Early in Devashish Makhija’s “Bhonsle,” the parallels with Clint Eastwood’s “Gran Torino” are clear as day. Both films feature old, lonely protagonists who have to get used to that fact that hate is now part of everyday existence. And both protagonists have seen enough of the world to know it cannot change. Walt Kowalski of “Gran Torino” and Bhonsle saheb of “Bhonsle” find themselves in similar quandaries: they have to protect ‘outsiders’ who have unwittingly been targeted by bad people. In Eastwood’s film, a Vietnamese family becomes a target of a neighbourhood gang; in Makhija’s, a pair of North Indian siblings is sucked into trouble when they set foot in a predominantly Maharashtrian chawl. Both films present a frightening picture of innocence on the wane. Putting a domestic spin on a very real contemporary problem, the glacially-paced “Bhonsle” could have been compelling, partly because the world it is set in is microscopic, so we understand how far the tentacles of hate politics have reached, and partly because it gives us a hero who makes up for in his bravery what he lacks in personality, giving the brawny ‘heroes’ of Hindi cinema a shrug. And yet, this is a curious specimen: a film that, despite its intentions and promise, fails to soar precisely because it tries so hard not to. There is such an eagerness to frustrate our expectations that it loses its potency through its repeated attempts to do so.
“Bhonsle” is Makhija’s second feature film after 2017’s “Ajji,” about a grandmother’s personal quest to avenge her granddaughter’s horrific assault when all else fails. Both films share some common elements: the focus is largely on the people we don’t see, the stories we don’t hear, and the truths we seldom engage with. “Ajji” had its share of uncomfortable truths; “Bhonsle” has its own. Early on, we see Vilas (played by a superb Santosh Juvekar), a Maharashtrian cabbie who’s trying desperately to become a politician, hoping to incite the residents of Churchill chawl to oust migrants from the North (‘outsiders’) through hate speech. A popular political tactic that is still casually applied to whip up local cultural sentiment, it’s interesting to see it being used here as a plot device. And for all the noise Vilas makes by calling Mumbai his ‘home’ and demanding that the migrants leave, he is homeless, living out of a cab with barely two coins to rub together.
His words, however, are unsparing. They infuriate Rajendra, a migrant who then tries to induct young North Indian boys in his ‘gang’ to fight for their rightful place in the chawl if it ever comes to that. When the migrant gang has to choose between keeping quiet and giving it back, they choose the latter. A young boy, Lalu, new to the chawl and to this world, is forced to deface the poster of the local political party that Vilas campaigns for with black paint. Hate ultimately yields hate. With much finesse, “Bhonsle” pinpoints exactly where the problem with hate speech and divisive politics lies.
Had this thread been developed a little more, it would have made for a more engaging film. But “Bhonsle” is not about this chawl. It is about a lonely man who learns after sixty years in this world and after a life spent in the police force, that being a mute spectator of wrongdoing is the same as being the perpetrator. Bhonsle, the newly retired constable, eats little, lives in a shabby room without electricity, and spends his days in wait. His application for a service extension is under review with his senior. One gets the impression that it is not the job he is passionate about: the job is simply to keep him busy, give him something to look forward to. It is something that gives him an identity. Without it, he has nothing, absolutely nothing. He has no family. There is nobody to bid him goodbye when he retires. Only his senior officer offers a sympathetic ‘Leaving?’ when he steps out of the police station for the last time. He rarely mingles with the other residents of the chawl. A friendly gesture towards him is often met with coldness. Constable Bhonsle gives Manoj Bajpayee, arguably one of the country’s finest actors, astonishing here, an opportunity to chew into a role truly worthy of his talent. But as tempting as this enterprise sounds on paper, satisfaction is rare to come by. Each scene is is drawn out till it is ready to snap, every painstaking detail lingered upon, every emotion pronounced. When momentum shows some sign of wanting to seep into the narrative, “Bhonsle” foils it. It gets exhausting.
