CAPITAL CRIME
This Delhi-set terrorist tale is Subhash Ghai’s best work in recent times, but does being better than Yaadein and Kisna really count for much?
MAR 9, 2008 – HAVING NAMED HIS LATEST FILM BLACK & WHITE, Subhash Ghai wrings every last drop from the implications of the title. Newcomer Anurag Sinha plays Numair Qazi, a suicide bomber out to wreak havoc at the Red Fort on August 15, while Anil Kapoor is Rajan Mathur, a professor of Urdu and a staunch nationalist, prone to purple declarations about saffron, white and green (“Deewana hoon apne tirange ka,” goes one such effusion) – so at first, the starkly different colours of the title merely appear to symbolise the evil-good dichotomy in these characters. But then we discover that Professor Mathur wears only white, while Qazi’s taste in fashion veers towards – what else? – black. The film, meanwhile, takes a cue from this palette and opens in black-and-white, gradually blooming into full colour, and rainbows pop up at several points, as if to chide Qazi that if he would only open his eyes, he’d see that the world is a riot of metaphorical colour, comprising the good and the bad and everything in between – quite unlike his monolithic philosophy, which is, well, black and white.
And finally, Black & White is itself all black and white – an all-upper-case, yellow-highlighted, 48-point-size plea for communal harmony with zero subtlety, zero shades of grey. Little girls launch into keyboard versions of Saare jahaan se achcha and little boys light candles (you know, to dispel the darkness and all), while the grown-ups wheeze about the possibility of terrorism being wiped out if only the terrorists could catch sight of a group of children (because these faces of innocence do not readily reveal themselves as Hindu or Muslim). After a while, I was fairly sure that Ghai was going to end his film by letting loose a flock of doves, but I was mistaken: there’s just one dove. The all-black Qazi, meanwhile, is a religious extremist referred to as “Allah ki amaanat,” and he is surrounded by all-white embodiments of goodness – potential love interest Shagufta (the vibrant Aditi Sharma), who has no hang-ups about decorating her bedroom walls with posters of Hindu demigods like Sachin Tendulkar and Hrithik Roshan; Gaffar Bhai (the wonderful Habib Tanvir, whose vocal cadences reminded me of Harindranath Chattopadhyay’s grating-yet-childlike lisp), who composes patriotic odes to Hindustan; even institutions like Zakir Hussain College, which are liberal enough to appoint someone named Rajan Mathur to teach Urdu.
And that’s exactly what you’d expect from Ghai, a broad-strokes brush-wielder if there ever was one. Black & White may be obvious and in your face, but then it’s not as if anyone would walk in hoping that this director would go for the arty, open-ended rhythms of Santosh Sivan’s The Terrorist (which, along with The Devil’s Own, essentially told the same story: will the terrorist fulfill his mission in the face of a resolve that’s being whittled away by interactions with the innocent?). Besides, of all the films that Ghai has made in his recent quest for respectability – his transparent desire to be known as more than just the man who whipped up the potboiler pleasures of Ram Lakhan and Hero – Black & White is easily his finest. The only problem, though, is that this evaluation comes through comparison with Yaadein and Kisna: The Warrior Poet, so the merits in this film are more along the lines of “Ghai is s-l-o-w-l-y getting better at what he wants to do,” which is quite different from “this film really works.”
The good things first: Black & White features what is possibly the most startling scene in the Ghai oeuvre – that of a policeman getting a shave on the street, in front of his home, and slowly turning sideward as Qazi enters the house next door. It’s as if he senses an evil presence in the air, soon to ripple through the nothing-really-happens rhythms of his daily life, and I was frankly quite shocked that Ghai – of all people – had slipped into his film something this borderline-existential (or at least, something that allows itself to be read as this borderline-existential). Another beautiful bit – spoiler alert till the end of this paragraph – is the development where the person who overhears the terrifying details of a terrorist plan simply drops dead. I was waiting for this character to do something unbelievably stupid like what Rishi Kapoor did in Fanaa upon stumbling into Aamir Khan’s secrets, which was to threaten the latter that he’d go to the police at once. But here, you get the feeling that the discovery was almost too much to bear; threats about going to the police would imply that the information had been processed and a plan of action worked out, whereas this character could barely comprehend the magnitude of the revelation.
