On Rang De Basanti**

Rang De Basanti (Rakeysh Mehra, 2006) was not just a very successful film in terms of box office returns, but was also able to aquire cult status, when it was released. A film can do both at the same time only when it is able to put ideas out there which its audience is able to identify with. And this is exactly what RDB did. It packaged two important ideas in its story - one, that the glory and fervour of patriotism that was prevalent at the time of the Independence struggle is something that is simply not accessible to the youth of today, and two, that there is a chasm between the State and the youth which results in deep-seated alienation in the minds of the young people of this country.

But the skill of the film-maker did not stop there. RDB has a parallel narrative structure, which not only assimilates the two ideas, but is also able to convey the thought that in spite of the alienation positive action is possible. In this blog, I want to concentrate on this parallel narrative and what it is able to do for the film.

On the one hand, we have the story of Bhagat Singh and his comarades, who fought and died for the independence of this country. Let us take a step back in time to the year 2002 when five films on the very same story were made. None of the films were successful. One of the reasons for this is obvioulsy that if there are five films made on the same subject available to the audience, the individual impact of each is bound to get diluted. But also, that the ideals shown in all five films are something that most of today's audience (60-odd years after Independence) will simply not be able to identify with. This thought struck me, in fact, when I was watching a much older version of the same story, Shaheed (S. Ram Sharma, 1965). I can appreciate the film as a history lesson and a good film, but the rhetoric and the driven behaviour of the characters, I cannot relate to. This is also the same reason why films like Wake Up Sid and Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na do well. These are young people we actually may know in our real lives too.

So, making a film only on the Bhagat Singh story is not enough. One remixes it with a contemporary track, and there in you have a hit formula. In order to so this, you take characters who resemble the contemporary scenario and have them play Bhagat Singh and the rest of the freedom fighters. By doing this two things are possible - the young people in the film are able to imbibe their ideas, live their emotions through role play, and get the feeling that the people are different, but perhaps the problems are still the same, and in spite of living in a democracy, we are perhaps not completely free. Not only do the actors on the screen play the dual roles, but we as the audience do too. So DJ and his group act as a binder between the audience and the Bhagat Singh story.

Another message the film is able to pass on through this kind of inter-mixing of the two stories is that even if ours is a free country, complacency and indifference is not acceptable. We still need to make a noise against what is wrong and at least attempt to fix it.

When the film released, a common criticism of its ideology was that it promotes violent, sporadic action against injustice in our country. Simply put, it promotes murder -- an eye for an eye -- in a country force-fed the passive values of Gandhigiri. My response to this is no, the film does not do that. The shooting of the Defence Minister in the film is a symbolic action. It replicates the shooting of Saunders in the alter-ego narrative of the film, and that's about it. If the film truly promoted murder then the last radio station scene of the film would not have been included at all, in which the characters explain that what they did was only a means of revenge for their friend's death, and by no means a war cry.

In fact, if one watches the last scene of the film when DJ and the others are killed by the police, the police actually come off as far more violent and blood-thirsty than the young people -- a scene reminiscent of the Jalianwala Baug massacre depicted earlier in the film.

Compare this to another film, where maybe the solution depicted is more practical and usable -- a film like Yuva (Mani Ratnam, 2004) -- which advocates an entry into politics as a mode of bringing about change. Yet, even in that film violence and arm-twisting is something that cannot be completely left out. Compare this to yet another classic like Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron (Kundan Shah, 1983), where the end shows that the common man is ultimately silent and powerless in face of the behemoths of policits and money. Contextually, this solution may work, but in the larger picture, silence may also imply acceptance. And this is exactly what a film like RDB does not want to preach.

RDB is by no means a flawless film, but it is also a film one need not take literally. Everything in the film has been positioned so as to pass on a message. In the end, a film like this needs to be made and watched because it says some important things about our country and makes us think, and then maybe, act.

** I owe the germ of the ideas in this blog to a discussion in my M. Phil. class and also to an essay called 'Outside the Whale' by Salman Rushdie, available in the collection Imaginary Homelands.