“Bhonsle” is Makhija’s second feature film after 2017’s “Ajji,” about a grandmother’s personal quest to avenge her granddaughter’s horrific assault when all else fails. Both films share some common elements: the focus is largely on the people we don’t see, the stories we don’t hear, and the truths we seldom engage with. “Ajji” had its share of uncomfortable truths; “Bhonsle” has its own. Early on, we see Vilas (played by a superb Santosh Juvekar), a Maharashtrian cabbie who’s trying desperately to become a politician, hoping to incite the residents of Churchill chawl to oust migrants from the North (‘outsiders’) through hate speech. A popular political tactic that is still casually applied to whip up local cultural sentiment, it’s interesting to see it being used here as a plot device. And for all the noise Vilas makes by calling Mumbai his ‘home’ and demanding that the migrants leave, he is homeless, living out of a cab with barely two coins to rub together.
His words, however, are unsparing. They infuriate Rajendra, a migrant who then tries to induct young North Indian boys in his ‘gang’ to fight for their rightful place in the chawl if it ever comes to that. When the migrant gang has to choose between keeping quiet and giving it back, they choose the latter. A young boy, Lalu, new to the chawl and to this world, is forced to deface the poster of the local political party that Vilas campaigns for with black paint. Hate ultimately yields hate. With much finesse, “Bhonsle” pinpoints exactly where the problem with hate speech and divisive politics lies.
Had this thread been developed a little more, it would have made for a more engaging film. But “Bhonsle” is not about this chawl. It is about a lonely man who learns after sixty years in this world and after a life spent in the police force, that being a mute spectator of wrongdoing is the same as being the perpetrator. Bhonsle, the newly retired constable, eats little, lives in a shabby room without electricity, and spends his days in wait. His application for a service extension is under review with his senior. One gets the impression that it is not the job he is passionate about: the job is simply to keep him busy, give him something to look forward to. It is something that gives him an identity. Without it, he has nothing, absolutely nothing. He has no family. There is nobody to bid him goodbye when he retires. Only his senior officer offers a sympathetic ‘Leaving?’ when he steps out of the police station for the last time. He rarely mingles with the other residents of the chawl. A friendly gesture towards him is often met with coldness. Constable Bhonsle gives Manoj Bajpayee, arguably one of the country’s finest actors, astonishing here, an opportunity to chew into a role truly worthy of his talent. But as tempting as this enterprise sounds on paper, satisfaction is rare to come by. Each scene is is drawn out till it is ready to snap, every painstaking detail lingered upon, every emotion pronounced. When momentum shows some sign of wanting to seep into the narrative, “Bhonsle” foils it. It gets exhausting.
There are some nice touches. In one shot, we see Vilas in his cab parked below a streetlight, looking longingly at it. The camera is positioned below, signifying how much he wants to be in the limelight, to be important. In another, Lalu imitates Bhonsle’s posture as if idolising the man. It’s a touching moment: a ray of sunshine piercing darkness. In perhaps the film’s most striking scene, Makhija juxtaposes a sequence of shots of Bhonsle waiting on his senior with shots of Vilas waiting on his mentor. Both men, quietly desperate for something, will soon learn they will never get it. (It’s rather clever how Bhonsle and Vilas are made out to be ‘outsiders’ in their respective worlds.) This scene culminates in a leisurely long-shot of a lost Bhonsle getting thronged by the city’s ever-swelling crowds. The metaphor isn’t subtle—and neither is the one the film is bookended by, and the others scattered throughout—but it shows, if nothing else, the sheer confidence of Makhija’s filmmaking.
The stagy ending of “Bhonsle,” where the good finally confronts the evil, wouldn’t be out of place in a potboiler. I am not too sure whether it manages to provoke the kind of response it wished to—a burst of violence is not always welcome. As with “Ajji,” Makhija makes us live through each painful moment, each blow. In keeping with the film’s prime problem, the climax blends theatricality with sluggishness. It’s unconvincing, and more so when one remembers the wonderful “Taandav,” an eleven-minute short film Makhija made in 2016 with Bajpayee. “Taandav” was made as a sales pitch for “Bhonsle.” It followed a police constable, Constable Tambe, who, after discovering that his personal and professional lives are falling apart, breaks into an impromptu dance to blow off steam, much to the surprise of his family and colleagues. The pay-off there was tremendous: out of nowhere the film sneaked up on us and left us chuckling. “Bhonsle" trades the ability to surprise for indulgence.
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