The War Within turned out every bit as clichéd as the Voice critic had said. It is indeed a high-def film (thanks, Mark) and not as muddy as the typical DV release. (I have two quarrels with the early days of digital filmmaking: one, regular DV doesn’t yet simulate the saturation, crispness and ‘movie look’ of film, though it inevitably will; and two, digital projection really hoses those who sit up close, like me, because of pixelation. We want to be the first to receive the images from the screen, said Bernardo Bertolucci’s pretentious Dreamers, but unlike a French cine buff, for me it’s simply about max res. And always-available seats.)

This plot, penned by lead actor Ayad Akhtar, is as single-threaded and simplistic as anything you’d see on the nature channel. And that’s not just due to budget, it’s due to writing. Compare to the richness of the action in the low-budget Monsoon Wedding.

Whenever you see a character running around with a white SO and a bottle of whiskey, you know s/he’s a Bad Muslim. Hi Pardes, hi Purab Aur Pachhim! Venerable jungle fever hottie Sarita Choudhury, who in Mississippi Masala ignored the no-smoking-in-bed rule, is surprisingly believable as an older auntie. But she struggles with her Urdu accent — are there really no desi accent coaches? Shelley Malil in The Forty-Year-Old Virgin had just as hard a time. I smell opportunity for some underemployed dramati.

Nandana Sen, in all her Porsche-eyed, Nubian-profiled glory, is given little to do. Firdous Bamji, who plays the terrorist’s unsuspecting batchmate, looks like a wounded, Trojan Eric Bana. Ajay Naidu and Aasif Mandvi appear in only a single scene. When you bend Naidu’s reflective cranium over a mirror, you see a tattoo saying U. BIQUITOUS; after this movie, it reads WASTED.

The movie suffers from amateurish acting and slack editing that leaves seconds ticking in between characters’ reactions. In a pivotal scene toward the end, the baby-faced killer’s reaction seem totally implausible. This flick doesn’t just telegraph its intentions, it puts out a press release, posts them to a blog and pings IceRocket.

The movie’s subject matter left me totally conflicted. On one hand, there’s the inevitable exoticizing of Islam, not by Akhtar but by an American audience’s gaze. It reminds me of the idiots who post frothing, right-wing rants in our comments quoting wingnut Web sites. Try taking off the white hood, provocateur pusses. Dammit, we’ve lived among a hundred and fifty million Muslims in India. Unlike you, we know them, we understand them, they’re our neighbors, they’re our friends; and except for those whose conservatism is near-Hasidic, most are utterly unremarkable.

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I recently dismissed an upcoming Sarita Choudhury effort because she plays yet another brown terrorist.

But the high-def production, now called The War Within, also stars cutie-patootie Nobel scion Nandana Sen, who played the sister in Black. It also stars our cereal Cyrano, Aasif Mandvi. Although the Village Voice pans the Mark Cuban-financed movie, now I have to see it. That’s a double chocolate fudge sundae of pillow lips, subcontinental curls and attitude, and if anyone tells you they don’t see questionable movies just for the stars, they’re lying.

Pillow lips, subcontinental curls and attitudeThe War Within follows in the introverted footsteps of Hassan (co-writer Ayad Akhtar), a Pakistani wrongly imprisoned and tortured for terrorist affiliations… The film’s title may seem to spill the beans–will the watchful Hassan carry out his mission or renege after enjoying America and flirting with Sayeed’s ravishing sister (Nandana Sen)?–but in fact, whatever inner conflict rages looks to us like moping and staring blankly out at the East River. (Time killed gazing from the beach or dock is a telltale sign of indie floundering.)

Shot in DV by Lisa Rinzler, Joseph Castelo’s modest drama struggles for verisimilitude, but it wears clichés like concrete boots… [Link]

Here’s a plot summary:

… Hassan undergoes a radical transformation and embarks upon a terrorist mission, surreptitiously entering the United States to join a cell based in New York City. After meticulous planning for an event of maximum devastation, all the members of the cell are arrested, except for Hussan and one other. With no alternative and nowhere else to turn, Hassan must rely on the hospitality of his former best friend Sayeed, who is living the American dream with his family in New Jersey… Hassan takes advantage of Sayeed’s generosity while plotting his strategy and amassing materials to create explosives. Eventually, Hassan’s skewed religious fervor clashes with his feelings for Sayeed and his family, especially Sayeed’s sister Duri. [Link]

The movie opens in NYC this weekend and in LA next weekend.

Previous post here. More on Sarita Choudhury here, Aasif Mandvi: one, two, and Sen’s brother Kabir: one, two, three.

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