Original Copy - Thoughts on 'Ek Phool Char Kaante'

I believe that literature is the most resonant creative form. So much of what we see in a movie, or read in a newspaper article, or even experience in our lives, seems to be familair because we remember it from a book. I experienced an instance of this resonance recently when I picked up a copy of a book called Major Voices: 18th Century Women Playwrights by Michael Cains. Now this book was a revelation to me. I had no idea that women wrote plays in the 18th century, much less staged them. The introduction of the book informs me that some of these plays had to fight to see the light of day, and when they did they went unnoticed or flopped. A few of them did receive critical and commercial success. Some of them even had to be released anonymously, as theatre in those days in England was "corruptible" and not considered the "proper" occupation, especially for malleable-minded women!

The very first play in this collection is one called A Bold Stroke for a Wife by Susannah Centlivre, written in early 18th century. The play tells the story of a girl by the name of Anne Lovely, who is rich and of marriageable age. She is courted by Colonel Fainwell, whose overtures she reciprocates. Her deceased father's will leaves four guardians incharge of her. Moreover, the will stipulates that she can only get married to the man who her four guardians approve of. The catch is that all four are poles apart from and fiercly derisive of each other, not to mention difficult to please. One is a preacher, the second a stockbroker, the third a pseudo-connoseur, and the fourth is a rich fancy pants. So Fainwell sets out to impress all four guardians by morphing into the type of man each one would like for his ward.

To those of you who have seen the 1960 Waheeda Rehman-Sunil Dutt starer Ek Phool Char Kante (dir: Bhappi Sonie), this plot will sound very familiar. I always thought that this film had a very interesting story line, and it is one of my most favourite romantic comedies. And now, after reading this play, I come to know it's not original. Anyway, I'm not disappointed - I still love the film. It's entertaining and Sunil Dutt is the best part of the film. What prompted me to write this blog is the way in which both the play and the film use this 'four guardians-one female ward' structure and the ideologies they bring forth.

Susannah Centlivre is writing out of a strict patriarchal set-up which even frowns upon her writing. It seems to me that this is her inspiration for creating a character srtucture of this type, which replicates the claustrophobia of the soceity she lives in. The men have total control - the father of Anne Lovely, even after his death does not leave her free to marry a man of her choice. Her guardians do not only track her actions, but also expect her to do what they tell her when she is with them. In fact, she even has to dress according to their whims - in a unrevealing head-to-toe dress when she is in the care of the preacher, and in bright, fashinable clothes when she is with the fancy pants. So obviously it is Fainwell's job (another man!) to rescue her from her constricited existence, and make her his wife. We are also told that she has thirty thousand pounds at her disposal after her marriage, which means that anyone who marries her will be that much richer. Fainwell clearly mentions in the play that he is marrying her not only because she's pretty, but also because she is rich.

Centlivre satirises every patriarchal convention and manifestation in this play. She ridicules the traditional male occupations into which women were not allowed entry at that time, like preaching and trade. She ridicules men who have money, but no taste, and cover up their lack of intellect with expensive clothes and possessions. She does not even spare her hero, Fainwell, who is gallant and clever enough to "rescue" our maiden, but whose motivation for wanting to marry her seems shallow and superficial. The structure of the play itself is a indictment of the system of patriarchy and the manner in which it tries to bind and mould women. And I also feel that a criticism of patriarchy is an inherent quality of the structure - it has been designed for this purpose.

What happens when this structure is transposed onto a Hindi film made in the 1960s? The film also could easily have been a similar critique of patriarchy, since male oppression of women is not an unfamiliar concept even to our culture. Instead the film changes genres and what we get is a romantic comedy in place of a satire. The film does lose the political edge of the play here, but does not fail to make subtle comments on the man-woman relations in society. Take, for example, the very first scene, where the film mocks the manner in which some women may feign helplessness to be dependent on men to get things done from them. The man is question, Sanjeev (Sunil Dutt), refuses to be chivalrous when Sushma (Waheeda Rehman) asks his help in changing a flat tire. Instead, he says that he would help, but only with instructions - she would have to do the actual dirty work herself.

