Makes You C-C-C-Cringe

Indian television’s fascination with international franchises continues. After Kaun Banega Crorepati, Indian Idol, Fear Factor, Masterchef and a host of others, here comes a version of the international game show format Wipeout. Bollywood stars tend to eye these new reality shows with almost lascivious relish, and this one hopes to ride on the shoulders of the ever-keen Shah Rukh Khan.

Zor ka Jhatka: Total Wipeout started to air on Imagine TV on 1 February. Shot on a massive obstacle course in Argentina, the game comprises various rounds of competition before winners make it to the final ‘Wipeout Zone’ and then ultimately to the finale. The 16-episode run offers participants a whack at Rs 1.5 crore.

Now a game show of this sort has its place in the scheme of things. It’s only when the game show in question starts to assume other elements of grandeur that it begins to grate. And that is the problem with Zor ka Jhatka. It doesn’t want to be the mildly amusing, moderately popular game show that it is all over the world; it wants be a ‘duniya ka sabse bada, sabse anokha’ (the world’s biggest, most unique)  game show. 

But first, the contestants. They numbered 30 when the show began, but what with dropouts, eliminations, wild cards, special SRK recommendations, the exact count has been lost. These are an assortment of TV actors, sportspersons, army commandoes… but a bulk of them are what you might call ‘reality TV specialists’— a fearsome, hardy breed of wannabes who will assiduously apply to (and be taken on) any reality show that needs discretion, dignity and decorum left far behind.

Typically, as the participants go through the obstacles, Wipeout is attended by two sets of anchors—one on the spot for interviews and reactions (a job held by Saumya Tandon in this version) and another presenter (or two) to provide humorous running commentary on the proceedings—that is, Shah Rukh Khan.

Unfortunately, Khan is ill at ease, he tries too hard and he’s more than a little crass. His mockery of the unsuspecting participants—echoing them in high-pitched falsetto—offends us, the pelvic thrust that he finds necessary to perform every time ‘zor ka jhatka’ is uttered makes us cringe, and his jokes do not make us laugh. He inflicts his preoccupations and insecurities on us. “Kisike paas Kareena hai, kisike paas Katrina hai, mere paas Khabreena hai,” he tells us, reducing his co-host to an informant. He becomes inordinately excited by ‘Big Balls’—a course that involves giant rubber balls that contestants must navigate. We are naturally clued in to the fact that ‘big balls’ sounds like Bigg Boss, a show only recently anchored by another Khan.

Part of the problem is the logistics and the producers’ slippery hold on how to make it work. Standing in Mumbai, SRK is expected to comment daily on a video recording of activities in Buenos Aires. This means a significant loss of spontaneity. Not only does SRK not interact with participants in person, but worse, the banter between the two stations is manufactured at the editor’s table. Having invested in so many celebrities, the producers are unable to balance their airtime between the happenings in Argentina (which could have been interesting if we’d been privy to the backstage excitement or engaged more with the personalities) and the set where SRK presides. They err on the side of SRK. The contestants, chosen presumably for their respective star-pull, are severely underused. Even the production quality falls short of Wipeout, US, standards.

The studio is rendered odious by a few factors. One, a series of Bollywood celebs (Abhishek Bachchan, Kangana Ranaut, Priyanka Chopra), who come on to hard-sell their forthcoming movies. Two, sponsors who find it in their power to actually infiltrate the content rather than merely book-end it. So Khan says the words ‘Chocolaty Laila’ on cue as they appear on the screen.

Still, Zor ka Jhatka achieves what it craved—to be talked about. I mean, we like Javed Jaffrey’s Takeshi’s Castle better but then, we are reviewing Shah Rukh Khan here.


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This appeared in Open magazine, issue dated 28th February 2011.

No more the small screen

About to embark on Kaun Banega Crorepati (4), Amitabh Bachchan recently reminisced on his blog about how it was back in 2000. When he first decided to do television, those in charge of guarding his brand were highly doubtful. For a man who ruled the silver screen to be cramped into small box screens, to lose mystique and be delivered straight into distracted drawing rooms was seen as a dilution of his persona.

But Bachchan persisted — it was an honourable way to begin to pay off the pile of debts he had incurred in the debacle that was ABCL. To the participants who came hoping to win a tidy sum of money, this was even more of a connect with the man who sat opposite them; he too was there to make money — a necessity and a preoccupation that binds all of poor and middle class India. So when Amitabh Bachchan asks someone on the hot seat: “Kya maayne rakhtein hai ye paise aapke liye? What does this money mean to you?”, the query is significant. It adds to that mental profile we Indians assemble for everyone we meet. It is a question that everyone is sympathetic to; and the answer, no matter how similar, is invariably of interest.

Bachchan’s return to television ten years later sees a vastly different picture. Bollywood wouldn’t touch TV with a pole then, but they love it now. It is impossible to flip channels on primetime weekends without shuffling on star dust. Akshay Kumar is a sure shot these days, and Aishwarya Rai Bachchan smiled graciously on Masterchef last week even as she fenced gingerly with Karan Johar. In recent years, Bachchan Jr, Shah Rukh Khan, Akshay Kumar, Karan Johar, Farah Khan, Priyanka Chopra have all hosted television shows, and everyone in Bollywood worth anything at all has trooped through television studios. A fact that tells us, better than reams of statistics ever could, how powerful the small box has become.

