If
Raja Harishchandra is considered to
be the first full-fledged Indian film ever made, Indian Cinema would officially
be a century old this year, although ample evidence pointing towards an earlier
beginning exists. That is, however, subject to debate and here, I do not have adequate
scope to address the squabble. Whatever it is, those who have grown up on
Bombay Cinema have enough reason to celebrate this hour: the release of Bombay Talkies which is a fascinating
tribute to the largest film industry and its consumers (the title has been
inspired by Himanshu Rai, Devika Rani and Rajnarayan Dube’s legendary studio
which was founded in 1934, and had monopolized the industry for quite some time,
producing the greatest films and the biggest stars of the early years). What Bombay Talkies seeks to do is delineate
through four different narratives the impact of the magic of Bombay Cinema on
the lives of ordinary people. The four narratives dovetail stories of people
across different classes, age groups and locales, and probe into the extent to
which Bombay Cinema has merged seamlessly with each life. Bombay Talkies, in other words, is not about the stars or the
filmmakers; it seeks to tell the other side of the story – the story of the
star-makers or in other words, the viewers, you and I. Four big names join
hands to pay tribute to the PUBLIC, considered the God of commercial cinema.
Simultaneously, presumably by an agreement of sorts, all four have very ingeniously
invested their films with something that defines and marks themselves out from
the others: Dibakar Banerjee’s debt to Ray and Tagore, Anurag Kashyap’s
small-town connection, and Karan Johar’s and Zoya Akhtar’s non-normative sexual
leanings. Interestingly, the four short films do not have individual titles;
they are identified by the names of the directors, perhaps, obliquely implying
the personal investment of each into the narratives.
Karan Johar
In recent interviews related to Bombay Talkies, Karan Johar has been
constantly ruing the creative compromises he has had to make time and again, in
order to play to the gallery. While making his short for Bombay Talkies, he did not have the ‘box-office sword’ hanging over
his head, and therefore, he could be himself. The film is vaguely reminiscent
of his Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna where
Johar, who had been romanticizing about love and purity of the institution of
marriage in film after film, had dared to unravel the apparent show of marital
bliss. In Bombay Talkies he moves a
step further, and effortlessly throws to the wind the moral barriers he could
not break through in KANK. If you remember KANK, you would recognize that it
had set the template for this film; what you would notice with surprise is how
Johar has come of age over these seven years that separates KANK and Bombay Talkies, and to what extent an
artist might need to compromise with audience’s expectation. But then, the
audience has also matured over these seven years. What could have been fatal to
KANK could uninhibitedly be addressed in Bombay
Talkies. In this sense, Johar’s contribution to this portmanteau film when
viewed against his 2006 venture could also provide a vague idea of the changing
nature of the Hindi film audience in the past one decade or so.
Gayatri (Rani Mukherjee) and Dev’s (Randeep
Hooda) apparently happy married life is disrupted with the entry of the
vivacious Abhinash (Saqib Saleem), a gay intern at Gayatri’s office. Dev and
Abhinash connect through their mutual admiration for old Hindi film songs, and
in no time, Abhinash finds himself madly in love with Dev. Terrified and
disconcerted at Abhinash’s sexual advances, Dev violently abuses him. Abhinash understands
that Dev has been deceiving himself all his life and unlocks his chamber of deepest
secrets, leaving him devastated. Gayatri is shattered but admonishes her
husband for living a lie for so long. As she declares herself free and decks up
in front of the mirror, a repentant Dev sits on the footbridge in little
Savitri’s company, as she mellifluously sings Ajeeb dastaan hain yeh…
Although the focus is on the two
male lovers, it is Gayatri who steals the show. Dressed provocatively and candidly
indulgent towards inviting glances, Gayatri seems to put herself through a
test: it is never explicated, but evident that Gayatri enjoys inviting glances
from young men, for it reassures her of her sexual prowess. The growing
distance with her husband and irregular sexual encounters with him seem to have
made her less confident of her looks, which she, accentuates often not realizing
where to draw the line. When Abhinash tells her in jest, ‘Roz toh Dirty Picture banke aati ho’, he does
not realize Gayatri’s vulnerabilities. Johar has commendably brought out
Gayatri’s insecurities without being didactic about them. And Rani Mukherjee
delivers brilliantly, completely unself-conscious of her body which is more
articulate than the dialogue given to her. Bombay
Talkies is definitely her crowning glory. But, the men are no less lovable.