The relation between Sushma and her four uncles is harmonious - she willingly, not forcibly, changes herself according to the preferences of each uncle. They genuinely love her and care for her happiness. Here, the film inverts another custom of our society were women have to prove themselves to be sarvagun sampann to be accepted as brides. It is the man in this film who has to prove himself to be religious, physically strong, social and flamboyant all at the same time. The film needs to be seen for the performances of the four uncles - David, Johnny Lever, Dhumal and Rashid Khan (who in fact are quite "theatrical" in their acting styles), and for Sunil Dutt.

The film and the play are both equally funny and enjoyable to watch/read. It does not matter that the film isn't original - it brings its own unique take on the structure that Centlivre creates. This unique quality is what differentiates a mere copy from what I termed "resonance" at the beginning of this blog.

Love in the time of Recession

I happened to see two very similar films on the very same day - a coincidence that has prompted this blog. The two films I'm referring to are Going the Distance (Nanette Burstein, 2010) and Anjaana Anjaani(Siddharth Anand, 2010). Though I admit that these films are unlikely to be regarded as classics or blockbusters, they are the subject of this blog, since they have managed to subvert their parent genres in certain ways.

First the points of concurrence: both films are love stories. Both films are set in the cities of New York and San Francisco - cities already invested with a high degree of romantic charm through our exposure to Hollywood fare and American television. And the most significant similarity in terms of this piece - both films use the recent economic Recession as a narrative hook.

We know that the economic recession brought about major social changes across the world, but in Going the Distance we see how it affects the genre of "romantic comedy". The recession is one of the factors that generates conflict in the plot, as it is due to this that the protagonists are forced to stay put in different cities for a lack of jobs in the other's city.

Going...is no fairytale romance or "chick flick" (which, by the way, is the most dumbing-down way of classifying a film). It is not your typical romantic comedy of the Julia-Roberts-Meg-Ryan type, where the happy marriage of the hero and the heroine is the main narrative motivation. The climax of this film simply concentrates on bringing the protagonists closer to each other. It is the hero, Garrett (Justin Long), and not the heroine, who moves out of New York to LA, which is closer to Erin's (Drew Barrymore) home, San Francisco. There is no suggestion of a wedding, and the film is happy to end with a practical (not perfect) solution to a real-world problem. It would be unrealistic to show the two protagonists happily walking into the sunset, as most of the audience struggles with issues like career versus relationship, job security, and long distance relationships. Yet, the film has not done away the concept of "soulmates". We know that Erin and Garrett are meant to be together, but it's not going to come to them easy, like it never does in the real world.

The romantic comedy is still in its nascent stage in Hindi Cinema, as compared to its Hollywood counterpart. This is evident from the recent spate films like I Hate Luv Storys, Jhootha Hi Sahi, Break Ke Baad; better films like Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na and Love Aaj Kal, and of course, Anjaana Anjaani.

The love story is the most common plot in Hindi films, but what makes these films different is the focus on the individual, as opposed to family. Most love stories of the 1980s and 90s followed a predictable pattern, wherein the hero and the heroine could not marry each other because of family enimity or difference in social class. These conflicts were done away with once the protagonists proved themselves to be worthy of each other and their respective families, and again, the film would end with a wedding scene. The films I have mentioned earlier completely do away with the cumbersome "holy cow" of the family and concentrate on individual choice in romantic matters. The parents are either genial friendly souls or, unhappily, dead!

We see an example of this in Anjaana....where Kiara (Priyanka Chopra's) parents do not play any consequential role in her decision-making, and Aakash's (Ranbir Kapoor) parents are hardly mentioned. Recession looms in the backdrop in this story too, as Aakash's reason for committing suicide is a major loss at the stock market. The advantage of focussing only on the main characters is that it makes for layered character structure and development, but this is missing in both Anjaana...and the other films I've mentioned. Also, these films are made without the characteristic warmth or crackling dialogue of the conventional Hollywood romantic comedy. This feature is missing in Going....as well, which is why it is a lesser film.

Anjaana....though deserves mention for a hilarious inversion of a very familiar Hindi film plot device - one where the heroine in abducted and the hero bravely fights with the goons to rescue the damsel in distress. Aakash is picked up by a beefy tattooed man at a bar, and is forcibly carried away to a room, as Kiara rushes to rescue him. The movie should be watched, even if for just this one scene.

