Raja Shivaji sells 40,000 tickets in advance booking; Pune goes on overdrive as 7:00 am shows open due to huge demand

Two days ago, Bollywood Hungama reported that the ticket sales of The Devil Wears Prada 2 were very encouraging. Raja Shivaji releases on the same day as the Hollywood comedy drama and this film, too, seems all set for a flying start, especially in its Marathi version. According to data accessed by Bollywood Hungama, Raja Shivaji had sold more than 40,000 tickets as of 8:00 am on April 29. By 4:30 pm on April 28, PVR Inox sold 9,800 tickets for the historical entertainer’s Marathi version. Cinepolis sold 3,000 tickets, MovieMax saw sales of 2,400, while Miraj Cinemas sold more than 4,100 tickets. The Marathi version has far more appeal due to its local flavour, ensemble cast, and the correct release period. Raja Shivaji releases on May 1, which is Maharashtra Day. Hence, the film will enjoy a three-day weekend in the state. Several films have been made on Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj in Marathi, but Raja Shivaji seems like the grandest of them all. This has further encouraged audience...

‘I’m not a saint’: Abel Ferrara on his wild career, rehab and nightclubbing with Donald Trump

The last time our writer interviewed him, the drugged up director dozed off then asked for coke. Now sober, he reflects on #MeToo, Italian fascism and his fight for the final cut

The last time I met Abel Ferrara, he dozed off in the middle of our interview then woke up and asked me to score him some coke. It was 1996, and he was in the UK promoting his gangster drama The Funeral – which the actor Vincent Gallo alleged Ferrara had been too blitzed on crack to direct properly – and his vampire horror The Addiction. He was on a roll, his reputation fortified by King of New York, starring Christopher Walken as a flamboyant crime boss, and the gruelling Bad Lieutenant, with Harvey Keitel as a bent junkie cop. Ferrara was the scuzzball Scorsese: no matter how celebrated he became, he never shed the patina of grime from his early days as the star and director of porn film The Nine Lives of a Wet Pussy and the infamous “video nasty” The Driller Killer.

“You were the guy I fell asleep with?” he gasps now from his bright, high-ceilinged living room in Rome. He is calling via Zoom, his laptop resting on a shelf so he can pace around as he speaks, drinking from a bottle of San Pellegrino that he clutches by the neck. “You’re the guy? I’m sorry, man! Really, really.” Then he switches tack. “You let me down! You were 24, living in London, and you didn’t know where to score?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “All right. So where could we get some now?” A sandpapery cackle fills the air as he rocks on his heels. His hunched posture and jutting jaw make him the spit of the cartoon dog Muttley. He laughs like him, too.

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