Rock On 2 isn't horrible or pathetic, it's nothing
“Abe yaar, yeh picture khatam hi nahi ho rahi hai, yaar,” the guy next to me in the hall said.
He was talking to himself, about Rock On 2. It was said with neither annoyance nor anger. Just resignation.
Contrary to how it’s been marketed, the film is not about a rock band or music or growing up or chasing your dreams or any other sales pitch we’ve been fed. It is about zombies. It’s the tale of a bunch of miserable, sullen-faced grumps who never smile. Literally.
They never smile. Instead, they mostly just walk around in a woe-is-me daze, with a why-the-hell-did-I-sign-for-this-film? expression.
At one point, I thought I noticed Adi, the tortured lead played by Farhan Akhtar, almost break into a self-satisfied grin when billions of fans showed up to a concert. But then he made sure to quickly hide his mouth with his fist before anyone noticed.
The only sighting of teeth in the entire movie is right up front, when Arjun Rampal’s Joe, judging a reality TV show, cracks a "joke". One of the contestants, named Manjit, performs a cover of a song by Joe’s erstwhile band.
Manjit, who introduces himself as Myself Manjit like it’s 2007, tells Joe that he’s a fan of his music. Joe, ever the witty wordsmith, says something to the effect of: “Woh toh theek hai; just don’t become a bulb.” Classic comedy.
Anyway, let’s quickly get the story out of the way (light-to-medium spoilers ahead). The original Rock On was about a band (called Magik!) that reunited because the bond of music, and personal friendship, between the band members was too strong.
The sequel is set sometime in the future. Adi has run off to a village in Meghalaya, where he’s done amazing work setting up a farmers’ co-op and become quite the star among the villagers.He’s been living there for five years now, while his wife and son are back in Mumbai.
A young musician’s suicide, for which Adi blames himself because he was a total d*ck to the kid, is weighing on his conscience. Adi generally talks to people like a bitter intellectual who didn’t get admission into JNU.
Joe, formerly the gifted, brooding lead guitarist of Magik!, is now a godfather of rock ‘n’ roll, judging reality TV shows and running a super-amazing/ultra-hip club for live music called 12 Bar Blues (ugh).
Joe gets very defensive when he’s accused of selling out by his privileged friends, alluding to his poverty-stricken past several times in the film. KD the Killer Drummer hates having to work on music for clients who have no idea about art and shit. The three also used to run a seemingly-defunct record label called… (you guessed it) Magik Records.
Then there’s Jia (Shraddha Kapoor), a young musician and daughter of a respected sarod player. She’s always creating and recording cool music but is petrified of playing live.
She writes a brilliant song with the help of Uday (Shashank Manohar), a talented sarodist who’s turned away by Jia’s disillusioned and grumpy father, and the duo lands a gig at 12 Bar Blues to enter the Magik universe.
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| Jia (Shraddha Kapoor) and Adi (Farhan Akhtar) in a still from the film. |
Oh, along the way, in Cherrapunji, Jia sort of "saved" Adi from his self-inflicted turmoil and despair after the entire village he’d worked to set up was ravaged by a massive fire. She spots Adi standing at the edge of a cliff, looking hopelessly bummed out. Naturally, she asks: “You’re not going to jump, are you?”
Some other stuff happens; there’s more moping around and scowling and pouting. Some nice glimpses of Meghalaya, where a lot of the film is shot. Everyone’s a killjoy.
There’s lots and lots and lots of bickering. Farhan Akhtar does his best to redeem the situation, turning to altruism and grouchiness to atone for his past actions.
Luke Kenny, whose character died in the first instalment of this series, makes a quick cameo in a song-flashback, where he plays an unplugged keytar and dances goofily.
A villain character plays spoilsport. KD the Killer Drummer is told to stop yapping and shut his trap because he’s being too chippy. “Not cool,” Adi tells him time and again.
Then things get better. Then bicker. Then better. Then bicker. Soon enough, the end credits roll.
And you know what? I didn’t hate the film, despite having had dangerously low expectations beforehand.
Sure, I didn’t love it either. But it is so utterly inoffensive in every way possible. Beyond the fact that it is mildly and accidentally amusing in its hyper-serious sanctimoniousness, the film incites zero emotions in me one way or another. Even the music remains largely forgettable – the occasional spark and the odd lemon aside.
Rock On 2, to me, is like boiled eggs with some salt on them. It’s like an episode of Friends that plays on TV in 2016. It’s a dad-joke. Or the chor-pocket you have in jeans. Indicators in cars. My keyboard’s F3 key. The design pattern of my upholstery. The orange light at traffic signals. The fine print on a parking slip. The A/C temperature set at 27 degrees. My distant uncle’s haircut appointment.
Which is: It exists for a reason; it serves some kind of purpose. But I’m not exactly sure what, and not too bothered to find out.
Leonard Cohen is dead. Donald Trump is POTUS. Delhi is sinking into itself with each passing day. Banks are battlefields and warzones; ATMs are ornamental. The world is slowly disintegrating.
And it’s times like these where the purpose of art – even the disposable kind – becomes to offer a brief getaway. To enrich and enlighten. Or to disgust, offend, and disturb.
But here am I, left feeling nothing except that I could maybe get a vanilla ice-cream cone. Or maybe not.