The Romantic Comedy remains one of my favourite genres for its witty dialogue and sharp charactertisation, even though its one of the most predictable of plot lines a love story can follow. Its nice to see that it us undergoing a much needed change in Hollywood, and is will hopefully evolve in Hindi cinema.

Jogwa - Altering Identity

Costume in film can be used in many ways. Very simply, it can be used as a fashion statement. Even if the film-maker doesn't intend it, many film costumes end up as contemporary fashion trends. In period-based films costumes are used to lend authenticity to the story and characters, by being appropriate to the time setting.

Costume is also, less frequently, used to bring out some aspect of character in a film - as a symbol of a certain dimension of a character's personality. A very elementary use of this can be seen in films like Chaalbaaz (Pankaj Parashar, 1989), where costume becomes a relflection of the twin sisters' diametrically opposite personalities. So, the demure and timid Anju is seen in saris, whereas the fiery Manju gets to wear western clothes and stilletoes.

It is in this context of costume that I would like to discuss the film Jogwa (Rajiv Patil, 2009) in this blog.

One major theme in the film is "identity". Moreover the film is about the implications of loss of identity and imposing an unnatural identity on an individual. The character of Tayyapa in the film is forced to wear a sari and live life as a jogti, as a result of the superstitions prevalent among the village-folk. But as the film progresses, we notice that this is not merely a change of dress - the act of wearing a sari begins to have serious implications on the personality of the character.

The sari itself is meant to convert Tayyapa into an asexual being. He is not allowed to be attracted to women, but this conversely leaves him vulnerable to unwanted male attention. It forces him to supress instinctual behaviour. As another character (who is in a situation, similar to that of Tayyapa, and has been wearing a sari since the age of 10) in the film tells Tayyapa that even if he were to get intimate with a woman he would not feel anything.

The costume, then, becomes a symbol for how human beings can be oppressed due to superstitions and ignorance. It is instrumental in altering a character's identity. Something similar to this can be seen in a film like The Mask (Chuck Russell, 1994), in which wearing the mask is also an act of shedding one's inhibitions and gaining freedom from society's binding norms. In Jogwa, the sari performs the exact opposite function - of contricting one's personality within the dictates of society.

I would specially like to draw attention to the song 'Jiv rangala' in the film. It is a romantic number, shot in scenic, peaceful locales, like any other romantic song. But this has to be one of the most unconventinal love songs I've come across in terms of depiction of the lead pair. Both the male and female leads in the song are dressed in saris. The director could have resorted to any other device to picturise this song conventionally. It could have been a dream sequence, or just for the space of this song Tayyapa could have worn male attire. No one would have found this odd, or even noticed. The best part, though, is that inspite of both the actors wearing saris, you still don't notice. The song is not in the least bit disconcerting or strange. And therein lies the skill of the director and of his storytelling.

Jogwa is a very watchable film for many reasons. It has a unique subject, which has been dealt with empathetically. The director sends out an important message without ever resorting to sermonising or high-handedness. The performances are understated and do not go overboard, and Upendra Limaye's utterly convincing performance as Tayyapa takes your breath away. I'm sure at some point I'll be able to write a more objective analysis of the film. But for now, I'm happy being completely taken in by the film.

In attempting an analysis of Sholay, I’m painfully aware that I’m no trailblazer. Yet as a lover of Hindi cinema, and as an Indian, who like other Indians has loved and watched Sholay countless number of times, I feel compelled to contribute to the enormous corpus of information available on this film.


Use of the flashback in Sholay

The film constantly refers back to itself in its use of the flashback technique as a narrative device. The plot of the film continuously delays and defers explanations. These are later revealed only when it becomes absolutely crucial for the characters (and the audience) to know how the present state of circumstances came to be. It should be noted that these explanations occur for the benefit of certain characters in the film itself, and thereby for the audience. The flashback, in this film, is not used only to provide “back-story” to the audience, as is usually done in most other films where it is used.

