THE UNBEARABLE FLIGHTLESSNESS OF BEING
The find-yourself story arc may be fairly predictable, but the detailing is the thing that makes this superb first feature soar.
AUG 8, 2010 – AT A TIME MAINSTREAM MOVIES have mostly forgotten how to employ songs – all we seem to get are overblown item numbers or montage-laden emotional stretches – an off-the-mainstream film comes along and shows how music and lyrics can embrace and enhance mood. Udaan, Vikramaditya Motwane’s accomplished first feature, is the story of 17-year-old Rohan, a young poet-at-heart forced into a life of practicality, and the director uses Amit Trivedi’s superlative soundtrack like a Greek chorus. Early on, when Rohan is at a crossroads after being expelled from school, the chorus wonders if this is the end or just the beginning. (“Kahaani khatam hai, ya shuruaat hone ko hai / Subah nayi hai yeh, ya phir raat hone ko hai.”) And these words are amplified to anthemic proportions by the end (at the tail of Aazadiyaan), when, again, Rohan finds himself at a crossroads, though this time entirely due to his own doing.
If Antoine Doinel from The 400 Blows had waited to grow up before launching his freeze-framed bid for flight and freedom, he might have ended up in Udaan. Like Truffaut’s young protagonist, Rohan is a free spirit reined in by barriers – the tall walls of his boarding school, the barbed-wire fences of his home, and the gates of the steel factory where he’s been put to work by his improbably tattooed father, Bhairav Singh. Rohan, however, wants to become a writer. That dream, the fulfillment of that destiny, is Rohan’s udaan, his escape – and Motwane not only laces his lines with literal references to flight (for instance, when a kid breaks an ankle and yet insists that he can reach someplace, he’s asked if he intends to fly), he also gives us teasing allusions to flying. Rohan is a Superman fan and the license plate of his car bears the number 747.
In films where a sensitive son attempts to escape the shadow of a domineering father, the domineering aspects of this father are hammered home a little more insistently than necessary – so much so that we don’t see a man as much as a monster. Motwane takes care to skirt that landmine. The father in Udaan is certainly guilty of monstrous behaviour. Like a major in the military, Bhairav insists that his sons – Rohan and the much younger Arjun – call him “sir.” He treats them less like children that need upbringing than wayward cadets in need of disciplining, and when Rohan returns from boarding school after being expelled, the boy is made to haul his heavy trunk up the flight of stairs to his room, all by himself. The barbed wire that surrounds the compound of the house makes it look like prison or a concentration camp.
Motwane uses his camera meaningfully (and at times, perhaps a little too “meaningfully,” as in the recurrent shot that lingers behind Rohan’s head). At one point, Rohan is seen contemplating a cheetah in captivity, and it’s easy to see his affinity to a creature that has been confined in an unnatural environment. Elsewhere, Rohan’s face is literally “confined” – within the snapping maws of a machine in the factory (which makes it look like he’s the one being forged, which is surely his father’s intention), or else within the crook of an akimbo arm of the father sitting in front (which makes it look like he’s being strangled). The point, in all cases, is this: Bhairav is holding Rohan back from what the boy wants to be – or worse, he’s shaping Rohan in his own steel-factory mould. As many I-want-to-break-free movies down the years have taught us, these are the acts of a monster.
But close to interval point, this man becomes human in our eyes. Rohan’s constant complaint is that his father never visited him in boarding school, not once in eight years. And an inebriated Bhairav reveals that he did visit – once. But Rohan was playing with friends, happily so, and Bhairav confesses that he didn’t want to come in the way of that happiness. His words are simple and searing: “Khush lag rahe the, is liye tumse baat nahin ki.” This is not the sign of a bad man – merely the sign of a bad father, or rather, a man who does not know how to be a good father. After all, Bhairav loves his younger brother Jimmy, and he laughs with his colleagues and there are indications that he loved his now-departed wife.
It’s just that, with some men, the ability to be a good sibling or husband or neighbour or co-worker does not extend, organically, to the ability to be a good father. Like a generation of parents who did not know how to be sensitive and affectionate to children (probably because their parents did not show them how), Bhairav can only muster up this confession to his son while drunk. Straight sober, the armour is back on. He’d rather sit alone with his cigarettes and booze, in front of the television, than do something about the fact that Arjun has forgotten how to smile. Perhaps it’s because he’s lonely, having lost two wives. Perhaps it’s because his wife bore more love for Rohan than for him. Perhaps it’s because, like Rohan’s college senior, he too regrets being stuck in recession-time Jamshedpur when people around have moved on to bigger, better things. And instead of facing the failure he’s become, it’s become easier to deal with the perceived failures of his sons.
