Monday, May 6, 2013

‘Bombay Talkies’: An ‘Ajeeb Dastaan’ to be Remembered!



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

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