Spoilers ahead…
It’s the wedding night. The groom is the man who will go on to become the famous painter, Raja Ravi Varma (Randeep Hooda). His bride, smiling shyly, makes a move to blow out the oil lamp. He stops her. “Let it be,” he says. “I want to look at you.” She doesn’t comply, but we get the teeniest glimpse into a side of the painter, a side not many people may know about. He has his kinks (later, he will make love to his muse on a floor splattered with paints of every hue), but he’s also interested – as any painter should be – in anatomy. It must not have been easy, in those conservative times (we are talking about the nineteenth century), to study a woman’s body in detail, and when his wife doesn’t cooperate, he enlists the help of a curvy maidservant, who is only too happy to pose in fine clothes and jewels, and, sometimes, far less. Going by the stately photographs of the greying Ravi Varma we’ve seen in books, would you picture him as a man this obsessed with female flesh? No wonder his descendants are livid. Who wants to see their stately ancestor as this… sari chaser?
But then, how did Ravi Varma paint the men in his paintings? How did he study the shape, the proportion, the musculature? Did he look at himself in a mirror? Did he look at the men around him, in Kerala, who usually wandered about shirtless? Was it easier to get male models then? Ketan Mehta’s Rang Rasiya (adapted from a book by Ranjit Desai) doesn’t tell us, and it’s easy to see why. It’s so much more fun showing female nudity on screen. Even in the scene where the artist lies spent, after making love to a prostitute named Sugandha (Nandana Sen), we see him with his legs crossed. (She, however, has bared a breast.) I am not trying to make too much out of this. A filmmaker shows what he wants to show. But by focusing only on the (nude) female form, the film becomes slightly suspect. We begin to wonder if this nudity was really necessary, or if this is one of those cases where the filmmaker decided to thrown in a nipple so that people who wouldn’t usually see this kind of movie would end up watching it.
I suppose we wouldn’t be asking this question if the film had paid more attention to the process of painting, which, surely, takes more than just an easel and a willing muse like Sugandha. There’s a promising early scene where we see Ravi Varma attempting to portray her as the goddess Saraswati. When he asks Sugandha to pose like a devi, she laughs and says she doesn’t know what a devi looks like. So he lays flowers at her feet, thrusts a veena in her hands, and kneels and prays to her. He sees her as a devi, and now she feels it too. And voila, the painting is done. But he’s just prepared her – what about the rest of the process? When we watch a film like La Belle Noiseuse, we witness the gestation of art, not just its delivery. We see the painter, we see his tools, we see his muse, her impatience, we sense his struggles, his frustrations, his thoughts. All we see here is Sugandha smiling beatifically, completely convinced about the worthiness of Ravi Varma’s art. We look at La Belle Noiseuse and we think, “What a terrible, destructive thing it must be to want so badly to create art.” We look at Rang Rasiya and think, “All these women just waiting to drop their clothes? Where do I sign up?”
Then again, Mehta – who’s a wan shadow of the filmmaker he was in the 1980s – isn’t too concerned about the art itself. He’s more interested in the Big Questions – about censorship; about how our conservative society, despite prodding from Khajuraho and the Kamasutra, has always failed to understand a certain kind of art. And to this effect, he opens his film with a sequence that intercuts a present-day art auction (of Varma’s paintings) with an angry mob outside. Then he cuts to Raja Ravi Varma’s obscenity trial in British India, where he has been charged with “humanising” (or simply put, naked-ising) gods and goddesses. And then, we have a second flashback structure – and this is where the film gets all Wikipedia on us. Childhood in Kilimanoor, Kerala. Marriage. Title of “Raja”, courtesy an early benefactor. Move to Bombay. Fame. Buys a printing press and floods the country with reproductions of his paintings, making art – and gods – accessible, for the first time, to the man on the street. We keep turning the pages. Scenes just drift by. There’s no atmosphere – just plot. Instead of zooming in on one aspect of Ravi Varma, Mehta tries to show us everything – and we come away with very little insight into the man. Well, other than the fact that he liked his women. I would have liked to know more about his attitude towards these women, especially Sugandha. He tells her that she doesn’t exist outside his imagination. Is that all she was? Was he just using her? Did he have real feelings for her, or was she just someone who helped his painting and someone he could occasionally, um, dip his brush into?