The reluctance to provide details instantly can be seen in the first scene in the film itself. In a leisurely establishment shot (which actually establishes nothing in particular), we see a train pull up on an empty station in a remote village, we suppose, and a lone police officer stepping out of the train. “Where he is going? For what purpose?” – the film takes its own time to answer these questions. In the next seen, we see the Thakur instructing the police officer to find Jai and Veeru for him. The questions we asked in the first scene are answered only in the next scene (although not with the help of a flashback – the events here are chronological). The flashback pattern begins to operate at this juncture. The police officer (articulating the audience’s curiosity) asks the Thakur what he wants the two petty thieves for. Here, the film cuts into a flashback of the train dacoity scene where Jai and Veeru save Thakur’s life. As a result of the flashback, the police officer and the audience have found their answer.

This pattern also tells us how the Thakur’s arms were mutilated. After the dacoits have attacked the village on Holi and have been driven out by Jai and Veeru, Veeru asks the Thakur, “Why didn’t you pick up the gun?” The audience at this point is curious to know the same and also why Thakur is wrapped in a shawl at all times. The film once again diverges into a flashback at this juncture and we witness the mutilation of Thakur’s arms.

This stalling of explication occurs and a subsequent flashback in the film’s narrative, such as when Jai asks Thakur’s helper about Radha’s silent nature. Here, the flashback shows Radha as a boisterous, talkative girl as compared to her present subdued nature on account of the terrible tragedy she has suffered.

The flashback, then, is not simply a narrative technique in the film, but an independent motif by itself. Its most basic purpose is obviously to maintain suspense in the minds of the audience for as along as possible. As we start to wonder why someone behaves a certain way in the film, why things are the way they are, a character within the film steps up on our behalf and pops the question for us. This is an interesting way in which the film relates to the audience outside the film. Instead of reaching out, in draws them in. This is an idea of “intra-textuality” which the film, through the use of recurrent motifs, is able to achieve.

Dualism and the “khota sikka”

In scene 2, the police officer refers to Jai and Veeru as “khotey sikke”, uni-dimensional and worthless as criminals. Here, the Thakur replies that there is a fundamental difference between fake coins and human beings – human beings are not one-dimensional. This dialogue, occurring at the very beginning of the film, points towards the ideological dualism and ambivalence that we see throughout the film.

A film is not only a representation of plot and character, but also of a system of values or ideological positions. We see these ideological positions in conflict with each other through the course of the film, and this conflict is resolved when the film, at its conclusion, upholds one system of values and denounces the other. The simplest conflict of values in most popular cinema is the one between good and evil, represented by the hero and the villain respectively. The death of the villain at the end of the film signifies the prevalence of good over evil.

The good/evil contention is present in Sholay as well, clearly polarized between the Thakur and nemesis, Gabbar Singh. These two characters also symbolize the ideological conflict between law-making and law-breaking in the film respectively. Thus, the triumph of good over evil is not depicted through the death of the villain at the hands, or rather feet, of the hero. The hero, also being representative of the law-maker cannot be the perpetrator of cold-blooded murder. Then, he would be no different from the villain, or the one on the wrong side of the law. The timely intervention of the police a second before the Thakur is going to crush Gabbar under his feet ensures this does not happen. Evil has to be captured and constrained, not obliterated, because, quite obviously, there can be no absolute deletion of evil from the world. The good/evil conflict within the film is then subsumed under the law-making/law-breaking conflict.

The ambivalence in this theme can be seen in the characters of Jai and Veeru. At the onset of the film they are on the wrong side of the law. Just like the film never explains why Gabbar is so trigger happy, we never come to know why Jai and Veeru prefer to live their lives as petty thieves. The ambivalence starts to diffuse when we see the two transform into potential “family men” from vagabond criminals.

Almost the entire film depicts a rupture of the institution of the family. Most of the characters in the film do not have any known family ties, like Jai and Veeru. Basanti lives with her Mausi and has no immediate family. The Thakur’s family is murdered by Gabbar, who also kills Imam Chacha’s only son, Ahmed.

Jai and Veeru signify the conflict between the comic and the cynic within the film. The comic is a conformist, indulging in ridicule and buffoonery within the limits of law and legitimacy. The cynic, on the other hand, is a commentator who places himself outside society and outside the community. The conflict comes through in the characterization of the two and also in their attitude towards love. Veeru is boisterous and dramatic, finding a soulmate of sorts in the equally noisy Basanti. Their love story is full of fun and teasing, as their scenes together offer comic relief at several points in the film. The unarticulated romance of Jai and Radha comes as a stark contrast to the Veeru-Basanti love-track. There is hardly as exchange of words, all sympathy between the characters coming through expressions and actions only. Also, this love story has a tragic end, with the death of Jai.

