make every frame look hatke and your loud background score irritates incessantly, we keep getting reminded that we are in a Factory. Well, maybe not a Nino Rota score but Sarkar certainly deserved better than those Govinda, Govinda chants and uncalled-for flute interludes.
Mr Varma, some of your Factory directors tell me that you are involved with every project, from overseeing the shooting schedules to supervising the editing sessions. Perhaps, in the middle of all the various storyboards, the Bhiku Matre scream is being muted by the Subhash Nagare silence. Perhaps, you need to bring the shutters down on the factory and work on a single homemade product. Otherwise, your products would remain products, to use and throw, not treasure. And movie buffs like me, for whom there are no hits and flops, only good cinema, would rather choose a film without Factory finish, any given Saturday.


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