Rang Rasiya suffers from the two major problems that plague our biopics (and, in general, our films set in the past). One, there’s very little actual sense of slipping into a period – everyone seems to be wearing freshly laundered clothes and playing dress-up in freshly furnished sets. The contemporary actors look stiff, formal – they don’t look like they belong in the nineteenth century. And two, the tendency to portray a period through lazy invocations of what else was happening at the time – like a Congress party meeting where we see Tilak. All this is so perfunctory, we can only laugh. And in between, we get the melodramatic story of Ravi Varma and Sugandha, which, despite all the screen time, is utterly generic. They are painted in the broadest strokes (we never see her with her clientele; she seems to spend all her time with him) – but at least, they fare better than the supporting characters, like Ravi Varma’s brother, who’s just required to stand in a corner of the frame, a hunkier Ramu kaka. Late in the film, we get a scene that tells us he had artistic ambitions too, and we go “Huh?”
For a film about art, it’s shocking how little artistry there is in Rang Rasiya. I liked the stretch where a ganja-stoked Ravi Varma experiences a hallucination, imagining himself and Sugandha enacting scenes from the epics – to others, the man and woman in his pictures may be Vishwamitra and Menaka, but to him, they are Ravi Varma and Sugandha. How you wish this had been the crux of the film. We come away feeling nothing – except maybe that we’ve seen a routine Bollywood melodrama in artier garb. Bad music. (It’s unbelievably loud.) Bad lines (Sugandha simpers: “Mujhpe daag lagaane ka haq tumko kisne diya?”). Bad scenes – like the one where Sugandha runs through a street and her sari catches fire, and then… nothing. Bad characterisation. (We know the moneylender played by Paresh Rawal is trouble because we hear “ominous music” in the background when he makes a deal with Ravi Varma.) And bad writing in general. A court case, naturally, means that all the movie’s thesis points can be stuffed into the mouths of the accusers and the accused. And the minute we hear the Urvashi-Pururavas legend, we know what’s in store for our leads. The difference: that story soared to the heavens, while this one stays resolutely earthbound.
KEY:
* Mujhpe daag lagaane ka haq tumko kisne diya = Who gave you the right to… oh, never mind.
Copyright ©2014 Baradwaj Rangan. This article may not be reproduced in its entirety without permission. A link to this URL, instead, would be appreciated.
Rajesh
November 10, 2014
Am so surprised, and impressed, that you have seen La belle Noiseuse. The best movie out there on a painter or on the craft of painting.
Going by the stately photographs of the greying Ravi Varma we’ve seen in books, would you picture him as a man this obsessed with female flesh?
Every good painter who do human forms, will be attracted to the female anatomy. It seems to be an unwritten law of nature. There is nothing more beautiful than a woman with perfect curves and painters dream and adore those bodies and see it as a challenge to perfect them on canvas. (I did couple of assignments on nude photography long back, and that was the most challenging work during my photography career)
During the times of R.Varma, Kerala was almost naked. There were even taxes imposed on women who wanted to cover their breasts. And a low caste brave woman even cut off her breasts in protest!!!
But I do think you are questioning, why only female nudity?, right?
I havent seen this movie yet, and am not sure if I will watch too. When you say, “All these women just waiting to drop their clothes? Where do I sign up?”, I think the problem is with the Indian mindset about nudity and art. In France, they teach to read paintings. I saw even 5/6 year old children being taken by their school to watch nude photography exhibitions in Arles. Recently, in France, a childrens movie – a series of short stories for children – the first one is completely set in a Nude camp in the famous Montalivet beach. They are absolutely fine with it as nudity is not sin. Imagine Belle de Noiseuse being shot under Indian context. What a horrible movie it would have been without the beautiful curves of Emmanuelle Beart.
