Filmi Geek

The Blue Umbrella (2005)

Like his film Makdee, Vishal Bhardwaj's The Blue Umbrella is a story about a child, though it is not as explicitly a children's story as that wonderful fable.  Nor is it as decidedly a grown-up story as his Shakespeare adaptations Omkara or Maqbool.  However one characterizes this film, though, one thing is certain - I need to see more Vishal Bhardwaj films.  

In a picturesque town in the mountain state of Himachal Pradesh lives a little girl named Biniya (Shreya Sharma).  Biniya does what most little girls do - runs around and plays with the other children, and bargains for candy and treats with the keeper of the local snack stand, Nandu (Pankaj Kapur).  One day, on the mountainside outside the village, Biniya finds a beautiful umbrella, and is entranced by its sky-blue watercolors, delicate papery canopy, its bamboo ribs and sensuous ruffles.  When the Japanese tourist to whom it belongs finds her, Biniya trades her precious good luck charm - a bear claw - for the umbrella, and brings the marvelous artifact back to the village. 

There, Biniya becomes the center of all attention, as children and adults alike are fascinated by the umbrella.  Nandu covets it, and offers her all the toffees and biscuits she can eat in exchange for it - but Biniya isn't selling.  Then one day Biniya's heart breaks - she turns her back on the umbrella for a few short moments, and it vanishes.  When Nandu obtains a nearly identical umbrella - his is red - from a foreign seller, Biniya vibrates with rageful suspicion, and determines to prove that Nandu is a thief. 

There are so many marvelous touches in this short little film that it's difficult to single out a few without feeling guilty for giving others short shrift.  It is visually stunning, with a rich palate and carefully-constructed shots that deliver beauty and symbolism in equal parts.  In one scene, Biniya brandishes the umbrella like a kung-fu master to protect her older brother - himself a powerful champion wrestler - from a coiling cobra.  In another of the many lovely scenes, Nandu tries, without success, to bribe Biniya with a bunch of balloons.  The brightly colored balloons float slowly away like Nandu's dreams as he stands, small and beige and still, before the grey backdrop of a rocky waterfall. 

Indeed, Bhardwaj uses the picturesque village and its breathtaking natural surroundings to great effect, creating a dreamlike or fable-like quality even while presenting day to day village life in charming and engaging vignettes throughout the story. And while most of the characters are not fleshed out - the 90-minute running time does not afford very much deep character development - Nandu and Biniya are, as much through expressive silences as through any dialogue.  In this way, the film bears some similarity to Bhardwaj's delicious Makdee, presenting village life with some vividness, along with the maturation of a child's spirit in opposition to a stubborn and cruel adult.  Unlike the witch in Makdee, though, Nandu has some nuance of his own.  Sour as the pickles he relishes, this bitter little man is nevertheless moved to poetry by the beauty of the umbrella, which he rhapsodizes in loving terms.

The film has some themes in common with The Gods Must Be Crazy and other stories of that ilk, in which a mysterious and desirable object of foreign origin invades a peaceful, tightly knit community and breeds unrest and mistrust among its residents.  The umbrella surely carries the allegorical force of the variety of outside influences that exert themselves on Indian village life, both foreign influences and those from other sectors of Indian society.  And in Biniya's village, where the villagers routinely entertain tourists (and sometimes even con them), there is enough resilience that in the end, the umbrella's upsetting influence can be calmed, and the umbrella integrated into the village's peaceful fabric, as Nandu changes the name of his snack stand from his surname "Khatri stall" to "Chatri stall" (umbrella stall).  

Katha (1983)

कथा

With Sparsh and Chashme buddoor, director Sai Paranjpe had already proved to me her great skill at presenting down-to-earth, real, sweet stories about believable characters, so I came to Katha ("fable") with high expectations.  I was not disappointed.

Rajaram Purshottam Joshi (Naseeruddin Shah) lives in a chawl, a kind of boarding house common in Bombay.  A hardworking office clerk, Rajaram is pleased when he is promoted to permanent status at his company, and looks forward to celebrating with his neighbor Sandhya (Deepti Naval), a charming girl with whom he is quite obviously smitten.  Soon Rajaram's childhood friend Vashudev (Farooq Shaikh) - he prefers the hip nickname "Washu" - arrives, and casts a spell over all the residents of the chawl - including Sandhya.  He even cons Rajaram's boss, landing himself a job as Rajaram's superior.  Rajaram sees through his friend's slick-talking charm, but with his gentle demeanor he is powerless to stop the juggernaut that is Washu in pursuit of something - or someone - that amuses him. 