Saqib Saleem strikes a fine balance between the mischievous, garrulous and charming
boy and the depressed, lonely mad lover. Randeep Hooda is remarkably
restrained, and his expressions are so measured as not to give away his deepest
secret. Johar has always made his actors perform; but in Bombay Talkies he has proved his mettle as a director like never
before.
Yes, Johar does it finally! Is it
his penance for the number of times he has laughed at queer characters in the past?
He makes Abhinash beat up his father, the violently homophobic patriarch who
cannot accept his son’s sexuality. Perhaps, this film is Johar’s own attempt at
purging the unbearable burden of populist demand for ‘othering’ the queer man
or woman. Although such dialogues as ‘Gay ho terrorist nahi’ grate on the
nerves, the film ends up celebrating queerness by allowing Dev to come out to
himself. This is the ‘Ajeeb Dastaan’ of queer lives; sometimes, you do not want
to acknowledge yourself your innate queerness, such is the social pressure. What
is interesting is that Johar appropriates same-sex desire through the template
of existing discourses of heterosexual romances: Hindi film songs. Lag ja galey ki phir hasi raat ho na ho effortlessly
transmutes into an anthem of unspoken homoerotic desire.
Dibakar Banerjee
Although
I waxed eloquence about Karan Johar’s film, I would put Dibakar Banerjee on top
of the list. Based on Ray’s short story ‘Potolbabu Filmstar’, Banerjee’s film
is a little masterpiece of sheer brilliance. It is indeed a fit tribute to the
maestro of Indian Cinema, and it would not be an exaggeration to claim that
Banerjee is as good as Ray himself in this flick.
Banerjee’s film is one such work of
art you feel hesitant to dissect, fearing that you might spoil its splendour.
An actor of inimitable potential, Nawazuddin Siddiqui brings to life Ray’s
Potolbabu, as if he was born for this role. Banerjee improvises on the original
story quite remarkably, and every frame, every shot, and every twitch of the
muscle on Siddiqui’s face he captures, is a mark of classic cinema. Banerjee
tells an intensely emotional story of a father, an actor, and a chawl-dweller, who incidentally gets to
act as the ‘dhakka man’ in a film
shot on a street in Bombay. As he rehearses the dhakka, his dead father, a yesteryear natya-samrat, materializes from nowhere and sarcastically reprimands
him for not taking acting seriously ever. He leans on a corporation bin and
says ‘Main ajkal yehi rehta hoon!’ before
disappearing leaving you to absorb the suggestiveness of the dialogue. But, before
that he mocks his son who is disappointed with the dialogue given to him: a
mere interjection, ‘Ay!’ The ghost of the father mouths ‘Ay’ in five different
ways, underlining that acting has barely anything to do with the length of the
role. Sadashiv Amprapurkar excels as the ghost-father.
I leave to you to judge whether
Potolbabu disappoints his father or makes him proud by that one ‘Ay!’ he
utters, as Ranbir Kapoor collides with him and runs past. The rest of the story
is Siddique’s heart-felt performance to cheer up his ailing daughter, who is
obsessed with stories of Bombay films. Banerjee makes him adapt another form of
acting --- the mime (Banerjee did not forget that silent films was the
beginning) ---- as he relates to his daughter the amusing story of the day! The
Tobu mone rekho track creates the
right kind of ambience for an emotionally charged closing scene. Ray would have
been proud of Dibakar Banerjee.