Like many fathers of that generation, Bhairav has perverted notions of manhood. Rohan writes poetry, and when he recites one of his poems – seated with his father and uncle on a park bench, shot from behind, in what appears to be a subversion of the signature Karan Johar shot – Bhairav sneers that this doggerel is only for magazines like Grihashobha and Sarita, which are, of course, women’s magazines. And Jimmy, the uncle who wordlessly attempts to console Rohan by placing a hand at the back of his head, is dismissed by Bhairav as a namard, a eunuch who cannot sire children. When the androgynously handsome Rohan confesses that he’s never had sex, Bhairav sneers that he’s not a boy but a girl. (“Ladka nahin ladki ho tum. Shakal bhi ladki jaisi.”) And in a fairy-tale moral comeuppance, by the film’s end, Bhairav’s sons leave him and he’s left with the daughter from the woman he eventually marries – he’s reduced to the father of a mere ladki.
No other figure is as flawed and as fascinating (though the others are certainly a lot more likeable) in Udaan, which is about fathers and sons and brothers. Bhairav is the alpha male in this movie about men. There are no girlfriends or mother figures, save for the pneumatically endowed male-fantasy heroine in the soft porn film that Rohan sneaks into and, later, a fleeting glimpse of Jimmy’s wife. (That Jimmy and his wife, the childless couple, are more loving to Rohan than Bhairav is may be a point to ponder over. Perhaps it’s easier to lavish love on other people’s children than your own.) Rohan’s best friends are all male. Rohan’s go-to guy in times of distress is his uncle, who, Lost in Translation-like, whispers inaudible advice into his nephew’s ear towards the film’s end. And Rohan’s most significant relationship – a “falling in love,” in a matter of speaking – is with his younger brother.
The relationship between Bhairav and Jimmy is contrasted with the one between Rohan and Arjun. Where the former moves from amiability to animosity, the latter begins shakily and gradually becomes stronger – and these are amongst the most touching passages in the film. When Rohan has had enough and runs away from his father, I felt a pang that he’s leaving Arjun behind to fend for himself. And then I felt that that was right. The teenaged Rohan, after all, is hardly equipped with the means – either logistical or emotional – to raise a child. And it’s only fitting that Arjun, after growing up, should become the architect of his own deliverance – thus emulating Rohan’s example. But for all its airs of ragged edginess, Udaan is, at heart, a feel-good fairy tale, and it allows Arjun an early happy ending, with Rohan returning to claim him. In a world without women, if men don’t look out for one another, who will?
Copyright ©2010 The New Sunday Express. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
Just Another Film Buff
August 7, 2010
I don’t know if this is the first of your reviews that doesn’t mention the acting, but I know this: This is one of your finest reviews EVAR!!!
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Pradip
August 8, 2010
I just love reading your articles. Please write about Inception & Shutter Island
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Amit Goyal
August 8, 2010
Thanks, Mr Rangan for reviewing Udaan. My movie experience is incomplete without reading your views. What a beautiful movie, coming from a small town I can feel the movie much better. One point I specially liked about the movie was that the directer did not reduce the father character to a caricature. Monstrous he might be but I could still relate to him and understand him. Superb performance by Ronit Roy.
And another note You still owe us “Oye Lucky Lucky Oye” review/views. Please revisit that movie.
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Anirudh
August 8, 2010
This is one of the best writeups I have read on Udaan.. 🙂 But I unfortunately missed it..will catch it on TV.And btw, u rock Mr Rangan…although I suppose you must be tired of hearing that so many times!!!!
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bran1gan
August 8, 2010
JAFB: Sigh! This not a review. I thought the acting was all-round good. Ram Kapoor, especially.
Pradip: I didn’t fo reviews, but I did write about Inception and Shutter Island.
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pradip
August 8, 2010
Oh… Must have missed it.. thank you for the links
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Mambazha Manidhan
August 8, 2010
One of the best things about Hindi movies like Ishqiya,Udaan etc. they allow for refreshingly new backdrops like raw country side in the opening scene of Ishqiya or the authentic smalltown ambience that comes later in the same film (unlike the plastic setpieces of Welcome to Sajjanpur) or blurry industrial lights of Jamshedpur like in the screenshot above instead of confining themselves to urban Mumbai or even Delhi.
I feel one of the advantages of making a film in Hindi is that you can have a pan-Indian ambience like the Rann of Kutch (Road, Movie) or even tell a story based in Mizoram.Whereas, for a Tamil movie to do that without having a Tamil speaking character in that place or resorting to subtitles would be very difficult if not impossible.
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Iniyavan
August 9, 2010
Moral comeuppance? Father of a mere ladki? How horrible can the second layer of your brain, that is getting more hold on you nowadays which originally started as a predator lurking on all the laughingstocks, think? Lol:)
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Iniyavan
August 9, 2010
Btw, fancy looking at the critical reception section of Raavan in Wikipedia?
Btw 2, here’s an assignment. I am totally intrigued by the pitch perfect character sketches and the way it is maintained impeccably in the sitcom FRIENDS. How about you, writing a 1000 word dissertation on it?
