[Might contain spoilers.]
Meghna Gulzar’s Raazi, an adapatation of Harinder S Sikka's novel Calling Sehmat, contains a lot of flashbacks. In fact, the entire story it tells is told through a flashback. And there are different, smaller kinds. The plot traverses over significant little details, and later, just as one detail is about to propel the story forward, we get a sort of visual nudge: Do we remember this? If not, the film has us covered. We see it again, an unwelcome assistant to help us connect the dots. Then there’s a more annoying type, a device Hindi cinema uses so often so carelessly. I like to call it the ‘So This Happened’ flashback. The story is about to arrive at a conclusion, but are the makers really interested in keeping things so predictable? Before the climax that promises a dramatic jolt or two, the story dissolves into an abrupt flashback, marring the narrative flow, where a different set of events are introduced, thereby altering how the climax will play out. Suddenly, we are watching a different movie, a different story, a different set of characters. Is such a sacrifice really necessary simply to inject a little more dramatic momentum in the proceedings?
Thankfully, none of the flashbacks in Raazi alter the story in such a way. Yet, their very presence is a major distraction. In Gulzar’s previous film, Talvar, a terrific police-procedural that took a sensational case of double-murder and explored three possible sets of events that could have culminated in them, the flashback was used rather effectively. What we got was a complex but lucidly told thriller that did not resort to visual nudges, and one that struck loyally to the path it had chosen for itself. In Raazi, the frequency at which – and also the reason why – the flashback is used prods us to ask: Does it serve the narrative as it should?
As a sucker for espionage thrillers, I find nothing to be of greater pleasure than soaking in the details. Something that I find enjoyable about them is the complexity of its story and characters; I like to remember the little things, then marvel when they are referenced later. This persuades me that I am in good hands. And this little part is a test of how good of a reader I am as much as it is of the writer whose hands I am in. Am I able to remember the crucial details? Are they able to write it with the right amount of finesse?
The problem with Raazi is – and this might be its most important – that does not do a good job of convincing us that, as its audience, it trusts us. The narrative isn’t complex enough; it is simply too clear. It’s unwilling to go to a place where it might risk alienating us, which is only a way of saying that it seldom takes any risks, big or small. Everything is accessible. We know what each character is thinking at any given point. If we don’t, the characters helpfully apprise us of it. And this, unfortunately, results in the storytelling coming off as a little too simplistic. The proper precautions were taken, but where should the line have been drawn?
That said, there is no shortage of skill in Raazi. It explores a subject that Indian filmmakers often tend to ignore, or feel uncompelled to explore to its fullest potential: The emotional toll of betrayal. With patriotism being the chief selling point of recent Hindi espionage thrillers, it is Gulzar’s creative decision to put people before country that makes Raazi a splendid drama, if not as good a thriller. There is talk of loyalty to one’s country, but when Sehmat, our protagonist, triggers a series of events that push her against a hard wall, we don’t see her as a patriot; instead, we get a young woman who has been put in extraordinary circumstances, circumstances beyond her control or understanding. And when she breaks down, we still see her as that woman. Gulzar and co-screenwriter Bhavani Iyer’s thoughtful interpretation of Sehmat makes Raazi a rich drama, one that is romantic and handsome and sly and emotional, but can also turn icy when it wants to.
What also works in favour of the film is Gulzar’s eye for detail. I was especially smitten with the lovely little touches that are hard to catch but add so much to the characters. When Sehmat marries, her husband pulls a screen to separate their beds every night till she is comfortable being alone with him. It’s a gesture to show how much he cares for her. And this is never drawn attention to. He understands that she, being a new bride, would need privacy, that this would be the only place where she might find it. It’s been a while since affection has been this understated in Hindi cinema. There are no song-and-dance sequences nor are there overly dramatic declarations. Gulzar presses her actors to emote through their eyes, through little gestures, and it just about works. There is no attempt at turning the film into a romantic drama, but it makes us invest in Sehmat’s dilemma just a bit more in the film’s climax.
