FIGHT LESSONS
Surjya Sen and his cohorts deserved a much better movie, but perhaps we should be grateful that they got at least this one.
DEC 5, 2010 – IN HIS LATEST ENDEAVOUR to hallow our history, Ashutosh Gowariker orchestrates an uprising on par with the one he puts up on screen. Instead of pallid Brits twirling their waxed moustaches, consider the increasingly westernised multiplex audiences holding our country’s mainstream cinema hostage, demanding little more than brain-dead comedies and the newly cool masala movie. Consider, too, the prickly reality that different, difficult, big-canvas films are no longer allowed to find their feet with time, and are instead declared hits or flops during the first weekend (and sometimes the first day). In this climate of oppression, telling the practically unknown story of a revolt against the British – and based on a book, Manini Chatterjee’s Do & Die: The Chittagong Uprising 1930-34 – is nothing short of rebellion. In the closing credits, the names and photographs of these revolutionaries appear alongside the names and photographs of their on-screen counterparts, and in one instance, there is no picture – only a blank frame bearing the inscription “No photographic evidence.” Even history has forgotten this man. Gowariker deserves a salute for resurrecting him and remembering him.
If only his skills as filmmaker were half as commendable. Khelein Hum Jee Jaan Sey opens with a troop of teenagers kicking around a football. The dusty-brown visuals transport us back to the 1930s – the boys are in dhotis, and their resonant names are enunciated with what I presume is an authentic Bengali accent. (The characters played by Abhishek Bachchan and Deepika Padukone, Surjya and Kalpana, answer to cries of Shoor-joe and Call-poe-nah.) This scene of play quickly turns into a metaphor for the era when the ground is seized by the British. When one of the boys suggests that they head to Surjya – the local schoolmaster, as likely to instruct his students about mathematics as martyrs – for a solution, another wonders if this patriot, fighting against the commandeering of the nation, would interest himself in the commandeering of this tiny tract of land. He gets his reply: “Hai to isi desh ka hissa.” This patch of countryside is but a part of the country.
This opening stretch infuses the film’s title with a teasing ambiguity – of playing one’s heart out (in sport) as well as playing with one’s life (in revolt) – and that’s the closest we get to any kind of nuance. To borrow an acronym from a few decades into the future, Gowariker is a WYSIWIG director – what you see is what you get. There are no layers in his films, no subtext, nothing left unsaid or even half-said. He is at once liberal-hearted and literal-minded, a Stanley Kramer making deeply earnest, deeply reverential telefilms for Doordarshan – only with bigger budgets. When the legend “This is a true story” appears at the beginning, a dull boom echoes on the soundtrack, as if a cannon went off in the distance. This is not just a true story but that kind of true story. You have to wonder, sometimes, about Gowariker on his sets. Does he bookend his shot-taking with cries of “Action” and “Cut?’ Or does he light incense and blow into a conch shell?
The problem with Khelein Hum Jee Jaan Sey isn’t its simple-minded straightforwardness. Mainstream cinema, after all, is driven by storytelling, not subtleties. The problem is that not a single character in this story is brought to three-dimensional life – we get a parade of names and faces, and we could be staring into an illustrated history book. When the swan-necked Kalpana enlists in Surjya’s cause, she donates her jewellery. But what do these jewels mean to her? Before this noble act, she’s never shown wearing these jewels, nor do we get a scene with, say, Kalpana badgering her wealthy parents for birthday presents made of gold or diamonds. Without this sense, we do not register the extent of her sacrifice. She’s just someone who hands in a handful of shiny stuff and makes way for the donor next in line. Like everyone else, Kalpana isn’t a character but a construct used to illustrate the film’s allusions, like when she reads out to an enthralled audience about Éamon de Valera, or when she picks up a red-covered book titled The Russian Revolution. Gowariker doesn’t so much stage scenes as state their reason for being and move on.