Talk shows are one aspect, but there is the other tiresome matter of promotions. Singing contests, comedy, dance and sundry talent contests... nothing is spared from the relentless onslaught of new movie releases. Stars, directors and associated celebrities appear on these platforms. For the talent show, it presumably keeps the interest alive; for the movie, it is an easy audience, captive, gagged and bound. Win-win, as they say.

The biggest victims of this parade of self-serving guests, to my mind, are the judges of musical contests. Over the years, these have been notorious for attention-seeking gimmicks, manufactured conflicts... generally behaviour known in TV circles as ‘khaaoing’ footage. For example: a contestant performs well. Instead of a measured critique, he or she is more likely to encounter a judge who leaps out of his chair, bounds up on stage to bestow hugs, blessings and fulsome praise, all under the red eye of the camera. Camerapersons have learnt the hard way not to compose judges in tight frames, for they are apt to rear up without notice, leaving the vision mixer with disconcerting visuals of their midriffs if everyone isn’t sharp enough.

Now this scenario has become rather compromised by the Bollywood publicity machine. Hardly a week goes by without some promotion, and our judges must now suffer to play host to a series of celebs even more intent on consuming valuable air-time. For the viewer, of course, this is extremely fatiguing; quality music has long vanished and it is just one dose of insincere hype after the other.

But promotions aren’t limited to reality TV — they sometimes spill over into soaps as well. Salman Khan as Chulbul Pandey was woven (very, very badly!) into the script of Laagi Tujhse Lagan and Akshay Kumar dropped into the home of the Kashyaps of Sasural Genda Phool to sell Khatta Meetha. Much as we acknowledge the compulsions of the business, this is distressing. At least the soaps — television at its purest — may be spared the Bollywood infestation.

Yours faithfully

Of all India’s traits, there cannot be one more fascinating than its tendency to harness everything to serve the interests of religion. Technology is pounced upon with alacrity, gadgets are pressed into the service of gods and faith — there are e-prayer packages, live darshans streaming into millions of households through rudimentary surveillance cameras, and temple trusts manage fairly complex transactions over the Internet.

All the technological advances of recent years have not, as we might have imagined two decades ago, pushed our faith into the background. If anything, there has been even more of an upsurge. Bhakti and faith channels abound; they may be relegated to the end of viewing lists but they have their own devoted following that won’t permit cable operators to skimp on the bouquet.
But must this spill over into mainstream television? “Aa rahe hain Shani Dev!” booms the anchor in varying pitches and tenor, and then goes on to interview a severe-looking astrologer, who tells us in exacting detail how this difficult god must be appeased. This, in case you didn’t know, was on a news channel.

Hand in hand with fresh blasts of religious messages, we are also witnessing the ascendency of superstition, or more accurately, the superstition market as carved out by teleshopping networks such as GTM Teleshopping. But these are hilarious, and my particular favourites are the advertisements for the ‘nazar suraksha kavach’. There are many ‘docu-dramas’ that you could stumble upon but the essence is this: our protagonists enjoy some success till someone in their circle of family or friends casts an ‘evil eye’ — the envious eye that Indians so dread — on their good fortune. This is usually depicted by two red rays emanating from their eyes and reaching our unsuspecting hero or heroine. Misfortunes pile up, alas, and the trend is traced to its insidious root. A ‘nazar suraksha kavach’ is duly ordered and natural order is restored. The next time, the red lines make a beeline for our man or woman, a blue shield circle rises to counter the infection, demolishing them on impact. This ghastly looking pendant with a beady eye can be yours, for the modest sum of Rs 2,325!

Star One has recently brought their non-fiction series Mano Ya Na Mano back for a second season. This comes after a gap of three to four years — the first season was tooled around by the persuasive Irrfan Khan and this one is anchored by Mishal Raheja. Mano Ya Na Mano deals with paranormal occurrences, bringing some inexplicable incident to the fore. In fact, I was rather intrigued by the choice of subjects the second series has picked to highlight — the necro-cannibalistic Aghoris of North India, Bhoota Aradhana in Tulu Nadu, the shrine of Bullet Devta in Rajasthan. These are all extreme forms of religion found in limited pockets, fascinating subjects of study that would have made, given the right treatment, highly absorbing episodes. William Dalrymple — that celebrated observer of Indian spirituality — has, in fact, examined the curious case of the motorcycle shrine in his recent book Nine Lives. But the series wastes the opportunity and falls short of accomplishing anything halfway decent. The tone is sensational, the re-enactments embarrassing in their melodrama and the production quality poor. The idea here is not to bring up interesting aspects but to confound and befuddle the audience, which they must think comprises entirely of open-mouthed yokels.

There is more paranormal/new age material to come — NDTV Imagine is coming back soon with its new season of Raaz Pichle Janam Ka. This delves into the past lives of participants with the help of regression therapy and has a juicy list of celebrities lined up. I was absorbed by the first season and can hardly wait for the second.