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roswitha
August 9, 2010
Beautiful review, Baradwaj. I also loved the film, and as you say, the details make it one that is worth returning to. I think Rohan returning for Arjun actually worked to open the film up for me rather than bring it to a neat(ish) end — after all, the film is about Rohan, and it is about him breaking the cycle of starved affection and selfishness (for that is what the Bhairav model of masculinity, for all its shades of complexity, is about): for Rohan, attaining manhood is about being ready to deal with love, both giving and having it. To me that was touching beyond just the triumphant payoff of the two of them running free. It was managed very well — at no point during the end is the satisfaction simply derived from sticking it to Bhairav.
Glad you wrote about it!
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Radhika
August 10, 2010
I liked the park scene for that almost-not-there moment when it seemed as if Bhairav was zapped at his son’s poetry (in a nice way) – but quickly covered that up with his macho sneering.
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SN
August 10, 2010
Liked the film for a lot of reasons and you have captured them beautifully. Bhairav to me appeared to be the most evil of all characters that I have ever seen in Indian cinema and that includes all the characters played by Amrish Puri and Gulshan Grover – and that was because there seemed to be such “steel” in his heart and sheer cold-bloodedness in all he was doing. There were enough indications that he was not totally evil, that he had a nicer side to him – but that scene where he almost has a catharsis and then tells his children that for his frustration, one has to work like an ass and the other will be packed off to boarding school and that for himself in the bargain, he will get another wife, was I felt a chilling scene! Everytime you felt there was some sliver of niceness seeping through, a couple of scenes later he just blows it up!! Is this the same Ronit Roy and Ram Kapoor that we have seen hamming it up on TV?? The music was brilliant as well – Amit Trivedi now has 4 superlative albums to his credit, are we seeing another ARR being created to deliver us of the tedium of Pritam, Vishal-Shekhar, SEL, et al? Too early to say but hopefully he keeps his freshness alive.
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bran1gan
August 11, 2010
Did anyone else feel there was something going on about the constant references to fat men? In both groups of friends that Rohan is seen with, there’s a “mote.” Jimmy not only refers to himself as a fat man, even Bhairav calls him one. Finally, in the Chandu ki Cycle story, there’s a boy with a big backside. Hmmm…
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vipul vivek
August 11, 2010
Feel-good, yes. Fairy? Rohan is not even sure how he is going to make a living and still he has dared to take Arjun’s responsibility. Possible that his friends might help him in some way but that is anything but fairy.
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Natarajan
August 11, 2010
One thing I loved about the movie was to use the car to tell us something about the owner even before we heard him speak. He owns a contessa which alludes to the fact that once he was also like any other normal guy who wanted to buy the latest “in” car and now things have changes and like his car his life is decrepit. It also alludes to his unchanging inflexible attitude to life
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SN
August 11, 2010
There is a hilarious song “motumaster” in the soundtrack but not in the movie (apart from a few lines on a fat recited by Rohan at the bar when he first meets his seniors from college and then later on in the car). Was quite looking forward to seeing how it was picturised but didnt fit in probably. The team probably wanted amit trivedi to come up with another “Emosanal Attyachar”.
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Mambazha Manidhan
August 11, 2010
Did anybody notice how the father asks ‘Sex kiya?’ to Rohan before and after the interval? And the way Rohan acts in the exact same manner both times so as not to take the bait. That is a true director’s touch. It redefined the way I saw the whole film and movies in general.Kudos to the young actor who played Rohan for his ‘exact’ acting !
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Rk
January 17, 2011
Hi,
This is a fitting poetry-like writing for a poetry-like movie. I did not like the movie at first, but slowly I started appreciating and your review makes it more wonderful.
I have couple of observations though: namard – though literally translated means ‘eununch’ , when said in these contexts, its meaning is just ‘impotent’. It does not make a big difference in the meaning it has conveyed, but am sure you understand the difference(both apple and orange are fruits, but we can not interchange).
>>Perhaps it’s easier to lavish love on other people’s children >>than your own.
They did not have their own children, which is more why he offers to raise Arjun.
Reference to fat loser – at least Bhairav considers his fitness very seriously. In a world of failures, he needs the fitness to feel accomplished. Which is why he ridicules Rohan when he can not keep up – disgraceful. It is kind of ironic that, the very fitness he delivered to his son enables him to escape in the chase, the chase itself I found was pretty funny.
The Udaan also kind of broke the tradition (of working in factory, or passing on the watch) that Bhairav was chained to, with Rohan and Arjun breaking free.
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Rk
January 17, 2011
btw, what do you mean, this is not a review.
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oneWithTheH
September 11, 2014
i have to share “naav” here. amit trivedi+lyricist simply blew my mind. credit to the picturisation as well. i recently had a reawakening of sorts to this song after i closely followed the lyrics through this video. and amit trivedi – these fusion pieces are really his forte.
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