But more frustratingly, we never get a hold of Surjya. It’s a terrific idea, in theory, to not lionise the man as a leader. He’s just a part of the cast – a significant part, but (except in the closing sections) no more heroic or important to the proceedings than his lieutenants and the ball-playing teenagers he recruits. But perhaps this should have been his story, narrated from his point of view. Gowariker wants us to get involved in his historical tableau, but he doesn’t want any single player to hold our hand through the spectacle – and he isn’t enough of a filmmaker to make us invest in a sprawling event movie with no central figure tying the various story threads together. Why not tell us how this seemingly serene schoolteacher (Bachchan purses his lips and pitches his voice a couple of notches lower than usual) turned into a fiery patriot? How did he justify, if only to himself, the recruiting of baby-faced teenagers into a struggle that could result in bloody death?
Gowariker never allows us inside Surjya’s head – unlike Rajkumar Santoshi, who made a smashing mainstream hero of his protagonist in The Legend of Bhagat Singh; we saw a proud, flawed man, not an embalmed embodiment of virtue – and he doesn’t allow his young cast to cut loose either. Do these barely pubescent boys ever question the enormity of what they’ve signed up for? (After all, when they approached Surjya, they just wanted their football ground back.) Without these answers, we just witness hurried reenactment after hurried reenactment. When four boys kill themselves to avoid being captured, I kept trying to remember who they were and if I’d seen them earlier. As Rang De Basanti proved so powerfully, the key to making us care about the deaths of people on screen is to make them register, first, as people. Where Gowariker might have pruned his cast of characters – giving us a general sense of the uprising, not a literal restaging – he chooses to tell every single story of every single soldier. By the time the Brits arrive bearing captions like “JR Johnson, SP, Chittagong District,” they’re just more names to keep track of, and they don’t even do much to warrant these scraps of identification.
The first half of the film is a tedious maze of people and plotting, and it’s only when the revolution gets going – in the second half – that the story slaps itself to life, even if the staging of shootouts is routine and repetitive, and dramatic trajectories are abandoned for highlights. This leads to the feeling that the really interesting bits are being left out. We are told that Kalpana is under surveillance, but we never see how she shakes off her watchers and snakes her way to Surjya. (Or did the Brits let her go so she would lead them to Surjya’s hideout?) But at least, in these latter portions, we get scenes with characters who paint a bigger picture – the revolutionary who loses his mind because he blames himself for the death of a young rebel, or the elderly Muslim who, in the film’s finest line, endorses the shedding of blood for one’s rights: “Woh lahoo hi kya jo haq ki ladaai mein na bahe.” It’s a nice touch, harking back to older mainstream cinema, that this good Muslim is allowed to alleviate the atrocities of an evil Muslim, employed by the British.
Gowariker need have done little more than emulate his Lagaan example, and several stretches here do hark back to his most famous, most accomplished film – the ragtag band of underachievers fighting against a common (and far more powerful) enemy, or the title song employed (like Baar baar haan) over a training montage. That was a film that ran nearly four hours and yet the time simply flew by. But over the years, Gowariker has become a flabbier filmmaker who won’t settle for one reaction shot when he can give us four, and who won’t simply show when he can show and tell. You have to roll your eyes when a senior revolutionary instructs the teenagers about arms, holding up a musket and a bullet and intoning, “Ise musket gun kehte hain aur ise musket ki goli.” There’s a scene that’s even worse, when a bottle of chloroform is held up with the explanation, “Ise chloroform kehte hain” – exactly the thing that dulls a willing audience into a stupor.
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.
Pradyumna M
December 5, 2010
Off topic : Shocking to hear the sad news about the deaths of Manish Acharya and Pankaj Advani.
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Anurag
December 5, 2010
Hello Mr B Rangan. I ve Been reading you for long but this is my first reponse here. Very nice and detailed review- I cud literally see the movie happening in front of my eyes. I am a huge fan of Ashutosh’s earlier works (except for Whats your rashi) and I can see what he must have intended with this one.
For once at least i am happy that he made his frst film within the 3 hour window…although it seems thats still too long.
I have a question for this film,- would it have mattered even the least if the actors were more familiar in the supporting cast? I always had this issue when watching trailers cause Lagaan had that one thing- half of the team was TV actors who we knew someway.