Just as in Sparsh and Chashme buddoor, Sai Paranjpe shows her gentle touch in Katha, offering characters who are real, relatable, and engaging.  In particular, just like Chashme buddoor, Katha offers adorable humor without outlandishness, real-life believable situations that make the audience laugh because it's not difficult to project them onto ourselves and our neighbors.  The portrayal of life in the chawl is particularly charming and satisfying, and is itself a reason to see the movie for anyone interested in workaday Indian life.  The chawl is a tight-knit community is like a small village or, as one character in the film analogizes, a great joint family, in which individuals and families live in small flats centered on a common courtyard and shared water and other utilities.  There is a bitter barren woman who yells at children playing in the courtyard; a newlywed couple who rarely emerge from their rooms but whose giggles can be heard through the closed shutters; a disabled man who asks incessant favors from every visitor; a grandma who cooks yummy snacks for every young visitor she receives; a couple, whose son is a doctor in Canada, who love nothing more than to show off their richly appointed flat and their refrigerator and television; and more.  Paranjpe paints the inhabitants of this microcosm with great vividness and affection, and their interactions are tremendous fun to watch. 

The enjoyable bustle of the chawl forms a delightful backdrop for the interactions of the main players (they even serve as a Greek chorus of sorts, especially in the film's wonderful songs).  The principals' performances are all executed without flaw, especially those of Naseeruddin Shah and Farooq Shaikh.  Naseeruddin Shah is at his droopy, sad-sacky best; Rajaram wears his frustration physically as Washu runs circles around him, projecting a confused and adorable mixture of disdain and admiration for his friend's antics.  And Farooq Shaikh nails Washu's puff-chested confidence to perfection.  In Chashme buddoor, Farooq's character was charming in part because despite being marginally smarter and more competent than his friends, he was still mostly a dork.   The same is true here, with a faintly sinister edge since Washu is, at base, a con-man.  But the joke which Paranjpe lets the audience in on - a joke that escapes Washu - is that Washu is nothing more than a small-time con, not half the player he thinks is.  For example, while Washu both cons and cuckolds Rajaram's boss, it's established early on that the boss is a weak target, not a very bright guy to begin with.  The result is a sense of desperation and cheapness about Washu, as if he's conned his own low-watt self right along with the easy marks he chooses.   

And so, as in the titular fable that provides the film's bookends - the story of the tortoise and the hare - Katha ends with the satisfying feeling that the wheel will turn and both Washu and Rajaram will get what they deserve from the universe.  And we, the audience, get a warm, delightful, and utterly charming film, another very, very fine feather in Sai Paranjpe's cap. 

Dor (2006)

डोर

As an engaging film about the bonds between in women in which the women are sharply drawn and neither archtypical nor sterotypical, Dor (thread) reminds me a little of some of Shyam Benegal's films.  But it is sweeter and gentler than Benegal's gritty tales, and that sweetness endures long after the film is over.

Though Zeenat (Gul Panag) and Meera (Ayesha Takia) live half a nation apart and have never met, their lives are destined to intertwine.  Zeenat's husband Amir (Rushad Rana) and Meera's, Shankar (Anirudh Jaykar), both join a crew of migrant workers in Saudi Arabia, leaving their wives behind.  One night, in a heated argument, Amir (perhaps accidentally) kills Shankar.   Amir is convicted of murder, and under Saudi law, will be executed unless Shankar's widow Meera signs papers pardoning him.  And so Zeenat, desperate to save Amir, treks across hundreds of miles of Rajasthani desert to find Meera. Spurned by Shankar's family, Zeenat befriends the melancholy Meera directly.  But the bond that forms between them is shattered when Meera learns the true motive behind Zeenat's warmth.

Dor is a lovely, delicate, engaging film, and is most unusual in its presentation of the transformative power of friendship between women.  Meera, prior to Shankar's death, is so young and full of life that seeing her broken under the strictures of traditional Rajasthani widowhood is heartbreaking; where before she sang and danced to film songs, afterwards, wrapped in an unadorned cotton sari, she is tentative, afraid to move or speak, even to voice her grief.  Zeenat prods Meera to take control of her own destiny (to a degree) and helps reintroduce color into her life.  Zeenat, in contrast, is strong and practical almost to a fault - when we first meet her she is working on a construction project, and when Amir distracts her from her work and tries to kiss her she produces a nail from between her lips.  Meera teaches her an empathy for the emotions of others that she never had previously. 