Zoya Akhtar
Although
this film is the weakest of the quartet, the story Zoya Akhtar narrates was
indeed needed to be told. Little Vicky (Naman Jain) hates football, and wishes
to gyrate like Katrina Kaif! He dreams to be a dancer, but faces insurmountable
resistance from his father (Ranvir Shorey) who is devastated on chancing upon
him in drags and performing to Aj ki raat!
Vicky’s fate seems sealed when one night Katrina Kaif visits him as a fairy
godmother who teaches him the trick to survive: sometimes it’s important that
you keep your dreams hidden from others, while nurturing them with perseverance.
Vicky learns this lesson well, and tricks his father into believing that he
wants to become a pilot. The conventional patriarchal father is happy that his
son has a conventional man-like dream. His sister is surprised at his
cunningness but becomes the greatest strength in realizing his dream. The end
is a bit too fantastical, in fact, illogical; but, you tend to overlook that remembering
Hindi films have always demanded of you a willing suspension of disbelief.
Akhtar’s film is remarkably queer,
and very suggestively questions gender categories and constructed nature of
gender roles. I was constantly reminded of Mahesh Dattani’s play Dance Like A Man which is an intriguing
tale of a male dancer’s tussle with his disapproving father. In fact, Akhtar has
given voice to a very common dream which has been nurtured by many a queer man
in India. Many of them have dreamt to dance like Sridevi or Madhuri Dixit;
while others have often found in Meena Kumari their icon or have identified
with Rekha’s anguish in Umraon Jaan!
The Hindi film heroine has always been a queer icon in India, and Akhtar has chosen
a very commendable topic for her film. The film also reveals the obsession with
fame and glamour, the dream of ‘good life’ the film industry has been peddling
successfully since its inception. Although the film is weak compared to the
first two films, the subject deserves two-thumbs up!
Anurag Kashyap
I
had expected a lot more from my Dev D
man on the occasion of celebrating 100 years of Indian Cinema. He doesn’t disappoint,
but appears remarkably lack-lustre in comparison to the two brilliant pieces of
art in the first half. Like the first three films, Kashyap also delves into the
father-son relationship. While Johar and Akhtar present non-conformist sons,
Kashyap’s protagonist Vijay (Vineet Kumar) is a much too obedient son, who goes
to extraordinary lengths to grant his father his weird wish.
The film is a testing commentary on
stardom and fan-following. The film uncovers in meticulous detail star-power
and its impact on the aam-junta!
Vijay (named after several Amitabh Bachchan characters) leaves his hometown
Allahabad carrying a murabba which
his father wants Bachchan to take a bite from. Vijay is made to believe by his
father that this murrabba would be
the antidote to his ailments, and Vijay leaves no stone unturned to make
Bachchan take a bite from the murabba.
The film is delightful till a point, but grates on the nerves at 27 minutes!
What keeps the film going is Vineet Kumar’s honest performance. Note his retro hairstyle
and costume, and his faint resemblance with Bachchan. The iconic status of
Bombay filmstars and their abiding influence on the crowd come out brilliantly,
and many obsessive fans would identify with Vijay and his father. In fact, in
the end, you would feel like pleading with Bachchan to have a bite and relieve
Vijay of his Herculean task.
The film ends not with triumph, but
cruelty! The last scene however is subtle commentary on how it is always desirable
to worship stars from a distance; they are indeed beautiful on the silver
screen. But, it takes a lot to negotiate with them in reality. Kashyap, surely
doesn’t or did not intend any moral lesson, but this is what you would certainly
reap from the film.
NB:
After the final fadeout, wait for a while…it begins all over again…the history
of Hindi cinema…although quite shoddy in execution, it is nonetheless fun.
Image courtesy: www.top10bollywood.com;
indiatoday.intoday.in;
in.bookmyshow.com;
movies.sulekha.com