A general question: When u say, “There are no layers in his films, no subtext, nothing left unsaid or even half-said.” what do you think for todays and future’s cinema when still a masala no brainer like Dabang hits a jackpot, if i understood u correctly, is it better for us to have films which are subtle or is it beter to have the WYSIWYG types?
Finally, a question about the end of all your reviews- You never end it by a defining erdict for the overall film which i really like. However would be curious to know in your words why u do it. Is leaving it to the reader’s judgment the only thing here or is it deeper?
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anindya sen
December 5, 2010
And less said about the (irritating) soundtrack the better! Rehman’s touch was sorely missed
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vijay
December 5, 2010
“There’s a scene that’s even worse, when a bottle of chloroform is held up with the explanation, “Ise chloroform kehte hain” ”
Unintentional comedy. What happened to the guy who made Swades and Lagaan?
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george
December 5, 2010
इसे review कहते हैं 😉 “a Stanley Kramer making deeply earnest, deeply reverential telefilms for Doordarshan – only with bigger budgets” is a great way of describing Mr. Gowariker’s approach to making films.
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Venkatesh
December 5, 2010
Wasn;t there a senior Bachchan film with the title of this film as its main Title track ?
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chhote saab
December 5, 2010
That bad, huh?
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bran1gan
December 5, 2010
Pradyumna: Sad. So young. And such a promising talent too. I really liked Loins of Punjab Presents.
Anurag: Yes, given the sprawl of the film, familiar actors might have helped. In theory, fresh faces are what make these movie work, but sometimes, compromising on this aspect wouldn’t hurt. I mean, if you can cast Deepike Padukone for her marquee value, why can’t you cast slightly known actors who bring a bit of on-screen baggage?
And about subtlely, I didn’t mean what you said at all — that one is better than the other. I did say, “Mainstream cinema, after all, is driven by storytelling, not subtleties.” And Dabangg may be a no-brainer, but it has many scenes that are very well staged. See the one with Salman and Sonakshi’s father, for instance.
About my reviews, i wish I got paid each time I answered this. I think they do give a sense of my response. But films are complicated things, with good aspects and bad. i try to talk about the things that struck me. I leave out the recommendation aspect, which I’m not qualified to do.
george: Thanks 🙂
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Rakesh
December 5, 2010
Did you feel Ashutosh is crippled about the fact that he does not have a Rahman to salvage certain aspects ? After all rahman is a master when it comes to period movies …
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ReviewGang
December 5, 2010
Star rating ? 🙂 Didn’t find it in the ratings page
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Aadamkhor Hasina
December 5, 2010
‘There are no layers in his films, no subtext, nothing left unsaid or even half-said.’
Not true. Swades- no layers? IMHO the reason most people dismissed it as preachy is because they didn’t see the layers. But yes, you’re spot on here:
‘But over the years, Gowariker has become a flabbier filmmaker who won’t settle for one reaction shot when he can give us four, and who won’t simply show when he can show and tell.’
Precisement.
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rameshram
December 5, 2010
I found the film very layered . Just boring. I kept thinking it had a teleplay quality to its acting. I was continuously quipping the film was hey ram without Tamil brahmin triumphalism but it was more a boring retelling of an oldie bongs remembrances.
My more interesting questions were never answered.. when did the Bengali seminars and moneylenders who financed the British in the oudh wars and the land of bankim chatterjee and rammohun Roy end up being the land of the BengAL partition and famine and the land of such marginal figures as R D Burman ( AT best) in the national political scene.
At least the punjabis are gathered in various agricultural communities in the west..the bongs have b3en wiped out by history.( raja sen may be an exception).
Not that iyengars have fared much better…but still…saying…
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FDFDF
December 5, 2010
@chotte Saab: Do you even know who Ashutosh Gowariker is?
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bhargs
December 6, 2010
Waiting for the review/opinion on RGV’s Rakta Charitra 🙂
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Chhote Saab
December 6, 2010
FDFDF – No! I was just waiting for someone to enlighten me on Ashutosh Gowarikar – But as you saw Bran1gan just chose to ignore my comment not realizing that I had no idea who this guy was!