There are men in Dor too but the story - refreshingly - is not about them, though it does demonstrate the action-at-a-distance force that the actions of men can have on the lives of women, as Meera and Zeenat would not have been brought together at all but for Shankar and Amir's cataclysmic burst of testosterone that fateful night in Saudi Arabia.  Some of the men in the film are piggish and cruel, like Meera's father and his wealthy tenant, who attempt to arrange a business transaction in which Meera is the barter.  Others, though, bolster the women's strength and spirit with their love and support, like Amir and Shankar, each of whom loves his wife exactly for the woman she is and would not dream of trying to mold her into something else. 

The standout among the film's men is Behroopiya (Shreyas Tapalde), an actor and a trickster who first cons Zeenat, then befriends her and helps her in her quest to find Meera, and finally falls in love with her - though his love is not the demanding kind, and he never intrudes on her marriage or her love for her husband. Behroopiya's friendship is a kind of anchor for Zeenat's passion, and the aid he provides is both practical and spiritual.

Dor is well-wrought and memorable, delicate and sweet, and achieves that rare feat of being both real and touching at the same time.  It achieves a very fine balance, making its bittersweet point with a gentle touch.

Munnabhai M.B.B.S. (2003)

मुन्नाभाई M.B.B.S. 

Before Mumbai's favorite lovable tough-guy Munnabhai ran into Gandhi baba, he had his own father to contend with.   Though I saw the films in reverse order, Munnabhai M.B.B.S. came before the outstanding and delightful Lage raho Munnabhai, introducing movie-watchers to the goonda with a heart of gold and his sidekick Circuit. 

Munnabhai (Sanjay Dutt) runs a cheerful money-laundering and shakedown racket with the help of his loyal friend Circuit (Arshad Warsi) and a rag-tag passel of thugs.  When Munna learns that his parents (Sunil Dutt and Rohini Hattangadi) are coming to Mumbai for a visit, the troops go into overdrive to get everything set for the biggest con they ever pull: convincing Munna's parents that Munna is a physician (the "M.B.B.S." of the title is in India what M.D. is in the United States).  They transform their gangsters' hangout into a bustling clinic, complete with a sign out front honoring the name of Munna's father.  The ruse seems to be working, but Munna's bluff is called when his father runs into Dr. Asthana (Boman Irani), his former village doctor - now the dean of the top medical college in Mumbai. Munna's father proposes to get Munna married to Asthana's daughter, Chinki (Gracy Singh), herself a doctor.  But when Asthana gets wind of Munna's deception and humiliates him and his parents both, Munna vows to win back the respect of his father, of Asthana, and of Chinki as well - he enrolls in the medical college himself, and soon he is changing the lives of everyone from the staff to the patients with his unique brand of sensitive tough-guy medicine.

The best thing about Munnabhai M.B.B.S. is that it's just plain funny.  Munna and Circuit are well-crafted characters and great fun to watch.  Their inimitable way of seeing the world is always good for a hearty laugh - they are always convincing people to do the right thing, but their methods are more than a little suspect.  Throw in a little (but not too much) slapstick and some excellent physical comedy from the principals as well as the gifted Boman Irani, and you're pretty much guaranteed giggles all the way through.

Apart from the yuks, there's just the right amount of tenderness and feel-good message as well.  Munna's dedication and stick-to-itiveness when he sets his mind to a task and Circuit's unwaveringly loyal friendship are sweet and even a little inspiring.  And the father-son dynamic of the story - enhanced by the real-life father-son casting of Sanjay and Sunil Dutt - adds another dimension to Munna's character; no matter how tough, no matter how ruthless and feared in his underground business, Munna still craves the approval of his father and will go to extraordinary lengths to achieve it.  He may be a goonda, but he's a loveable teddy bear on the inside; all he needs is a chance to set himself right and his innate goodness becomes contagious.  This is shown with both humor and poignancy as Munna teaches the hospital staff to really look at the people they are treating.

It's not fair to compare Munnabhai M.B.B.S. to a film that didn't exist at the time, but in spite of everything it does right, I can't help feeling that Lage raho Munnabhai is the better film of the two.  Perhaps it's just that I saw the newer film first; or perhaps the concepts of Gandhi-giri and small acts of patience and kindness strike me as more practically applicable than magic hugs.  Or may it's the weird and conflicting attitude that Munnabhai M.B.B.S. presents about free-spirited, sexually forward women - on the one hand, Munna wants nothing to do with one such woman whom he thinks is Chinki, but on the other, he's delighted to hire a writhing, spandex-clad dancing girl to entertain a cancer patient (Jimmy Shergill) who doesn't want to die a virgin.  But whatever its shortcomings relative to Lage raho Munnabhai, they are small and on the margins; on balance, Munnabhai M.B.B.S. is a satisfying and fun film, warm and good-hearted without being cloying.  It's the best visit to the doctor you'll ever have.

