The opening scene of J. Edgar tell us the film is about four things, through a mask, a speech, a retort and a clipping – a man who will not brook opinions contrary to his own, the institution he fought for, how the world sees him, and how power pulverises scruples. Soon, we see it follows the same flashback template as Mervyn LeRoy's 1959 film, The FBI Story – an old man tells tales of how the FBI tracked down criminals that the media romanticised.

But this is not just the story of the longest serving Director of the FBI; it's the story of J. Edgar Hoover, his insecurities and his ideals, his sexuality and his PR machinery. Clint Eastwood follows Martin Scorcese's lead in casting Leonardo DiCaprio as the eponymous character of a period biopic about a troubled, successful man with OCD. And DiCaprio plays J. Edgar Hoover so much like Howard Hughes that it appears all men who're wary of germs talk fast.

Like most Hollywood biopics, the emphasis is on the 'human' aspect. So, while Clint Eastwood brings several Wikipedia pages to life, he does make room for the love-friendship dynamic and mommy issues, courtesy Mrs. Hoover (Judi Dench). Our main man is further weakened by a speech disorder that calls for a seething-before-a-mirror scene à la Colin Firth.

J. Edgar is absorbing at times, and within its history lesson, slips in social commentary – the perfunctory nature of crime scene investigations in the 1920s, and the bureaucratic bottlenecks that allowed terror a free rein find uncomfortable echoes across the world today.

But the problem with a period film that revels in its costumes, sets, and colours, about a group of men that bask in their cockiness, intelligence and couture, rendered through a narrative that straddles crime, power play and legislation, is that the bombast can overwhelm the story. Sadly, the profusion of quotable quotes camouflages witty quips and quirky touches to the screenplay.

Leonardo DiCaprio's face is far more expressive than his tone, and the film may have been far more nuanced if it were less verbose. In a film that has its temporal indicators spot on, the actors disappoint. Does a film set fifty years ago demand staccato speech, exaggerated enunciation, purposeful strides and shoulder jerks?

What makes me wish Eastwood has stuck to his less-is-more mantra is that the subtler moments in the film worked so beautifully. Hoover's bond with his longtime personal secretary Helen Gandy (Naomi Watts) touches a chord; his relationship with companion-protégé Clyde Tolson (Armie Hammer) doesn't. The minor roles are portrayed naturally. The pathos of one scene, which examines the crazy things we do to pretend a loved one we've lost is still with us, is heartrending. But to its detriment, the film simply talks too much.

Fiennes channels Welles

Thanks to the very popular Compleat Wrks of Wllm Shkspr (Abridged), Shakespeare's Coriolanus is best known by the last four letters of its title. Ralph Fiennes' modern day screen adaptation is best known for shocking Indian film aficionados by landing up here. And so, I was the only one in the hall, and had to persuade the manager to screen the film.

In a testimony to the timelessness of Shakespeare's lines, Coriolanus reimagines the story in a contemporary setting.

A tattooed, sinewy arm polishes a knife, as the trusty face of Jon Snow appears on the ironically-named Fidelis TV to tell us of the hunger crisis in 'A Place Calling Itself Rome'. The ticker flashes 'Thousands wait for food', 'Senate declares state of emergency'. The man with the sinewy arm, Tullus Aufidius (Gerard Butler) frowns as it reads 'General Martius suspends civil liberties', and that's our first sight of the man who will become Coriolanus (Ralph Fiennes).

Severe, gritty and tonsured, Caius Martius is the toast of Rome, and the dread of the Volscian land, whose army is headed by the equally brave, far more approachable Aufidius. The countries are caught in a "flaring border dispute". But Martius must first deal with angry plebeians who want food. He stomps to the Central Grain Depot, and does with his domineering stance what Senator Menenius (Brian Cox) couldn't do with diplomatic speech. He disperses the crowd, and then heads to the Volscian city of Corioles, the capture of which will earn him his honorific.

The film plays out as an allegory on uprisings across the world today. As a dedicated news channel beams images and screams headlines, millions take on the harried establishment. Seasoned campaigners coach a man who calls voters "flatterers" in political posturing, while opportunists want him hanged for treason.

Caught between his mother Volumnia (Vanessa Redgrave), mentor Menenius, wife Virgilia (Jessica Chastain), noble enemy Aufidius, and the people, Coriolanus must weigh honour against policy. With imaginative storytelling and stellar performances, the film underscores Fiennes' mastery of acting and direction.

If you're the kind who frequents Mandi House, and doesn't mistake Murakami for a kind of noodle, rush to the cinema. A film this good can't run long.