But unfortunately, old habits die hard – and you can’t help wincing when, in a film of this nature, a bad guy cackles with the glee of Ajit while talking about a pen that’s filled with a liquid bomb (remember that gag about liquid oxygen?), or when another villain ends his why-did-you-do-this question with, “Kyon? Kyon? Kyon?” (This, when the respondent is neither hard of hearing nor a complete idiot.) But this bombast is at least bearable compared to the supposed visual ironies (Qazi standing under a poster that proclaims, “Terrorism is a ruthless virus”) and the rampant symbolism (a child’s plight in a stampede being indicated by a cut to her doll being trampled by onrushing feet). Ghai seems to want to chart new courses, but he’s also reluctant to leave behind his old tricks – and this mix doesn’t always work. Even the inevitable love angle feels odd in this film. When Qazi learns that Shagufta has won a prize for dancing at an inter-college competition, he remarks that she cannot be a true Muslim, because a true Muslim would never wear those clothes or dance in that fashion. You sense, immediately, the bewilderment in Shagufta – as if to say, “And this is the man I was falling for?” – but a few scenes later, she’s back to flirting with him in the rain, holding up an umbrella.
If Ghai’s heart wasn’t in this scenario, you wonder why he didn’t simply lop it off, along with the laughable scenes of the CBI on the terrorists’ trail. They show up early on, then disappear for long stretches, then reappear for a ludicrous climax that seems to have no geographical moorings. One moment we’re inside the Red Fort, the next, near what looks like a bus station someplace else, then we’re back where we started, with Rajan Mathur tootling around stupidly in his scooter. It’s a good thing that Ghai had this cast – for anyone other than the super-sincere Anil Kapoor we’d have laughed off the face of this planet. Apart from an uncharacteristically fussy breakdown scene – and despite being made to mouth the worst lines and suffer through the most ridiculous contrivances of the screenplay, mostly involving his wife (a shrill Shefali Shah) – the actor delivers another one of his dependably solid portrayals. And Anurag Sinha holds an impressive blank-slate stare throughout, which works well for a character that’s all interior monologue and not especially given to displays of emotion. In other words, he’s fine here, but we’ll have to wait to see if he can really act.
Copyright ©2008 The New Sunday Express. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
Aditya Pant
March 8, 2008
While watching this film, I was reminded of that “colour coding” bit you wrote in your Kisna review. And lo, we have it here as well! I did expect it given the title of the film, but I had sincerely hoped that Subhash Ghai would go a little subtle this time around. But no…
I found Anil’s introductory scene and the way his profession is revealed very wince-worthy. And does a professor of Urdu necessarily have to be well-versed in Arabic and hence the Quran? Possible that a professor of Urdu would know Arabic as well, but the way it was presented in the film was like a logical conclusion along the lines of I-teach-urdu-so-i-understand-arabic-and-quran. Didn’t lik that bit.
Then the urdu dialogue – a classic case of giving muslim characters words to mouth that seem – to borrow your words from an earlier review – “straight out of a muslim social of the 60s”.
And what do you think of the climactic fight between Milind Gunaji and Anurag Sinha. Wasn’t the symbolism a bit too in the face? But Ghai even thinking along those lines is an indication that he “is s-l-o-w-l-y getting better at what he wants to do”.
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brangan
March 8, 2008
Aditya: Forget Anil’s introductory scene – almost everything he was in was a lead-up to a nice juicy bit of oration about communl harmony. I guess that’s how you know he’s a good actor. Had it been anyone else, I’d have wished for instant and gory death for the character 🙂
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Anonymous
March 9, 2008
brangan: Maybe this comment of mine belongs under your “Snip Judgment” piece, but was nonetheless triggered by this opening line to your “good things first” section: …what is possibly the most startling scene in the Ghai oeuvre – that of a policeman getting a shave on the street, in front of his home, and slowly turning sideward as Qazi enters the house next door. It’s as if he senses an evil presence in the air, soon to ripple through the nothing-really-happens rhythms of his daily life.