Our mindsets have been brain washed to match the hypocrisy of the colonialists, and we are stuck up there.
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Rajesh
November 10, 2014
Just lost this. I wish it was the French who ruled us at the end, after the British. We would not have been such hypocrites as to nude, sex, relationships and all.
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fotomurthy
November 10, 2014
Dear BR,
I think KM had a great premise to bring out an art house of a film. Going by your and few other reviews, i think KM has played it to the populist gallery. Though i have not seen La Belle Noiseuse, I recommend folks here to watch Renoir (2012) and The Artist and the Model (2012) They both were mighty impressive and quite insightful, to say the least.
Going by the trailer, the lighting looks terribly TODAY and NOW, Wish our film-makers here, know the essence of sublimity, low-key or perhaps, the chiaroscuro scenes – at least when they do period films.
PS: Your line, ” There’s no atmosphere – just plot.” is darn awesome. It applies to most of our films.
Cheers.
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di
November 11, 2014
“and this is where the film gets all Wikipedia on us”
🙂
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Jphil
November 11, 2014
I saw this movie at a London film fest about three years ago . The screening was attended by Mehta and Mrs Sen who answered a lot of ‘ insightful ‘ questions about the struggles behind releasing a movie like this . I thought it was an awful B grade made for doordarshan kind of biopic and cringed at the fact that it was billed as one of the highlights of the India n film world.
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auroravampiris
November 11, 2014
So… I wonder if this borrows from Makaramanju. The Urvasi-Pururuvas angle was explored heavily in THAT film.
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ramitbajaj01
November 11, 2014
The few Ravi Varma paintings that I have seen have only female anatomy in it. Has he painted male anatomy as well? I don’t know. So, the presence of only female nudity in the film didn’t surprise me. I thought it was in line with the paintings. More importantly, it was so heartening to see somebody taking on the censors. Hoping to see more such boldness in Bollywood, though in a better film.
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brangan
November 11, 2014
Rajesh: Am so surprised, and impressed, that you have seen La belle Noiseuse.
Um… just because I review mainstream cinema doesn’t mean I watch only that 🙂
fotomurthy: the lighting looks terribly TODAY and NOW, Wish our film-makers here, know the essence of sublimity, low-key or perhaps, the chiaroscuro scenes…
I agree. It’s importance to give a sense of the past through technique (even if it’s something as cliched as sepia) — even if one can argue that the way we see each other now is how they saw one another then.
auroravampiris: Is that film available with subs? Thanks.
ramitbajaj01: The few Ravi Varma paintings that I have seen have only female anatomy in it.
No, you see torso-baring men as well, and for this you need to know how to depict — as I said in the review — things like musculature. If you’re going to make the point that Ravi Varma CANNOT paint a nude woman unless he sees one nude in front of him, then isn’t it reasonable to expect that the same would apply for the male form?
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ramitbajaj01
November 12, 2014
How does a painter paint? Does he just look at a scene and draw same to same? Or does he just imagine scenes in his head and draw? Or, does he have a muse and looking at it, images start forming in his mind and he draws, draws the things that he has seen maybe once before and needs not cross check?
Maybe for Varma, women were the muse and he would keep adding things around her. Male torsos, waterfall, clouds, lotus etc. Did Varma need to look at female breasts to draw it accurately? Probably not. Maybe he just wanted an inspiration.
And even if he needed to look at male torso to draw, he could have done it easily. Asking a man to bare his top doesn’t need a recitation of an Urvashi-Pururavas legend. So even if Mehta had included this in the film, it would have acted as a fodder and not the real deal.
Now, why did Mehta need to show the female form? Could he not have avoided showing it to us? But the point is why should he hide it? It’s an A-rated movie. So he can show some stuff. And he didn’t go for titillation. He just showed us the story behind the painting. So maybe the real question could be- why did Varma make such paintings? If that was for art then why can’t Mehta go for it. He couldn’t deliver art, that’s another thing. But at least he was visibly trying.