The death of Jai symbolizes also the death of the cynic. The cynic is a figure who threatens to disrupt society due to his starkly realistic and at times, pessimistic outlook towards the world. He has to be either reformed or removed from society. Sholay decides to remove him. The cynicism of Jai is a milder form of cynicism compared to the ultimate cynic in the film, the villain, Gabbar Singh. The parallel between the two can be seen in the way both invert emotion in dialogue.

Before shooting Kalia, this is the conversation that takes place between him and Gabbar:

Gabbar: Ab tera kya hoga, Kalia?

Kalia: Sardar, maine aapka namak khaya hai…

Gabbar: Ab goli kha.

Gabbar has substituted the sense of loyalty in the word “namak” with the sense of violence in the word “goli”. This kind of substitution is what Jai also does at another point in the film. Consider the dialogue between him and Veeru after they have arrived at Thakur’s bungalow after a ride in Basanti’s tonga:

Veeru (referring to Basanti): Bahut pyari baatien karti hai.

Jai: Bahut pyari nahi, bahut saari baatein karti hai.

Just as Veeru tries to romanticize Basanti’s talkativeness, Jai brings him down to earth. But the audience does not see Gabbar and Jai as being similar to each other. Gabbar’s inversion evokes terror, Jai’s only humour. We mourn the death of Jai and rejoice in the capture of Gabbar. Their respective levels of cynicism help to shape the audience’s attitude towards them.

The frequent coin tosses within the film also hint towards the strain of dualism in the film. Whenever Jai tosses his coin and makes a decision, there is a feeling that it could have very well gone the other way. All their decisions, right from taking the Thakur to hospital and coming to Ramgarh, seem to be chance. The point in the film where we discover that the coin was “khota” after all, is also the point in the film when this sense of dualism starts to integrate itself into a unified value system. The film does present ideological ambivalence but makes sure all the loose ends are tied up at the end.

Jai, the cynic dies. Gabbar is captured. Veeru’s nomadic tendencies will be curbed with his anticipated marriage to Basanti. Their marriage also signals the reconstitution of the family, which is invisible in the rest of the film. The film restores order at the end of the film as all the conflicts are resolved. This integration of values in the film is the semiotic function of the “khota sikka” mentioned at the start of the film. Interestingly, Khotey Sikke is also the name of the film that Sholay is said to be based on.



“Performance” motif in Sholay

The comic sequences in Sholay operate on the “performance” motif, in the sense that one gets the impression that the character in question is performing for an audience as on stage and not on film.

Most of the comic scenes in the film are limited to the first half of the movie and are not incidental, but have been deliberately inserted for the purpose of comic relief. This offers a contrast to the second half of the film, which concentrates on the defeat of Gabbar Singh.

The “performance” motif is seen both in the comic scenes that involve the protagonists and some of the minor characters as well. The first example of this motif can be seen in the ‘Soorma Bhopali’ scene. This character is fond of telling tall stories of his bravado and does so sitting on a table, on a higher level than his audience, an enraptured group of villagers. Another example of this is Asrani’s hilarious parody of Hitler in the jail sequences. Here, he too appears first on a height, much like a raised platform and entertains the prisoners and the audience with his imitation of the “great dictator”.

Perhaps the most famous example of this motif is Veeru’s ‘suicide scene’. Veeru’s stage is a water-tank, his audience and amused bunch of villagers.

“Performance” is also apparent in one of the more serious scenes in the film – Gabbar Singh’s introduction scene. The first shot we see of him is a shot of his legs on a rock. This makes the power relationship between him and the other dacoits immediately clear.

There are many factors common to these scenes: some kind of a raised area where the performing character is placed, an audience within the film, and a lot of superfluous dialogue given to the performing character. The character relates to the audience in the film and outside it in the manner in which the stage actor relates to her/his audience.