I just started reading this wonderful wonderful book (and I realized this even as I skimmed thru the jacket inside flap) that you’d recommended to Ravi K earlier: “The Conversations.” I book-marked it at page 43 before turning in last night and as I read your writeup this morning, the line above instantly reminded me of the topic covered in the opening para to page 43: Framing a shot. Ondaatje writes (as you’d possibly recall): “There’s a fascinating example of [framing a shot] in the first Godfather, when Michael is saying good-bye to Kay. She’s saying, “Maybe I could come with you” He replies, “No Kay, it’s family, there will be detectives, you just can’t.” And suddenly the framing has shifted, suggesting that something is wrong. Even though he’s still facing her, and being nice to her, the framing says the opposite. He’s being pulled by something behind her. It’s easy for him, in this new composition, to move away from her, into the empty space that’s on the right side of the frame…”
Two different scenarios, I know, but both filling the screen (and us) with an ominous sense of what’s to come. Stuff that’s obviously second nature to someone with your trained eyes to make technical sense of, but for folks like me who know nothing about the nuances of filmmaking and the art of editing as pertains to that, this is an interesting revelation: making conscious sense of a subconcious viewing experience. What I found even more fascinating(from just making it thru the intro chapter of the Ondaatje book) is how much the process of editing in film compares to editing in writing. Allow me to quote master editor (and Ondaatje’s interviewee) Walter Murch: “A friend asked, What are you up to these days? Oh, I said, I’m doing Orson Welles’s cut of Touch of Evil. And he said, You’re not doing anything, I hope, to the beginning of the film. I replied, That’s the first thing I’m changing.” (The disclaimer being not all editors are made equal, obviously!)
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brangan
March 9, 2008
Anon: I’m assuming, from the intertextuality of the comment, that it’s Sagarika 🙂 Anyway, talking about these touches does’t have to do with “trained eyes” so much as the simple ability to put two and two together and come up with four — along with the willingness to look like an ass in case you make two and two look like seventeen 🙂
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SB
March 9, 2008
b – i LOVE the sarcasm here (and i don’t mean that saracstically). anil kapoor rocks in everything he does, one of our most versatile actors who i still think is a tad bit under-appreciated…and anurag sinha, is h-o-t HOT…just a little female swooning here…
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Aditya Pant
March 9, 2008
The paucity of comments here shows how populr this film has been 😉
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Arijit
March 10, 2008
Hi Rangan, have you seen Sweeney Todd? Would love a review of Sweeney Todd by you. Was wondering whether you have seen it and what your views are….
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brangan
March 10, 2008
SB: Down, girl, down 🙂
Arijit: Review, as always, when the film gets here… But yes, a very good film that I think was somewhat overshadowed by the greatness of No Country and There will Be Blood.
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Sridhar
March 10, 2008
Hi Mr.Baradwaj,
I always value your review and frequent your blog.
Have you seen this movie “Anjathey” (Tamil)? In my opinion it is one of the worthy tamil movies that have come out in recent past and i would like to hear your views on that movie.
Thanks.
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Sagarika
March 10, 2008
brangan: Yup, Anon. is the oh-so-predictable me! Must’ve been the server-side ghost testing your instant recognition of the sound of my voice on the page. And yay, you passed. 🙂
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karthik
March 11, 2008
Hey Rangan….awesome review as usual and the movie didnt really sink in well for me although the performances were appreciative.
Speaking about paucity…there is huge lacuna on the amount of tamil reviews and views in general !
And i second the call for the Anjathey view, definitely one of the most “realistic” movies to come out in the recent past, i use the word in the truest sense since realism is so abused as term in the tamil film fraternity.
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brangan
March 11, 2008
Sridhar/Karthik – I’ve written about Anjaathey in my column for this week. Just gave it in a couple of days ago. Should be out this Sunday. Karthik, BTW, I found the film very stylised, hardly “realistic”
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brangan
March 11, 2008
BTW, it’s been gratifying to go through the search terms people have been using to get to this blog the past few days: the most noteworthy among them include “indian kids sex,” “how many children does k.balachander hav” and “seridevi naked sex”. My mother will be so proud 🙂
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Santosh
March 11, 2008
Great review as usual. Thanks! What I missed was a mention of the music which in my opinion is superb! Sukhvinder Singh deserves an applause both for his vocals and for the music. Would you agree?
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brangan
March 14, 2008
Santosh: Yup, the music was good. It didn’t make much of an impression as a standalone audio track, but it blended in very well with the film.
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