A Short Note on Rohit Shetty’s “Sooryavanshi”

[Contains spoilers.]

If one were to predict the kind of film Rohit Shetty’s “Sooryavanshi” was going to turn out to be, purely from its four-minute trailer, chances are that they would have got it right. The trailer laid out everything one could expect from this film: preaching, loud explosions, an ear-splitting background score, histrionics, a simplistic worldview, and a dull protagonist. Fifteen minutes in, “Sooryavanshi” has ticked them all. By the end of 145 minutes, I realised that the trailer functioned as a linear summary of the actual film. Should I have bothered at all? Shetty’s films, especially the entries in his ‘copverse,’ rarely deviate from a formula that guarantees commercial success. “Sooryavanshi,” mounted on a much bigger scale than the director’s previous films, plays it safe. It would have been foolish to expect otherwise. There’s little here by way of plot, a pastiche of ideas from the many jingoistic films we saw in the last few years: Terrorist sleeper cells have been activated, a plot is hatched, and a city is under threat. Would the titular top cop save the day? No prizes for guessing.

But the surprises in “Sooryavanshi” come from—incredibly—Shetty’s direction. There is a hint of an effort to go beyond just style this time around; Shetty’s direction has more depth and flashes of maturity. Sample this scene, for example: after the terrorist plot is set in motion, two terrorists, both old friends, sit under a tree in the dark of the night and share a quiet moment, knowing this is the last time they will see each other. Or a scene in which a terrorist, while bidding goodbye to his son, tells him to study hard, when his own father has ordered him to execute a terror attack. Or a rather heavy-handed but rousing sequence later in the film that makes a plea for communal harmony. These moments are few, very few, and far in between, but they reassure us that future entries in this series may take more and possibly bigger risks.

But these touches do little to relieve us from boredom. “Sooryavanshi” unfolds in predictable fashion. The protagonist, Veer Sooryavanshi, is projected as a demigod who never takes a step wrong, an old cliché reserved for major movie stars. Characters reiterate the brilliance of Veer Sooryavanshi, he who put country over everything else, even family. The only mistake Sooryavanshi makes is letting his personal and professional lives collide once, resulting in his son getting hit by a bullet. Sooryavanshi is guilt-stricken, but this angle is used to alert us to the innumerable sacrifices that police officers make while serving their country. Noble intention, terrible execution: we get a few speeches of varying lengths to hammer the point home. But this is the mode usually preferred by Shetty, who avoids subtlety like a plague: he creates conflicts through which one character will relay the point Shetty wants to make to another character. These characters never break the fourth wall, but they might as well have.

Notably, “Sooryavanshi” is rife with a bunch of problems common to Shetty’s ‘copverse’ films. Vigilante justice is projected as a necessity in some cases, a couple of issues are watered down to good-versus-evil, and toxic masculinity is championed. Sooryavanshi, like his colleagues from “Singham,” “Singham Returns” and “Simmba,” doesn’t seem to care much for the legal process. It is an especially insensitive point to make in the current political climate, given that the film is also keen on establishing Sooryavanshi as a true patriot. Also equally problematic is the film’s handling of the character of Ria, the wife of the protagonist, relegated here to a position where her job is to simply accentuate her husband’s heroics by being his antithesis. Ria is a ghost of other similar female characters seen in the two “Singham” films and in “Simmba,” only a shade more developed. It’s unfortunate that four films later this series is still struggling to properly accommodate female characters.

Its problematic politics aside, “Sooryavanshi” is that rare example of a big-budget starrer getting a well-worn formula wrong. Bowing out after pitching a bigger sequel is definitely an interesting thought if not exactly encouraging.

[Not for reproduction.]

A Short Note on Abhishek Chaubey’s “Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa”

[Contains spoilers.]

