Kurbaan,

with a K (I try and stop my eyes rolling to far into my head). My second Hindi film in London, not unsurprisingly brought to fruition by Dimple, yet again.... this time, my reluctance subdued, but not entirely cowed.

Terrorism. A word used ad nauseam in our contemporary 'with us or against us' world. The film. Unexpected. The story line, the brutality, the realism, the performances, the ruthlessness, the honesty, all so easily juxtaposed on everyday life. Extraordinary.

Loopholes? Aplenty. Daft? Cringeworthy. Tighter editing? Possibly. Too many songs? Naturally. Clichéd ending? Surely a rhetorical question and yet.... I feel it. The truth, just so many shades of grey. Human nature, so fallible, right and wrong indistinguishable. Empathy where there can be no justification. Justification for the absence of empathy.

It makes you think. A male dominated film, where the women move you. The taut production like a cobweb drawing you. Melodies that weave a hauntingly beautiful veil around moments. The lilt of pure Urdu lingering in the air. The quiet violence visceral in it's matter of factness. Powerfully compelling characters that stay with you. It leaves you a little sadder, a little emptier, a little older. Maybe even a little wiser.

Ali Maula rends it's way around me even as I see Nasreens strength of conviction in Kiron Kher's magnificent eyes, her lovely face framed by the blue hijab, and the hairs on my arm rise. It's going to be a long night....