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Raj
November 12, 2014
…..someone he could occasionally, um, dip his brush into?
Priceless
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Raghav
November 13, 2014
BR, just curious – When you write do you only type out on your keyboard or do you also actually write -on pen and paper.felt nostalgic looking at my ink pen so 🙂
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brangan
November 13, 2014
ramitbajaj01: Waterfall, clouds, lotus, etc. are different from drawing human anatomy. Anyway, I was just making the point that if you’re going to make such a fuss about how poor ol’ Ravi Varma needed nudity in order to paint a nude woman, I was just saying that maybe a scene where he’s found sketching a man, trying to get the anatomy right, isn’t so out of place.
About your “bold” point, this isn’t bold IMO. This is the kind of titillation that’s downright silly, if you think about it. It’s the “look what a brave filmmaker I am because I show a boob” school of filmmaking that infected Raj Kapoor’s latter films. I’m all for more nudity in cinema, but not like this. Not in quotation marks.
If you want to see how nudity can be used contextually and, yes, “boldly,” look at the hotel scene in “Before Midnight,” for instance.
Raghav: OMG. Imagine the time it’d take if I wrote on pen-paper and then typed it all out. It’s typing all the way for me.
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auroravampiris
November 13, 2014
I haven’t found a copy with subtitles yet, unfortunately. It’s like you said in your previous article about subtitles… It’s ridiculous how even art filmmakers don’t particularly care about making their cinema available.
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ramitbajaj01
November 15, 2014
Maybe our expectation of gender-neutrality in this film is stemming from the fact that we went in to watch the real, historic Ravi Varma, who lived with his wife, had kids, painted both men and women, but instead, we got the fictional Ravi Varma, who left his wife, never had kids and painted anatomy of only the women. Whether it’s ethical or not to temper with history to such an extent is a different debate altogether, but we got to admit that in the movie, we didn’t see any painting having a naked male body. So, dismissing female nudity on the basis that there wasn’t any male nudity is not kinda okay, I guess.
However, dismissing female nudity on the basis that its quotation-marked picturisation is silly is completely buy-able for me. I like the Midnight’s hotel scene where nudity is not the centerpiece but just a part of the scene overwhelmed by dialogues and the intensity of the routine. So I wish Mehta had gone about the scene differently. Maybe if Varma and Sugandha had already developed an intimate relationship, then it would have been easier for the painter to paint his muse. But the time period shown in the movie is a conservative one, so Sugandha needed some convincing to bare her chest.(or at least the way their characters are shown, the story-bait looked plausible.) And given the time period the movie is released in (at lease in India), it makes sense that the audience be prepared for what lies ahead and giving the scene a second or two to linger, given what a first it is. Sure, the better approach would have been to dive directly into the action but the method chosen by the film is not too off the mark in itself, I feel. I mean the expectations of audience is a real impetus to set a scene. It should not look obvious, I admit. But the way in some movies, we welcome the hero’s entry or in some, the repetition of a drive-home dialogue, so here, it was a curtain over the …gland.
I wonder if it is too trivial a film to discuss all these but I opine that it’s actually a moment of celebration. A precedent has been set. Better filmmakers may improve upon it.
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brangan
November 15, 2014
ramitbajaj01: Oh please, the way the scene layed out,he sighs and says “oh I cannot paint a nude unless…” and she picks up the cue and bares all. It’s not s if he hasn’t seen nudity before. There are scenes where he’s shown to be a playboy, epecially with that maidservant. I am not objecting to nudity per se — I am saying it has to be written properly into the film, not this random way.
Also, when I speak of learing to paint men, I am not talking about nudes but about musculature and stuff, which still needs a model. Simply put, if he used Sugandha to paint the Menaka half of the picture, then I would have liked to know how he painted the Vishwamitra half — purely from a technique POV.
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ramitbajaj01
November 15, 2014
okay…mouth zipped 🙂
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