BTW, I have not seen this movie (KHJJS) and my comment was just a reaction to BR’s disappointment at the direction and the movie in general. Personally, I have no problems with Ashutosh Gowarikar – Farah and Sajid Khan might have but not me 🙂
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arijit
December 8, 2010
Rangan,
I haven’t seen the film…(most likely wouldn’t either) but your review is so well written that reading it was like seeing the film on a screen…i just wish some of our screenplay writers could write as crisply as you…
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Jimmy
December 11, 2010
Pity. I thought this movie would entertain considerably at some level.
Nonetheless, I just realised something. We need more dissenting opinions in the comments section here. Everyone seems to be a BR fanboy(or girl). Surely, people don’t just read reviews they agree with, do they? If so, Armond White would’ve had the shortest comments column in the history of cinema reviews.
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Imo
December 12, 2010
For any film I look for your review first and that is one main basis on which I decide to watch a movie. So on what basis do you choose to decide which movie to review or not? Am quiet disappointed that you did not review Raktha Charitra 2 – especially was waiting to see your review on Surya’s performance. Major let down by you. So please its never too late.
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Jimmy
December 12, 2010
^There we go. I guess over here, this qualifies as dissent.
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rameshram
December 13, 2010
Dear baradwaj rangan ever since the days I had memory I have not liked your writing . My mummy also that only. I severely condemn it and will not eat near Anna samadhi just to show you…and Mr jimmy.
Thank you.
Era tamizzarasi ( padmapriya )
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bran1gan
December 13, 2010
Is the screening schedule for the Chennai Intl Film Festival up? Can someone point me to a link? Thanks.
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kumaran
December 14, 2010
Dai Ranga! No update this week, whats up man??
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bran1gan
December 14, 2010
kumaran: So you missed reading a review of “No Problem” of all things? 🙂
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Pradyumna M
December 15, 2010
Would have loved to read what you had to say about Band Baaja Baraat! Anushka’s been pretty impressive! Finally a character on screen with spunk! I cringe every time I see women as props in movies. Also would have liked to read what you thought of Anjaani Anjaani and Jhootha hi Sahi. Maybe BR-33?
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bran1gan
December 15, 2010
Pradyumna M: Haven’t seen BBB, but I’m surprised people are waking up to Anushka Sharma only now. I was impressed with her right from Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi (“Anushka Sharma makes an impressive debut, investing the corniest of lines with sparks of genuine emotion.”) and in Badmaash Company (“The cast draws us in, especially Anushka Sharma, who’s very good in a part that calls, again, for a mix of Old and New India.”). She’s easily been the best newcomer-“actress” for a while.
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rameshram
December 15, 2010
She looks like she might beat me up in a DTC bus if I made a pass at her, though.
sonakshi whassername anyday for newcomer.(hindi)
and she shares a name with her anushkaness. a capital offence in my book.
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Pradyumna M
December 16, 2010
I hope I am not part of the ‘people’ you’re referring to! I remember discussing Rab ne.. the day it released before you reviewed it and we both agreed that Anushka was a pretty good actress. Heh heh 😛 And she definitely is better than her contemporaries. And also Ranveer Singh worked big time! Hope you catch it soon..
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Ishani
December 23, 2010
I am an outsider and I have never read any of this author’s reviews earlier….so obviously I am not a fan with preconcieved notions….but this is easily the best review I have ever read of any movie…..if something is good….i don’t see why we can’t appreciate it……and I think ashutosh gowariker’s movies have deteriorated in terms of directorial skill over the years. Frankly, I had the same problem with swades……it was a damn fine story, but not well told….it’s just that when the srory is so good, and has brilliant soundtrack to support it, bad direction can be overseen
There is another point in this review I would like to highlight….about gowariker’s efforts to hallowed history….jodha akbar was extremely disappointing in how a brilliant chapter in history was marginalised into a ‘teenage’ love story…
Ps: I haven’t seen the movie khjjs so I might not qgree with the review after all…but given gowariker’s past, I doubt it
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