Among Saytajit Ray’s most delightful short stories is “Barin Bhowmik’s Ailment.” Central to that story is an improbability: in one of the world’s most populous countries, what are the chances of two people who have met on a train journey once before, meeting again on another one? And what if one of them had wronged the other in the first meeting? How, then, would the second meeting unfold? In a trice, Ray has us in his grasp. His protagonist, Barin Bhowmik, has forged something of a reputation as a singer by the second meeting, and when he places his companion as someone he had once wronged, his paranoia at the prospect of being recognised threatens to take away the stardom he has earned after much struggle. The rest of Ray’s story hinges on a seemingly simple question: should Barin confess, therefore risk denting his stardom, or should he keep quiet? “Barin Bhowmik’s Ailment” implies that human beings are innately selfish, therefore unlikely to always do the right thing. As much as Barin desires to redeem himself, he fears retribution. He stands to lose too much. By drawing on this detail, Ray cleverly ups the drama and throws in a climactic twist that has us chuckling. I relished “Barin Bhowmik’s Ailment” several times over as a child.

In director Abhishek Chaubey’s rendition of it for the Netflix anthology series, “Ray,” Barin Bhowmik becomes an even more fascinating character. Musafir Ali (played by Manoj Bajpayee) is a celebrated ghazal singer aboard a train headed for New Delhi. Musafir is a man who is tempted easily, which explains his ‘ailment’: when signing autographs, he hesitates to sign one on a fan’s palm, but acquiesces when she lifts up her burqa to reveal her luminous face. Musafir is struck by her beauty. It’s a wonderful piece of writing which Chaubey directs with a lightness of touch that he often brings to his comedies. The terrific opening minutes of “Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa,” Chaubey’s segment in “Ray,” reveal more about Musafir than the succeeding forty minutes. He walks with a swagger, a conceited smile dancing on his lips, embracing attention like one would a gust of fresh air. When alone, he delivers sermons to imaginary audiences. But when he meets Aslam Baig (played by Gajraj Rao) on the train, a man with whom he shares a ten-year-old bond, the encounter peels layers off his ego to reveal a puny, vulnerable man with a secret he had long buried.

Chaubey’s flair for directing comedy is not new. “Ishqiya,” his debut feature, and “Dedh Ishqiya,” his sophomore feature, were marvellously done crime-comedies. The latter was set in a lost world of ghazals and couplets, etiquettes and grace, and in this world men swindled and schemed. Chaubey locates “Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa” in this world, too. Smart call. He knows it—its nooks and corners and people—intimately. Attention is paid to little gestures. When Musafir finishes his drink in one scene, he quietly begs for forgiveness from the Almighty. It’s almost invisible—the deftness with which it is done is most impressive. Likewise, Aslam, the other major character, gets his own set of gestures: he leans forward when he speaks, evoking his background as a wrestler. Bajpayee and Rao are both veterans; neither chews up a scene. They play off each other expertly, accommodate each other’s performance. Long after the film was over, I was marvelling at this aspect.

Like in “Dedh Ishqiya,” the Urdu dialogue in “Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa” sings. Lush language is employed to win people over. Not often does one come across a film full of quotable lines—the mind struggles to pick the best one. Niren Bhatt adapts Ray’s short story handsomely, retaining its playfulness and flavour but giving it his own little tweaks. Salvation is achieved in a dusty shop called ‘Rooh Safa’ (‘soul cleanse’). It’s a scream of a name—there’s a disarming sense of fun running through the film. Why, even when explaining the tricky name of an ailment, a doctor (played by Raghubir Yadav in a sparkling cameo; Manoj Pahwa features in another one at the end) references the 1971 Hindi-language film “Anand,” in which the protagonist was afflicted with a disease with a dreadful name. But somewhere in the middle (it's hard to pinpoint where), a dryness crops up—perhaps a result of too many surreal touches and flashbacks. At fifty-three minutes, this segment does feel a touch too long.

“Hungama Hai Kyon Barpa” is flanked by lesser films in the anthology, but it’s a charming little gem that does full justice to its original material. When it ended, I longed to revisit Ray’s story—and watch the film again after.

[Not For Reproduction]

Handpicks: Favourite Hindi Films of 2020, Ranked

[Contains spoilers.]