Shree 420 (1955)

श्री ४२०

This is the second time in a couple of months that I've watched a movie and loved it so much that I had to wonder why I didn't get to it sooner.  While the other one, Parvarish, was only a silly, fun piece of masala candy that tickled me for personal reasons, Shree 420 is one of the all-time classics of Hindi cinema, one that helped me understand why Raj Kapoor is Raj Kapoor, and why Nargis is Nargis.  And I can't believe I waited this long.

Raj (Raj Kapoor) is a guileless, carefree vagabond, wandering the streets of Bombay in search of work.  He has a college degree - he carries his diploma in his pocket, along with a medal for honesty that he earned as a child.  In his wanderings Raj meets a merry band of beggars and working folk, the den mother of whom (Lalita Pawar) is charmed by his innocence and takes him under her wing.  They live on the footpath in front of the home of the blustery tycoon Seth Dharmanand (Nemo), who is kept awake nights by the vagrants' cheery singing.  Raj also encounters the beautiful Vidya (Nargis), a down-to-earth schoolteacher who has fallen on hard times, selling her books and her trinkets to the local pawn dealer to make ends meet.  Sparks fly between Raj and Vidya, but Raj frets that he cannot offer her a financially stable future. Opportunity knocks when Raj meets the vampish, scheming Maya (Nadira), a greedy socialite who recognizes in Raj a talent that she can exploit to separate others from their money.  From Maya's small-time cons Raj graduates into full-scale employment as a master of fraud with Seth Dharmanand, selling bogus shares in bogus companies and running other big-time schemes.   (The film's title, "Mr. 420," refers to section 420 of the Indian penal code; "420" is vernacular shorthand for a crook or a con.)  Raj is making real money, but it may cost him Vidya, who doesn't fit into his high-rolling world - and who anyway wants nothing to do with Raj as long as he is a con-artist and a fraud.

Shree 420 is rich with symbols of the promise and pitfalls of post-partition India.  Raj's emergence at the beginning of the film from his rural ramblings into the hard bustle of Bombay represents the country's transition from its traditional grounding to modern government and economics - and it is no coincidence that Raj is immediately taken advantage of upon his arrival in the city.  There is a running semiotic pun based around Raj's honesty medal as he pawns it and redeems it; Raj's honesty itself is for sale.  For most of the film, Raj is caught between a traditional simplicity, represented by Vidya (whose name means "knowledge") and the glitter and spangle of high-tone, high-stakes capitalism, represented by Maya (whose name means "illusion, trick, deceit").   The film pits pure, hardworking, homegrown virtue directly against the exotic, westernized world of greed and fraud.   Ultimately the film weaves a complex and powerful social message, exhorting the everyday people - who in the film literally sleep on the doorstep of the fat-cat's opulent home - to work together to build an India that is modern and yet free of exploitation by that greedy element. 

The richness of the narrative and its symbolic arsenal is matched - even exceeded - by Shree 420's pure entertainment value.  Raj Kapoor is a masterfully physical performer, moving fluidly between Chaplinesque antics and Cary Grantish suavity as quickly as changing a mask (another of the film's recurring symbols).  He is a delight to watch.  Nargis, one of the greatest stars of the era, has an ineffable grace that transcends beauty, a riveting poise and a presence.  She ranges from firmly proud in her early meetings with Raj, to bashfully passionate as their romance develops, to heartbreakingly wounded when she is insulted by Maya.  In either of the stars' performances it is clear why this film is a revered classic.  Nadira is car-wreck compelling (and maddeningly sexy) in her career-defining vampish turn as the bitter, manipulative Maya (screencap below).  Finally, there are the film's timeless songs, from Raj Kapoor's iconic "Mera joota hai japani," to the tender declaration of love in "Pyaar hua ikraar hua," to the exuberant peasant dance of the vagrants in "Ramaya vastavaya," to Nadira's seductive call to the dark side, "Mud mud ke na dekh".   I haven't named them all and I don't doubt that someone will chime in with another favorite - they are all that special.   My friend Sanket at Bollywood Music Club has more about the delicious music of Shree 420

There are volumes more that could be said and have been said about this film, its place in Hindi cinema, and the significance of its social commentary.  But if you haven't seen Shree 420, don't spend any more time reading about it - just go and watch it. 

