Omkarnath Dhar (Bachchan) has lost both his legs in a car accident and is confined to an electrically operated wheelchair. Yet he gets into his customized car on his own, drives, gets down and parks himself right in the middle of Rajpath to hurl a shoe at a minister's convoy. Despite such forays into high-tech imagination, Wazir is a decently strung plot of revenge. By Bollywood standard, it is short, yet could have been shorter. Mauldin songs break out on the soundtrack once too often, slowing down the energy of the film. Also for its stark and sordid tale, the ambiance is a bit too glamorous. The lavishly mounted sets make for pretty visuals but rob the film of its values. The soundtrack is also too loud. There are a couple of unforgettable pithy lines. Sample this – Aajkal tho love ka spelling be luv ho gaya hai.
The script employs chess as a metaphor but ends up contradicting itself. "Life does not give a second chance, chess does", says Dhar early on in the film. But Dhar himself facilitates the "second chance" to Daanish Ali (Farhan Akhtar), more than once. The camera loves Bachchan and caresses his face; it is good to see him in such fine flow. Farhan tries hard not to be emotionless, in his etching of the maverick officer of the anti-terrorist squad. All others are strictly furniture in the thriller, which is essentially a mental game between the two.
There is one brilliant sequence in which the two main protagonists play chess with pieces immersed in vodka shots. The denouement is surprising, though appears contrived on hindsight. Despite many flaws, Wazir is hard to be disliked. The oldie melody from the 60s, Aao Huzoor Tumko, is a delightful recurring motif in the film. But I couldn't spot an acknowledgement to Nayyar Saab.
Wazir is a laboriously constructed tale of revenge.
The script employs chess as a metaphor but ends up contradicting itself. "Life does not give a second chance, chess does", says Dhar early on in the film. But Dhar himself facilitates the "second chance" to Daanish Ali (Farhan Akhtar), more than once. The camera loves Bachchan and caresses his face; it is good to see him in such fine flow. Farhan tries hard not to be emotionless, in his etching of the maverick officer of the anti-terrorist squad. All others are strictly furniture in the thriller, which is essentially a mental game between the two.
There is one brilliant sequence in which the two main protagonists play chess with pieces immersed in vodka shots. The denouement is surprising, though appears contrived on hindsight. Despite many flaws, Wazir is hard to be disliked. The oldie melody from the 60s, Aao Huzoor Tumko, is a delightful recurring motif in the film. But I couldn't spot an acknowledgement to Nayyar Saab.
Wazir is a laboriously constructed tale of revenge.