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Release date:
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December 4, 2015
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Director:
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Pan Nalin
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Cast:
Language:
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Sarah-Jane Dias,
Anushka Manchanda, Pavleen Gujral, Sandhya Mridul, Rajshri Deshpande, Amrit
Maghera, Tannishtha Chatterjee, Arjun Mathur, Adil Hussain, Anuj Choudhary
Hindi, English
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Through years of
watching Hindi films, I’ve experienced a lump in my throat each time I’ve
listened to Jai and Veeru sing Yeh dosti hum nahin thodenge, invested myself in the gentlemen buddies from Dil Chahta Hai, Rock On, Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara and Kai Po Che, laughed and wept with those
3 idiots. Yet this week’s release, Angry Indian Goddesses, comes as such a
joyous relief.
Can it possibly be true?
Are we really seeing seven female Indian human beings on the big screen,
hanging out together, talking, doubling up with laughter, fighting, crying,
partying, sharing secrets and forming new equations?
This is that rare Indian
film featuring a group of real women – women who could be you and me – bonding,
responding to what life throws at them and living.
Angry Indian Goddesses comes to theatres in the wake of a
laughable run-in with India’s Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC). Among
other things, the Board compelled the director to mute out swear words – even
after handing him an A certificate – and the word “sarkar” (government) from a conversation in which the heroines are
discussing government interference in the private lives of citizens. Strangest
of all though is the directive to blur pictures of Hindu goddesses, although
the divine imagery in the film celebrates the strength of its women.
A pity. Because despite
an off-putting sell-out through one plot element and an inexcusable instance of
factual carelessness, Angry Indian
Goddesses is a pathbreaking film filled with humour, realism, tragedy and,
ultimately, hope.
The setting is Goa where
former magazine photographer Frieda (Sarah-Jane Dias) has invited her best
friends from across the country. They are top corporate honcho Suranjana
(Sandhya Mridul), musician Madhurita (Anushka Manchanda), Pammi (Pavleen Gujral)
who is a housewife, the activist Nargis (Tannishtha Chatterjee) and Freida’s
half-Indian cousin, Bollywood aspirant Joanna (Amrit Maghera). Suranjana is
accompanied by her little daughter. The group’s constant companion is Freida’s
housemaid Lakshmi (Rajshri Deshpande).
Right from the opening
montage of the women before they gather at Freida’s home, it is clear that this
film will be feisty, fiery and funny, all rolled into one – just like its
leading ladies.
The pace of those
initial scenes, the deliberately raised decibel levels, the blistering anger of
the protagonists, the comedy that is inherent in many of life’s bizarrely
appalling situations and a touch of hyperbole are all woven together in a
flawlessly edited, disturbing yet hilarious few minutes. Though this mosaic is
a contrast to the understated nature of the rest of the film, its flaming fury
still manages to set the tone for what is to come.
Gujarat-born,
Paris-and-Mumbai-based writer-director Pan Nalin has adopted a naturalistic
style for the rest of his narrative. Along with his co-writers Dilip Shankar,
Subhadra Mahajan and Arsala Qureishi, he has also ensured that his characters
are credible and speak a language that real people speak. The film begins with
endless natter among the women as they bond over their many painful and amusing
experiences, before a calamity freezes the smiles on their lips.
The cast is talented and
uniformly relaxed before the camera. Hats off to the casting director (Dilip
Shankar again) for seeing in former beauty queen Sarah-Jane Dias something more
than the gorgeousness that was the sole focus of her first Hindi film role, in
2011’s deadbeat Game. She is a
revelation here. Pavleen Gujral and theatre artiste Rajshri
Deshpande are both blazing balls of fire. Singer Anushka Manchanda –
long legs, striking face and familiar husky voice in tow – delivers a nuanced
performance. And the ever-dependable Sandhya Mridul is brilliant.
Since violence – verbal
and/or physical – is an intrinsic part of every woman’s life, it goes without
saying that our leading ladies are no different. In the past, when Indian
cinema has addressed violence against women, it has usually turned the
spotlight entirely on the aggression rather than on the women coping with it.
Likewise, films in the
past have often adopted an impractical, undesirable recommendatory tone towards
women responding to brutality with premeditated brutality. Cases in point: Zakhmi Aurat in Hindi (1988) and 22 Female Kottayam in Malayalam (2012).
Angry Indian Goddesses does not do either of the above. At no
point does it define its heroines solely by the difficulties they encounter as
women. In fact the dominant memory from the film is of their constant chatter,
sometimes nonsensical, sometimes ruminative, sometimes grave. When they do
suffer assault and one of them explodes, the treatment of the explosion gives
it a far more credible feel than a plot summary might suggest.
In a cinematic scenario
where most films are made with an eye on the male audience, it is an act of
valour to make one which insists on being entertaining notwithstanding its grim
elements, rather than issue-based, which is what women-centric films are
expected to be. Since Angry Indian
Goddesses sticks its neck out thus, it is particularly disappointing to
spot its big sell-out.
Spoilers Ahead In The Next Three Paragraphs:
At one point in the
story, we are introduced to an Indian lesbian couple – one a Muslim NGO type,
the other a Christian artistic type. The choice of profession serves to
perpetuate a prevailing stereotype that homosexuality exists only among certain
classes of people in certain fields (you know, like the “all fashion designers
are gay” assumption some people make?), while the choice of religion suggests a
play-it-safe strategy considering the violence with which fundamentalists
targeted Deepa Mehta’s Fire back in 1998
for portraying two Hindu women as lesbians.
The CBFC got the name of
a lead character in Fire changed from
Sita to Nita. Still, theatres showing the film were attacked by communalists. A
seemingly pre-emptive effort to placate such forces is unexpected from Nalin
whose 2001 film Samsara had the courage to be critical of Buddha on behalf of his
wife Yashodhara.
This has also led to a
gaping loophole in the film: a Catholic priest agrees to get two women married
in the story. Fact: the Roman Catholic Church is officially against
homosexuality. Even with the present Pope making conciliatory gestures towards
the LGBT community, the RC Church in India remains adamant about its position.
While there may well be individual Indian priests who are liberals in this
matter, the passing mention in this film does not in any way let on that this
particular priest must be a mega-rebel who could be thrown out of the Church
for his actions. Was this casualness towards facts a bow to the prevailing
situation in India where majoritarian groups are aiming at thought control?
Yes seems to be the only
plausible answer since it is hard to attribute any of this to lack of awareness
from such a well-travelled, experienced filmmaker. This is disheartening,
considering the immense bravery Nalin has shown in every other aspect of this
film.
It is this bravery that
makes Angry Indian Goddesses
significant despite its flaws, its climactic song in a church – more
melodramatic than the conversational tone of the rest of the film – and an
unnecessary epilogue featuring a man mourning the loss of a lover he never had.
The film made me wonder at its female leads’ ability to laugh – out loud and a
lot – in spite of the crap life doles out to them, a large part of it because
of their gender. It got me asking: Why are women not angrier with the world?
What a pleasant change it is for an Indian film to raise such a question. And
what a pleasant change to see a female dosti
film.
Rating (out of five): ***
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CBFC Rating (India):
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A
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Running time:
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121 minutes
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This review has also been published on first post:
Photograph courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/AIGtheFilm/
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