Cheeni kum (2007)

चीनी कम

I am always pleased to review a film while it's playing in theaters, so I can add my small voice to the cacophony of reviews encouraging or discouraging others from seeing it.  In the case of Cheeni kum ("Less sugar"), my verdict is:  get out and see this film, if you are near a theater where Hindi films are shown.  It is a funny, quirky, and winning romance.

Buddhadev Gupta (Amitabh Bachchan) is a salty and egotistical chef who runs what he calls "finest Indian restaurant in London."  He's a perfectionist who rules his kitchen with an iron fist, not hesitating to dress down his staff for small errors, or to berate a young English waiter for failing to master the precise pronunciation of the names of the dishes.  When a visitor from Delhi, the no-nonsense Nina Verma (Tabu), sends one of his signature dishes back to the kitchen - complaining that it's too sweet, of all things - Buddha is mortally insulted, but he is also charmed.  The flirtation grows serious, and before long Buddha must navigate a minefield strewn with his own insecurities - he's a full thirty years Nina's senior - not to mention the objections of Nina's cricket-obsessed, Gandhist father (Paresh Rawal).  Supporting Buddha in this adventure are his sprightly mother (Zohra Sehgal) and a tiny little girl named Sexy (Swini Khara), Buddha's frail, leukemic next door neighbor.

Though it is an older-man, younger-woman romance, Cheeni kum thoroughly avoids any hint of the ickiness that sometimes pervades such stories like a bad odor.  The romance works because Nina is a grown-up, not a desperate and confused girl; she enters the romance with eyes open and without desperation or any sort of  daddy complex.  And Buddha treats her equally, not paternally; he has a great and easily bruised ego, but no excessive machismo, and there is no sense that he feels entitled to the attention of a beautiful young woman.  The power dynamic is clear from the character's early interactions; Nina has the upper hand, and so any inherent imbalance arising from the age differences is neutralized.

Cheeni kum isn't coy about the age difference, either; it's the main source of conflict in the film, and the film addresses it head-on, either in comic scenes (Buddha surreptitiously removing candles from his birthday cake), or slightly cliché ones (Buddha:  "Thirty-four - very old."  Nina:  "Sixty-four - very young.").  In one very funny moment, Nina fails to suppress a giggle as she reminds Buddha that he's not her father's age - he's actually six years older.  The side characters, too, emphasize the film's message that you're only as old as you feel - Buddha's elderly but irrepressible mother hounds him to work out and watches muscle-man competitions and "Sex and the City" on television, while little Sexy, who is knocking at death's door, longs to watch grown-ups' movies and spouts philosophical musings that convey wisdom far beyond her years.

In a lesser movie the cute-little-kid and cute-little-old-lady tropes would be tedious and cloying, but in the "less sweet" environment of Cheeni kum they somehow work perfectly; the charm and humor is warm and light enough that even these characters hit just the right balance, offering us glimpses of Buddha's tender side even before his salty courtship of Nina is fully off the ground.  The film waxes melodramatic in the second half, veering closer to traditional Bollywood style with a preachy speech or two and some distraught grieving.  But these are minor quibbles in a thoroughly delightful film, and are far overshadowed by the rich humor afforded by both the characterizations (such as the inconsistencies of Nina's father's semi-sincere Gandhism) and the situations (such as Buddha's mounting frustration as he waits for the right opening to break the news of the engagement to Nina's father).  Small imperfections are readily overlooked in as tasty a confection as Cheeni kum.

A word on the music:  The songs of Cheeni kum are largely abbreviated in the film, and are presented without traditional Bollywood picturizations - i.e., the characters do not sing them.  Still, it is one of the finest and most melodic new soundtracks I've heard in a long time, and I've raved about it in other fora.  It is one of the few Hindi film soundtracks by the prolific and revered South Indian movie composer Ilaiyaraja.  Some have complained that Ilaiyaraja recycled melodies from earlier compositions for Cheeni kum, but as I wasn't familiar with his work before this didn't bother me in the slightest.  I think it's a fresh and wonderful soundtrack, highly worth a listen.   

