What do Shoojit Sircar and Philip Roth have in common?

Well, aside from them being great artists?

Both have released works that document a procession of surgeries as a narrative frame, I Want to Talk for Sircar and Everyman for Roth. And both have, I am sorry to say, produced uncharacteristic weak efforts. Talk is easily Sircar’s worst film, while I haven’t read enough of Roth’s work to declare Everyman his worst work (although I would be truly disappointed if he has written anything worse than this).

Hospitals and surgeries are miserable things and when enveloped in a miserable story, they become more miserable still. I Want to Talk is a shrill film, filled with snatches of cringe humor (anything to do with Johnny Lever, but some of the hospital scenes too carry this unfortunate strain), mildewy pathos, a supposed clash of cultures between traditional Indian Dad Abhishek Bachchan and daughter that never escapes the confines of caricature, and worst of all, a wrong reassurance that what the film is presenting is worthwhile just because of its subject matter. I paused and checked twice whether this film was actually directed by Sircar. Never in my life did I think I would struggle to finish a Sircar film.

Everyman is somewhat better, but it contains gems like this.

Roth’s novel never succeeds to take off. The protagonist feels like Roth was ticking off a checklist of Roth-isms. He has much in common with protagonists in novels like Sabbath’s Theater, but he’s missing the charm that makes them memorable. ‘Show don’t tell’ is a supposed to be a byline for films, but reading Everyman, you wonder if it sometimes needs to be applied to literature as well. It is of course, a deliberate choice by Roth to frame his narrative around the protagonist’s peripheral characters, but that means he never emerges as a whole character to root for, or to forgive his trespasses. When he bemoans his sons not understanding him, you would have liked to know what his arguments are for his sons being wrong. Roth simply tries to portray his protagonist as too pitiful, uncharacteristically for a writer known for having a level-headed approach to even the most craziest and kinkiest of central characters.

Regardless, when one thinks of Sircar or Roth, these are hardly the titles one will think of. For myself, I’ll chalk them up to the occasional failure and continue enjoying Sardar Udham or The Human Stain or anything else of their myriad filmo/bibliography.