Raazi has a lot in common with Alfred Hitchcock’s masterful Notorious, in which a woman becomes a spy at the behest of a government agent and is asked to infiltrate a group of Nazis, one of whom she marries. One of Notorious’ key strengths, other than the fact that it stars the gorgeous Ingrid Bergman, is that at no point in that film did I feel that the casualties of the protagonist’s actions would be limited to people alone. Innocence and, indeed, love are always the first casualties of betrayal. Raazi could have accomplished something close to that. It’s unfortunate that it ends up settling for something less.
Thankfully, none of the flashbacks in Raazi alter the story in such a way. Yet, their very presence is a major distraction. In Gulzar’s previous film, Talvar, a terrific police-procedural that took a sensational case of double-murder and explored three possible sets of events that could have culminated in them, the flashback was used rather effectively. What we got was a complex but lucidly told thriller that did not resort to visual nudges, and one that struck loyally to the path it had chosen for itself. In Raazi, the frequency at which – and also the reason why – the flashback is used prods us to ask: Does it serve the narrative as it should?
As a sucker for espionage thrillers, I find nothing to be of greater pleasure than soaking in the details. Something that I find enjoyable about them is the complexity of its story and characters; I like to remember the little things, then marvel when they are referenced later. This persuades me that I am in good hands. And this little part is a test of how good of a reader I am as much as it is of the writer whose hands I am in. Am I able to remember the crucial details? Are they able to write it with the right amount of finesse?
The problem with Raazi is – and this might be its most important – that does not do a good job of convincing us that, as its audience, it trusts us. The narrative isn’t complex enough; it is simply too clear. It’s unwilling to go to a place where it might risk alienating us, which is only a way of saying that it seldom takes any risks, big or small. Everything is accessible. We know what each character is thinking at any given point. If we don’t, the characters helpfully apprise us of it. And this, unfortunately, results in the storytelling coming off as a little too simplistic. The proper precautions were taken, but where should the line have been drawn?
That said, there is no shortage of skill in Raazi. It explores a subject that Indian filmmakers often tend to ignore, or feel uncompelled to explore to its fullest potential: The emotional toll of betrayal. With patriotism being the chief selling point of recent Hindi espionage thrillers, it is Gulzar’s creative decision to put people before country that makes Raazi a splendid drama, if not as good a thriller. There is talk of loyalty to one’s country, but when Sehmat, our protagonist, triggers a series of events that push her against a hard wall, we don’t see her as a patriot; instead, we get a young woman who has been put in extraordinary circumstances, circumstances beyond her control or understanding. And when she breaks down, we still see her as that woman. Gulzar and co-screenwriter Bhavani Iyer’s thoughtful interpretation of Sehmat makes Raazi a rich drama, one that is romantic and handsome and sly and emotional, but can also turn icy when it wants to.
What also works in favour of the film is Gulzar’s eye for detail. I was especially smitten with the lovely little touches that are hard to catch but add so much to the characters. When Sehmat marries, her husband pulls a screen to separate their beds every night till she is comfortable being alone with him. It’s a gesture to show how much he cares for her. And this is never drawn attention to. He understands that she, being a new bride, would need privacy, that this would be the only place where she might find it. It’s been a while since affection has been this understated in Hindi cinema. There are no song-and-dance sequences nor are there overly dramatic declarations. Gulzar presses her actors to emote through their eyes, through little gestures, and it just about works. There is no attempt at turning the film into a romantic drama, but it makes us invest in Sehmat’s dilemma just a bit more in the film’s climax.
Raazi has a lot in common with Alfred Hitchcock’s masterful Notorious, in which a woman becomes a spy at the behest of a government agent and is asked to infiltrate a group of Nazis, one of whom she marries. One of Notorious’ key strengths, other than the fact that it stars the gorgeous Ingrid Bergman, is that at no point in that film did I feel that the casualties of the protagonist’s actions would be limited to people alone. Innocence and, indeed, love are always the first casualties of betrayal. Raazi could have accomplished something close to that. It’s unfortunate that it ends up settling for something less.
[Not For Reproduction]