Bluffmaster (2005)

Abhishek Bachchan, scion of Bollywood royalty, is a tall, handsome fellow with some hints of his father's screen-filling presence.  While he has the looks for dark, brooding characters, he is at his ease and at his best in brash, goofy roles, embodying a certain kind of nerd cool.   Indeed, so appealing is Abhishek in roles like Bluffmaster that one wonders why anyone bothers casting him in films like Umrao Jaan.

Roy (Abhishek) is young, handsome, rich, and engaged to the girl he loves, Simi (Priyanka Chopra); he's on top of the world.  He's also a world-class con man, though, and when one of his unfortunate marks turns up at the engagement party and cries foul, Simi tosses him out of her life.  Devastated, Roy half-heartedly resolves to go straight, and full-heartedly to win Simi back.  Before long, though, Roy runs into Dittu (Riteish Deshmukh), an aspiring con man himself, who convinces Roy to teach him the art.  Dittu seeks revenge upon a shady hotelier named Chandru (Nana Patekar), who, Dittu explains, conned Dittu's father out of his life savings.  Roy takes on the challenge.  Then Roy's avuncular friend, Dr. Bhalerao (Boman Irani) - whom Roy had previously rescued from one of Dittu's schemes - delivers some life-changing news, and Roy is forced to look at the con game with a new perspective.

Bluffmaster is charming and fun, thanks in equal parts to its star power and to tight, clever scripting.  The most entertaining parts of a good con movie are the cons themselves, and here (as in Abhishek's comparable vehicle Bunty aur Babli) Roy and Dittu's gutsy schemes drive much of the fun.  It makes no difference that the hustles would have little chance of success in real life - the frisson comes from being in on the game as the characters work their mojo on unsuspecting marks.  And Abhishek and Riteish Deshmukh have ample appeal to pull it off, though in contrasting milieus; Abhishek is slick, handsome, and well-dressed, while Riteish brings a more everyman sensibility.  Both are crisp and engaging. 

The supporting characters, too, are colorfully rendered.  Boman Irani, as always, throroughly inhabits his character with quirkiness and humor.  Nana Patekar is both menacing and comical as Chandru, the "big fish" whom Roy and Dittu set out to take down - he performs worship rituals before his own reflection.  And the city of Bombay is itself a significant player in the film as well, portrayed with both grit and extraordinary beauty.  The film is full of rooftop and balcony shots set before sweeping cityscapes that are truly lovely. 

There are self-referential and expository themes in Bluffmaster that perhaps set out to comment broadly upon deception in real life, and particularly in films.  (I have been told that in these aspects Bluffmaster borrows heavily from Hollywood's Matchstick Men and Argentina's Nueve Reinas, neither of which I have seen.)  Bluffmaster never lets the viewer forget that it is a movie - from the title sequence in which a pimped-out Abhishek dances broadly on a stage set backdropped by a flashing marquee bearing the film's title, to the occasional framed still shots that introduced each of the movie's principal characters.  There is undoubtedly metaphor lurking in all that self-conscious theatricality.  But the truth is that Bluffmaster invited me to watch it with my brain off, and I did - I just enjoyed the ride, with all its abrupt swerves, and didn't look too hard for meaning or message.  Bluffmaster, whatever else it may be doing, just spins a rippingly good yarn. 

Dilwale dulhania le jayenge (1995)

दिलवाले दुल्हनिया ले जाएँगे

Occasionally a film comes along that hits a powerful resonance with its audience.  Such a film can be a trendsetter, making superstars of its cast, changing the direction of an industry, and even, to an extent, of a society.  Dilwale dulhania le jayenge ("The brave-hearted one shall carry away the bride") is such a cinematic bellwether, striking a perfect chord at a particular crossroads of Indian society where foreign influence meets domestic traditionalism.  It's a very important film, and it is also a reasonably enjoyable one.

Simran (Kajol) lives in London with her family, but she's been raised to be a seedhi-saadhi Punjabi ladki - a nice upstanding Punjabi girl.   Relatively unaffected by the influence of her western setting, Simran understands her duty to her family - to her strict, serious father (Amrish Puri) particularly - and submits to her engagement to a boy selected for her at her birth, the son of her father's close friend in India.  Before her marriage, though, she begs her father for one month to live life on her own terms, traveling through (continental) Europe on a tour with some of her school friends.  Her impassioned request - combined with a lifetime of never once defying him - softens her father and he reluctantly agrees.  Then she meets Raj (Shah Rukh Khan), another London-dwelling Indian who is brash, impulsive, and immature, but also apparently good-hearted - and love happens.  When her father learns of this upon Simran's return, he whisks her away to India for immediate sealing of the marriage that was planned for her twenty years prior.  Raj follows, and undertakes a systematic plan to win the hearts of Simran's family - even her unyielding father.

