FIGHT CLUB: MEMBERS ONLY
by Kevin Koehler
David Fincher's sanguine exploration of materialism and masculine
identity, Fight Club, is a magnificent picture. It's so
complex, topical, piquant, so romantically recalcitrant of studio
filmmaking mores you have to wonder how it got made in the first
place. Yet for all its virtues, Fincher's Fight
Club is lacking in
one crucial thing: the redemptive power of dance.
Thank God for small miracles and Vikram Chopra, the intellect behind
Bollywood's reimagining Fight Club: Members
Only. It would be unfair
to say this picture outrightly plagiarizes; the plots
differ substantially, saying nothing of Chopra's glorious execution.
There are elements of the original that filter in, surely, but these
are tempered by a more obvious filching of auteurist touchstone Road
House. If you're going to steal, steal from the best.
Meet the charming protagonists of Members Only, four sartorially
obsessed friends from Mumbai, India. They're rather like an early-oughts
boy band, distinguished from each other by some shorthand defining
trait. Vicky (Khan) is the brains, Karan (Morea) is shy, Dhiku (Chowdry)
is funny, and Somil (Deshmukh) is funny-looking; despite their differences,
each share a weakness for loud shirts, gold chains, exposed chest
hair, and choreographed dance scored to infectious, rap-infused Bhangra. "Move
your body, baby, shake your body, honey" goes one verse. "Girl
you so sweet, what you want, I got the money." Poetry really,
and the lip-synching done by our boys is without peer.
It is after one of these musical interludes that Vicky (he is the
brains, after all) happens upon a solution to the gang's money troubles:
they will arrange a location for the irascible college kids of
Mumbai to work out their differences and settle scores with enemies,
then charge each a thousand rupees to participate. "So you've
even thought of a name" asks Somil. Why yes, he has thought
up a name, all by himself in fact, and that name is Fight Club.
This Fight Club has streamlined its predecessor's
eight rules into five, the most important one being "there is
no Fight Club." A marked enhancement on "do not talk about
Fight Club," I must say, a declaration that's far too ambiguous.
Is writing about Fight Club allowed? What about sign language? You
can see how this could cause confusion. Likewise improved: the titular
Fight Club has become a gender-neutral affair, allowing for two aesthetically-gifted
Bollywood babes in cut-offs to articulate feminist empowerment by
tearing off each others' shirts against a chorus of "catfight,
catfight." It's
basically Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony but with bikini
tops and kung fu.
Like most truly epic films, this one has an intermission (total
running time is a laconic two hours and twenty-five minutes), after
which the action transitions to Delhi, where our impeccably-dressed
dandies renovate a dowdy backwoods bar. They simply will not allow
it to become a "drug addict's haven," incurring the wrath
of local organized crime elements who wear beards or look like Lorenzo
Lamas (LLLL for short). It requires extreme measures: sensitive yet
pugilistically-astute bouncer Sameer (Sohail Khan) is recruited to
clean proverbial (road)house. After two additional song and dance
episodes that are not homoerotic in the slightest, the stage is set
for an electrifying climactic showdown at a construction site. Loyalties
are tested, the true meaning of friendship learned, and people are
thrown through all manner of wall, furniture, and glass window in
dramatic slow motion.
Said another way: when Fincher's Fight Club Narrator remarks "I
want to destroy something beautiful," watch out Vikram Chopra.
He could be talking about your film.
Interesting footnote: Strangely, both Fight
Club and Road House have both been developed
as stage musicals. The camp comedy Road
House: The Stage Version Of The Cinema Classic That Starred Patrick
Swayze, Except This One Stars Taimak From The 80’s Cult Classic “The
Last Dragon” Wearing A Blonde Mullet Wig premiered off-Broadway
in 2003 while Fight Club author Chuck Palahniuk has apparently
had discussion with both Fincher and Nine Inch Nails front man Trent
Reznor about adapting his book for the theater.
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