It has been a rather disappointing year for Hindi cinema. Mediocre and bad films outnumbered the good ones. We did not produce a single great film, in my opinion. There was one that flirted with greatness. And that’s all it did. Even the ones that seemed promising initially ended up being letdowns, and the pandemic ensured that we got access to films (some of which are listed below) that would have otherwise drifted into oblivion. Dibakar Banerjee’s “Sandeep Aur Pinky Faraar,” completed two years ago, would have released in March had the pandemic not happened. Crushingly still, there is no word on its new release date. If his segment in the otherwise disappointing Netflix anthology film “Ghost Stories” is anything to go by, it should make for a riveting watch.

But what was happening in the world of web-series is another deal altogether. In April came the charming “Panchayat,” lighter than air and with a superb set of characters. Borrowing its flavour from India’s early television sitcoms, “Panchayat” played to TVF’s strength: masterful writing with a keen eye for detail. And lest we forget, it ranks among the actor Raghubir Yadav’s best performances. Anyone who has followed his thirty-five-year-old career closely would know what a glorious feat that is. Not long after “Panchayat” came the nine-part web-series, “Paatal Lok,” created by Sudip Sharma and directed by Avinash Arun and Prosit Roy. Loosely based on Tarun Tejpal’s 2009 novel, “The Story of My Assassins,” the series is what I will remember the year for. A staggering achievement that reintroduced us to the gifted Jaideep Ahlawat (and we will do well to remember him now), it captured a contemporary India entangled in its own prejudices like no other cinematic work in recent memory. And lastly, in October, Hansal Mehta delivered his best work since 2012’s “Shahid” with “Scam 1992: The Harshad Mehta Story.” Rock-solid and strangely addictive, “Scam 1992: The Harshad Mehta Story,” based on the non-fiction book “The Scam: Who Won, Who Lost, Who Got Away” by Debashis Basu and Sucheta Dalal, brought the actor Pratik Gandhi into the limelight, among other coups. I’ve seen it thrice already and look forward to going back for another helping.

On an even smaller canvas, even better things happened. The streaming service MUBI released several features and short films through MUBI India, the most notable being the retrospective of Amit Dutta, one of our foremost filmmaking voices. Dutta largely works in experimental cinema, which might explain why his works are elusive, literally and figuratively. The access which MUBI India provided was priceless. After a long wait, I was delighted to sink my teeth into 2010’s “Nainsukh,” his most popular and distinguished work. Also among MUBI India’s offerings was an outstanding short film, Shazia Iqbal’s “Bebaak.” Extracting a chapter from her life, Iqbal’s film followed Fatin, a young architecture student, who is rebuked by a cleric during an interview for a scholarship. Given a directive to ‘amend her ways’ or risk losing the scholarship, Fatin’s dilemma is vividly captured by a combination of neat writing and competent acting. Right after the interview ends, Fatin lambasts her father, saying, “Why did you have so many children when you couldn’t afford it?” Her father is dumbstruck. The answer to her question is shown, not said: the fourth child, Fatin’s youngest sibling after two younger sisters, is a boy. This unquenchable desire for a male child is laid into ferociously, as it should—remarkable for a first-time filmmaker. “Bebaak” ends on a touching note, hopeful that things can change and will, and we will have to keep fighting whatever comes our way and not concede. Courage is the tonic which will pull us through. I can hardly wait to see what Iqbal comes up with next.

Here are my ten favourite Hindi films of the year. First, a note: As some of them have already made rounds of various film festivals, or were completed years ago but were unable to find distribution, one can argue they are not ‘films of 2020’ and therefore do not qualify to be on this list. However, given the unusual year we had, and considering that many movies were made available to the public through OTT releases this year, I am including them on this list. 

10. LOOTCASE (Dir.: Rajesh Krishnan)

There’s little that is particularly memorable in Rajesh Krishnan’s breezy comedy of errors, but “Lootcase” brightened up many a Sunday for me this year. Most jokes meet their mark, the characters (not too different from the quirky ones we met in Abhinay Deo’s “Delhi Belly” in 2012) serve the plot well, and the actors seem to have a blast. Not a bad way to spend a couple of hours, especially when Kunal Khemu and Gajraj Rao are in spiffing comic form. 

(Trailer here.)