Dilwale dulhania le jayenge's message is one of balance between the hip, modern, foreign influence on the one hand, and respect for the traditional foundations of Indian society on the other, and at the time of its release, it inverted a number of prevalent filmi cliches.  At the core of the film is Raj's refusal to run away with Simran, even when she begs him to elope; he is determined to win the approval of her father and will not marry her until he does so, even though failure would mean losing her forever.  Elopement followed by tragic end was a common filmi theme at the time; in Dilwale dulhania le jayenge, Raj rejects the temptation of that course in favor of deference to tradition.   In another twist on convention (as noted by crazyone on the BollyWHAT? forum), the foreign-raised Raj is the good guy, while Simran's homegrown, all-Indian fiance is cruel, promiscuous, and dishonest.  I suspect that these twists lie at the heart of what gives this film purchase to be the industry-changing, enduring success that it has been, especially among Indians living outside of their homeland and therefore necessarily surrounded by the influential forces of foreign culture.    

The film's message is undermined by the tactics chosen by Raj to win the approval of Simran's family.  He engineers a deception to infiltrate the inner circle of the two families preparing for the wedding, and continues ingratiating himself to them with exaggerated kindness to the elder family members, sweetness to the girls, and chumminess with the guys.  It is all a grand ruse and deception, however, and the film begins to fall apart if one thinks too hard about what it means that the guy who supposedly espouses traditional values is lying and cheating right and left in an attempt to demonstrate them.  His act casts doubt on the veracity of the upstanding-Indian-boy persona itself; one cannot be sure that he isn't lying to Simran just as well as he lies to her family. 

When such thoughts can be suppressed, though, the film is charming and engaging; the romance works, and I found myself rooting for the pairing despite the fact that I didn't particularly like either of the principals as individuals.  The film's unquestionable greatest strength is that Raj and Simran do have some staunch allies among their parents; Raj's father (Anupam Kher) and Simran's mother (Farida Jalal) are determinedly on their side and do everything within their limited power to grease the wheels, and this prevents the film from devolving into the timeworn "us vs. them" intergenerational slugfest.  But "limited power" is the key phrase.  In the film's standout scene, Simran's mother delivers a heartbreaking speech in which she declares that while she promised herself she would secure autonomy and happiness for her daughter, the lot of an Indian girl is not within her power to change.  She brought tears to my eyes with the wonderful line main to yeh bhuul gayi thi - ki aurat ko vaada karne ki bhi koi haq nahin hai - "I forgot this: that a woman has no right even to make a promise."

Finally, a word on the music of Dilwale dulhania le jayenge - this is a soundtrack I always want to like more than I do.  It is packed with catchy tunes and hummable melodies, like "Ho gaya hai tujhko to pyar," and the mega-mega-hit "Tujhe dekha to yeh jaana sanam."  But the soundtrack grates despite its strengths, for one overwhelming reason: Lata Mangeshkar was far past her prime.  She's warbly, shrill, and overdubbed, and doesn't always hit her pitch.  I adore Lata ji's beautiful work through the 50s, 60s, and 70s - but Dilwale dulhania le jayenge is Exhibit A for why I think she should have retired after the 1980s.   

(Post script:  As usual, reading Philip Lutgendorf's commentary on his Philip's fil-ums website makes me wonder why I bother; in this case, his astute discussion of Dilwale dulhania le jayenge makes several outstanding and interesting points.)

Lage raho Munnabhai (2006)

लगे रहो मुन्ना भाई

I wish I had launched this blog just a month or so sooner than I did, so that I could have reviewed Lage raho Munnabhai ("Carry on, Munnabhai") while it was still playing in theaters.  If I had, I would have urged every one of you to stop reading, close your browsers, and head out to the nearest cinema you could find that was screening this wonderful film, even if it were hours away.  The film was just that good.

Munnabhai (Sanjay Dutt) is a con-man, crook, and heavy who was introduced to Hindi movie audiences a couple of years ago in a film called Munnabhai, MBBS.  Lage raho Munnabhai is not exactly a sequel; rather, it's a separate story involving some of the same characters.  (As of this writing I haven't seen Munnabhai, MBBS so that is all I have to say about it.) 