Udaan - Talking Frames

I have always felt that there are no "good" films or "bad" films. There are either thoughtfully made films or thoughtlessly made films. And I would definitely place Udaan (Vikramaditya Motwane, 2010) in the former category. This is mainly because the director has paid a lot of attention to detail in this film. And "attention to detail" is not something that we get to see very often in most of Hindi cinema. Motwane here makes sure that every frame of his movie speaks to us - even if his actors in it have no lines, or even if they are not present in it at all.

For instance, there is a scene in the film when Rohan's father, tells him in a dunken stupor that he looks like a girl. When I thought over this, it did seem true that the actor, Rajat Barmecha, does have feminine features, which stand in direct contrast to his father's very "alpha-male" physical appearence. Where Rohan has big, round eyes and bow-shaped lips, his father is made to look almost like Hitler, complete with hard features and a moustache. Yet, Bhairon Singh's pronounced manliness is only a mask that hides his inner insecurity and waekness. On the other hand, Rohan comes out as a strong 18-year old, who his able to break free even in the face of trauma. Thus, Rohan and his father are etched out as direct foils of each other, not just emotionally, but physically as well.

This use of the visual to convey a character's emotions and state of mind, or to set the mood occurs elsewhere in the film too.

Most of the initial scenes of the film lay a lot of emphasis on Rohan lugging his heavy trunk after him - in his hostel room, up the stairs of his own home. This tells us that the boy does not have an easy life. He carries a lot of "baggage", which he will have to shed in the course of the film so that his own dreams can take flight later. So, he goes through a process of the proverbial trial by fire in this father's steel factory in order to "mould" himself into a strong and self-reliant individual.

Also, the house Rohan lives in has a barbed wire fencing around it, which is the focus of many shots in this film. This is an obvious reflection of the relationships that the people living inside the home share, owing to the father's belligerent attitude.

This kind of visual articulation must require some careful planning, which is why I said earlier that Udaan is thoughtful cinema. But mostly, if you are able to live the emotional experience of the film's protagonist along with her/him, you've got your paisa vasool and much more.

On Wake Up Sid and LSD

This one is a quick entry on two movies that I have seen recently and liked very much - the first is Wake Up Sid! (Ayan Mukerji, 2009) and the second, Love Sex Aur Dhokha (Dibakar Banerjee, 2010).

Wake Up Sid! is a movie that I have grown to like - the more I see it the more I like it. Ayan Mukherjee shows considerable depth and subtlety in his direction (something that was completely absent from his producer's indulgent and melodramatic first venture...sorry I'm not a Kuch Kuch Hota Hai fan. I really thought it was an appalling film except for one sparkling sequence, when Anjali and Rahul meet after years at the camp). Anyway, this blog is not about KKHH; it is about Sid.

There are many reasons to appreciate this film - the unconventianal love story, the acting, the way in which the director handles the emotional moments without going over the top. But I am going to appreciate the film for its characterisation. There is nothing very original or out-of-the-box about the characters in this film. We've seen them all before, in other films - the father, who has made his name only after a life of struggle, the doting mother, the boy who refuses to grow up - they are not unknown to us. But what is new about them - and all the characters in this film - is that none of them are caricatures or parodies. Mukerji draws his people from stereotypes, but refuses to let them dwell in that stereotype. Not even the minor characters like the studious Debbie, or the overweight Laxmi, or the wild Sonia. Mukerji makes sure they all have dignity, and a heart. This is what has made the film endearing to me.

And now over to a diametrically different film Love Sex Aur Dhoka. This film is dynamite viewing experience. Again, the three stories that make up the film are not unfamiliar. Maybe we haven't seen them before on film, but we have read enough newspaper reports and "breaking news" bytes to know what will eventually happen. The first two stories are especially predictable. But the treatmeant is extremely refreshing. Without being verbose or didactic, Banerjee makes his point about the invasion of the camera in our lives and the thrill of voyeurism. Not to mention making voyeurs of his audience as well. Of course, we want to see the gory details of when the first couple is hacked to death. Of course we want to know if the "store scandal" tape makes it to the internet or not.

Both these films are examples of all that is exciting and new in Hindi cinema right now. The so called "Bollywood" viewing experience is (mercifully) no more three hours of "masala timepass".