09. AK VS AK (Dir.: Vikramaditya Motwane)

The pull is in the pitch: the filmmaker Anurag Kashyap and the actor Anil Kapoor (playing fictional versions of themselves) square off and a camera captures the duel. Kashyap: enfant terrible, egotistical, crazy. Kapoor: suave, shrewd, privileged. A public spat between the two leads to Kashyap taking revenge by kidnapping Kapoor’s daughter. It’s satire. It’s irreverent. It’s fun. For the first twenty odd minutes, Vikramaditya Motwane’s “AK vs AK” coasts along delightfully as Kapoor and Kashyap trade insults, each claiming to have conquered Bollywood. We settle back comfortably—finally, the film industry is willing to laugh at itself. No one is spared as the film roasts film-makers (including the makers themselves) and film-watchers alike. And then, “AK vs AK” takes a nosedive. The jokes become forced, the plotting becomes tedious. The final twist is especially sloppy—was that really required? There are a couple of nice observations here about the fragility of stardom and the vulnerability of people who have spent most of their adult lives in the spotlight. It works as satire—as a thriller, it fizzles out without actually taking off.

(Trailer here.)

08. RAAT AKELI HAI (Dir.: Honey Trehan)

It’s a shame that Honey Trehan’s “Raat Akeli Hai” is not able to replicate the brilliance of its opening sequence. When it arrives at the coal-black heart of a gruesome murder at the end of 149 minutes, the sagging feeling of disappointment is hard to shake off. Confidently mounted but ultimately a touch overlong, Trehan’s directorial debut gets the basics of a murder-mystery right (the mood, the detailing, the shifty characters, and the dark, dark secrets) but is unable to avert a disappointing finish. In all fairness, the journey is fairly absorbing, with some exquisite images (the film has been lensed by the great Pankaj Kumar) and occasionally sharp writing (by Smita Singh). It could have been a masterpiece. Alas. 

(Trailer here.)

07. BULBBUL (Dir.: Anvita Dutt)

Lyricist and writer Anvita Dutt’s sweeping Gothic fairytale about an avenging witch who wreaks havoc upon men suspected of cruelty towards women was among the year’s most pleasant surprises. A happy fairytale this is not: “Bulbbul” is about cruel violence, oppression, and jealousy, and the scene at its core—unfolding poetically on a rainy night—made my stomach turn. It’s exquisitely photographed and made, and features a slew of wonderful performances. But, there was something lacking. Perhaps another viewing will provide an answer.

(Trailer here.)

06. KADAKH (Dir.: Rajat Kapoor)

A stranger arrives to meet our protagonist, Sunil, on Diwali morning. He introduces himself as the husband of the woman Sunil is having an affair with—strangely at peace with the situation. But when an argument escalates and the stranger shoots himself, Rajat Kapoor’s morbidly funny “Kadakh” is set in motion. Borrowing the idea of a party taking place with a dead body in the house (whose presence is known to only two people) from Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rope,” “Kadakh” examines the crumbling of a marriage and other friendships over the course of Sunil’s Diwali party. Posing moral questions even when it meanders (and it does meander plenty), “Kadakh” is a fascinating addition to Kapoor’s oeuvre as a director, but far from his best work.

(Trailer here.)

05. CARGO (Dir.: Arati Kadav)

If we were to draw up a list of Hind cinema’s strong points, ‘low-budget science-fiction’ would likely be left off it. Even ‘science-fiction’ for that matter. So it’s rather swell to see Arati Kadav’s debut feature “Cargo” come out of nowhere and attempt to correct that. And what a plucky attempt it is. Like her wondrous 2016 short film, “Time Machine,” “Cargo” pairs mad, almost childlike imagination with weighty themes to create a distinctive product that stands as a testament to her prodigious talent. While “Time Machine” dealt with motherhood and first love, “Cargo” deals with loneliness and death, and the startling fact that, given enough time, someone can get used to them. It takes some effort to buy into the world Kadav, a former software engineer at Microsoft, creates here, a world replete with subpar visual effects and long stretches of blandness. But fling yourself into it like I did, and maybe it will leave you ruminating over what is has to say. There’s an innocence with which Kadav approaches filmmaking. How I miss it.