In Lage raho Munnabhai, in order to win an opportunity to meet Jhanvi (Vidya Balan), a radio host who has captured his heart with her cheery morning broadcasts, Munnabhai poses as a professor of history and an expert in the life and teachings of Mahatma Gandhi.  To maintain Jhanvi's interest, he has to maintain the ruse - so he goes on a Gandhi bender, spending hard days and sleepless nights in a library reading everything he can about the great man.  One morning, after Munnabhai has studied to exhaustion, Gandhi himself appears - but only Munnabhai can see him and speak to him.  The apparition of Gandhi helps Munna keep up the facade, but he also inspires the crook to some peaceful protest of his own, this time against the leader of Munna' own gang, Lucky Singh (Boman Irani), who is engineering a real estate scam that, it turns out, would evict Jhanvi, her father, and the crew of elderly friends who live with them, out of their home.  And thanks to Jhanvi's radio show, Munna is soon spreading his gospel of "Gandhi-giri" all over Mumbai.  But, eventually, he will have to tell Jhanvi the truth about who he is. 

Whew.  It's a difficult plot to summarize, but the film presents its gangster-with-a-heart-of-gold theme sweetly and earnestly.  The film is warm-hearted and touching without being overly sappy, and its humor is very funny without resorting to the sloppy, loud slapstick that infests many Bollywood comedies.  Much of the humor rides on the colorful, broad characterizations of the film's performers - Sanjay Dutt himself as Munnabhai, Boman Irani's Lucky, and especially Arshad Warsi as Munna's sidekick Circuit are the standouts in this area.  There is also cerebral humor, including lots of linguistic jokes running throughout the film.  For example, Munna speaks in the rough Tapori dialect of Mumbai's  street thugs; when he is coached by Gandhi, the apparition speaks to him in the pure Hindi of the intellectual elite; Munna doesn't always understand, or translates Gandhi's advice into his own terms.    Some of these jokes obviously require some knowledge of Hindi to fully understand, but subtitles in the print I saw (and I understand the DVD transfer as well) did a surprisingly good job of carrying these over to the English translation.

I think what really makes Lage raho Munnabhai shine is the perfect balance it strikes between its apparently disparate elements; the rough-and-tumble world of gangsters and con-men in which Munna lives, the upright and sunny environment of the sensitive and proper Jhanvi, the magical-realist aspect of Gandhi's presence all blend into a synergistic whole that is funny, touching, and purely delightful.  The film has been an enormous hit in India, and articles are still appearing in the press about instances of real-life "Gandhi-giri" - calculated and wide-spread attacks of tolerance and kindness - inspired by the movie. 

My only complaint about the film - and it is a minor one - is that Vidya Balan and Sanjay Dutt are a bit of a mismatch as a romantic pairing; most of the time he seems more like her father than her suitor.  But this is a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect Bollywood experience.  I simply adore this film. 

Dil se (1997)

दिल से

Dil se ("From the heart") is difficult to describe. It begins with a trope fairly common in Bollywood romance – boy Amar (Shah Rukh Khan) spots girl Meghna (Manisha Koirala), decides on sight they were made for eachother, and begins to court her.  Only this time, the standard romance setup comes with a twist:  the girl is a terrorist with a horrifyingly troubled past.

Amar is blissfully unaware aware of Meghna’s dark story – he only perceives her sadness and mystery, and insists that he can save her. Though at moments he may manage to get through to her, Meghna is ultimately too deeply broken to allow someone to love her as Amar wishes to.  These are interesting story elements, as is the film's ambivalence about whether what Amar feels is actually love, or a nearly pathological obsession.  Keeping the latter possibility in mind is the only thing that makes the first 45 minutes of Dil se watchable, as Amar's aggressive and obnoxious pursuit of Meghna is thoroughly unromantic and maddeningly irritating to watch, unless you think there is anything sexy about a man who won't leave a woman alone even if she rejects him firmly and repeatedly.  Manisha Koirala's sad performance is wonderful; she inhabits Meghna with the tense bearing of a wounded animal, and she carries the film through these early bumps in the script.

I give Dil se credit for having the courage to end its story messily and honestly – it follows through on the hopelessness of the pairing (though it drags in the last act leading up to that payoff), rather than tacking on an inappropriate and jarring happy ending. Dil se also features some absolutely gorgeous cinematography, including five or so lusciously picturized songs from the infectious, driving A.R. Rahman score.  Indeed, the music is by far the best thing about Dil se, especially the perfectly crafted and addictive song "Chaiyya chaiyya," shot on top of a moving train.  The other songs are lovely too, and their deeply poetic lyrics contemplate the nature of love and devotion, invoking themes from the mystical Sufi tradition.