(Trailer here.)

04. KAAMYAAB (Dir.: Hardik Mehta)

If there is such a thing as an actor born to play a role, Hardik Mehta’s “Kaamyaab” makes a fine case for it. Sanjay Mishra, the terrific character actor who has spent twenty-five years in the movies, plays Sudheer, a washed-out and ageing character actor who learns in an interview that he has acted in 499 movies. A power cut criminally cuts this interview short but it gives him a mission: to seek a meaty role for his 500th film. At once wise about how the Hindi film industry thinks and functions (at one point, when a film director calls Sudheer by his name, just his name, his assistant hisses, “Sudheerji”—the honorific is an afterthought) and respectful of the many struggles of an actor, “Kaamyaab” probes the difference between an actor and a star by deftly avoiding moralisation. Its heartbreakingly beautiful (albeit over-the-top) ending made my heart sing. Would make yours, too.

(Trailer here.)

03. GULABO SITABO (Dir.: Shoojit Sircar)

Borrowing its title from a glove puppetry theatre show about two bickering women, Shootjit Sircar’s “Gulabo Sitabo” is a beast to tackle: playful, funny, gently melancholic, and when one thinks they have managed to get it, slippery and profoundly sad. Vultures circle an ancient tumbledown house in Lucknow, and what a lovely selection of vultures we have here: the grouchy old landlord, Mirza; his wife, Begum, sole owner of the property; Mirza’s tenants that include Baankey Rastogi, who runs a flour mill; and a potpourri of other characters that include an oily government chap, Gyanesh Shukla, working with the archeological department. Everyone lays claim to the property—even the government. While much of “Gulabo Sitabo” revolves around how these characters try to outwit each other, Juhi Chaturvedi’s typically intelligent script traverses weightier themes like poverty, selfishness, and our innate desire to hold on to something we call ‘home’. It’s a demanding film, and if we spare a little patience, an amply rewarding one.

(Trailer here.)

02. SIR (Dir.: Rohena Gera)

It seems only natural that the actress Tillotama Shome, nineteen years after debuting as the young house-help Alice in Mira Nair’s “Monsoon Wedding,” portrays the house-help Ratna in Rohena Gera’s small miracle of a movie. Maybe Alice is Ratna now, all grown up and worldly. And much like her performance in Nair’s film, Shome here is absolutely flawless as the maid who gradually, fearfully, falls in love with her employer. Screened at the Cannes Film Festival in 2018, “Sir” captures the stages of this romance that a classist society would mock harshly. Ratna’s employer, Ashwin (played by Vivek Gomber; equally marvellous), couldn’t care less. But Ratna does—the society she is familiar with is a far cry from the one her employer knows. It is Gera’s ability to capture this bit of detail, and other similar details, that makes the film so special. And it springs an ending that is arguably the best ending in any movie I saw this year, an ending that made my heart soar furiously, an ending that I simply cannot get enough of. A word is spoken, just a word, and spoken bravely. And its utterance takes a knife to classism in fine style. Incredible.

(Trailer here.)

01. EEB ALLAY OOO! (Dir.: Prateek Vats)

Monkeys have taken over government buildings—literally. A new migrant, Anjani, is tasked with keeping them away. He is not enterprising; the monkeys are cunning and stubborn. (The symbolism is on point.) Anjani hates his job with all his heart but it is the best his meagre qualifications can fetch. Prateek Vats’s absurdist satire “Eeb Allay Ooo!” begins here most unassumingly, but by the end of 97 bleak minutes, it has touched upon the exploitation of migrants, unemployment, and religious extremism. And like many great films, it features an insurmountable villain: a big city—here, New Delhi. As Anjani tries to gull the monkeys, finally let down by a pitiless city and its people, “Eeb Allay Ooo!” comes into its own as a strong political work that masterfully brings to light the plight of millions of migrants across the country. Furthermore, it stars the discovery of the year: the actor Shardul Bharadwaj who as Anjani delivers a performance that ought to have had him smothered him with plaudits. But, ah, Anjani would have laughed at our optimism. 

(Trailer here.)

[Not For Reproduction]