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Release date:
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October 28, 2016
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Director:
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Ajay Devgn
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Cast:
Language:
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Ajay Devgn, Abigail Eames, Erika Kaar, Sayyeshaa, Vir Das, Girish
Karnad, Saurabh Shukla, Markus Ertelt, Miroslav Pashov, Swen Raschka
Hindi
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She: So your name is Shivaay, that’s Shiva with a “y”. What do you have
that Lord Shiva has? Where is the long hair?
He: (wordlessly reveals a tattoo of the handsome deity on his bulging masculine
breast)
She: (her next question a gesture indicating a cobra’s hooded head)
He: (wordlessly reveals a tattoo of a serpent on his muscular forearm)
She: Trishul?
He: (wordlessly reveals a tattoo of the three-pronged weapon on his
back)
She: (suddenly falling coyly silent)
He speaks up helpfully: ********? (the word is muted in the film)
He does not offer her a verbal answer. However, since they indulge in many
rounds of coital activity soon afterwards, one assumes he proves to her that he
is in possession of his very own ******** and not a mere tattoo of (what many believe
to be) the phallic symbol associated famously with the most intriguing member
of the Hindu Holy Trinity.
And so it goes…
Who would have dreamt that such an overtly sexual conversation derived
from the mythology of Lord Shiva would emerge from staid, conservative Ajay
Devgn and the rarely adventurous Hindi film industry. Yet, that is what you get
in Shivaay, Devgn’s second directorial venture, which is the story of a modern-day
Indian resident of the upper reaches of the Himalayas, mountaineer, guide to
foreign tourists and chillum-smoking fount of indomitable strength.
In those early portions, when the full blast of Himalayan beauty hits
us through Aseem Bajaj’s camerawork at some of the world’s most stunning,
snow-laden, high-altitude locations, the film holds out great promise. Devgn –
who also plays the leading man – is, after all, a dependable actor who does
rage, deep affection and pain like few of his colleagues can. And Shiva is,
without question, the most fascinating being in the Hindu pantheon of many
crore gods.
(Spoiler alert: begins) Our hero Shivaay meets a pretty Bulgarian tourist on a trek through treacherous
terrain. They flirt, they copulate, they part. In between they have a child. The
film is about his relationship with his daughter and how it tears him away from
his beloved mountains to a foreign land where men prove to be far more
dangerous than any craggy, slippery cliff will ever be. (Spoiler alert: ends)
The pre-interval portion is filled with rich visuals, nail-biting
action and the potential for an interesting contemporary take on the Shiva lore.
Post-interval though, the poor writing (credited to Robin Bhatt and Sandeep
Shrivastav) and sub-par acting overwhelm everything else as it becomes clear that
all Shivaay’s references to Hindu mythology are painfully
literal, and beyond a point, it is not an ode to the deity as much as it is a
self-indulgent ode to the leading man.
Devgn, who is also this film’s producer, has in the past managed to
pull off vintage Bollywood over-statement in films like Singham without
appearing foolish. In Shivaay he is in almost every frame and the strain
shows with scenes in which he over-acts in – I cannot believe I am saying this
about him! – Sunny Deol style. There is a passage in the plot when tragedy
strikes and we see his face in relief, the muscles in the space between his
left eye and left cheek twitching visibly in a reminder of Deol junior and his
dad Dharmendra’s flaring nostrils of yore.
Devgn here is Deol with less screaming. He does not get a hand pump a
la Gadar, but he does get a wooden table to uproot and shred to bits.
The screenplay does not build up any of the other characters
sufficiently to match him, and the intensity becomes amusing after a while. A
raging hero is only as good as his adversary and Shivaay’s antagonists (played
by Markus Ertelt, Miroslav Pashov and Swen Raschka) are so thinly sketched that
they are damp squibs. Actually, so are his lover Olga (Erika Kaar), his irritating
daughter Gaura Maheshwari (Abigail Eames) and his ally at the Indian Embassy in
Bulgaria, Anushka (Sayyeshaa).
Hindi films have often been guilty of hiring terrible actors to play
Caucasian characters. Devgn gets around that problem by limiting our
opportunities to judge his foreign actors – they have little to do, and even
less to say. Gaura is even born mute.
Actually, those seemingly promising early scenes should have served as
a warning bell. How much reason and quality writing should you expect from a
film in which a man takes time off to make a clever point about the divine hand
in our existence even as an avalance is approaching? A film in which most
characters wrap themselves up to stay warm in the icy cold of the Himalayas, but
the hero warms his blood on his chillum enough to lie shirtless in the snow for
a grand introductory shot and the heroine smokes nothing yet does not freeze to
death in her short shorts and off-shoulder tops?
(Spoiler alert: begins) The literalness in the film is not confined to the characterisation of
Shivaay and the iconography surrounding Shiva. Soon after he exhorts a woman to
bear his child, the camera cuts to an aerial shot of two adjoining rocky-lipped
crevices resembling the yoni of the mother goddess within which we
discover that child.
It must be stressed here that the heroine is a mother, but no goddess
in the eyes of Team Shivaay. She is clearly damned in their view since
she has the audacity to consider an abortion, which is perhaps their justification
for a much later scene in which Shivaay roughs her up. How dare a woman not put
her plans on hold for an unplanned pregnancy, no? (Spoiler alert: ends)
The music by Mithoon is nice to begin with but then becomes
overbearing, and one of the many reasons why Shivaay is elongated to 172
minutes and 38 seconds.
The truth is that I enjoyed some of the hugely improbable scenarios and
stunts in the film, silly though they are, including that long car chase in
which Shivaay pursues a speeding vehicle on foot through busy Bulgarian roads
and manages to catch up with it – I kid you not! – before being dragged for
many kilometres on his knees, clad in jeans that remain unharmed by the friction.
The scene is a great advertisement for whatever fabric those trousers are made
of, and like I said I enjoyed that bit of nonsense as much as I have often enjoyed
the nonsense served up by Hollywood action/superhero flicks.
Those Hollywood films pull off their string of improbabilities with
their unrelenting pace. Shivaay, on the other hand, is the kind of film
in which a maudlin song plays in the background while the camera gazes at Dad
and daughter for what seems like many minutes right in the middle of a
high-stakes hand-to-hand battle between the hero and an array of villains.
By then, of course, it is already too late to salvage this film that
might have worked at some level if it had brutally shaved about 40 minutes off
itself. I present to you Exhibit No. 1: the weirdly Oedipal interactions
between embassy girl Anushka and her father (Girish Karnad) filled with stodgy,
grammatically suspect, unwittingly suggestive dialogues and an extended bathtub
scene, complete with a song sung by Kailash Kher, in which she seems to
fantasise about Shivaay and Daddy simultaneously. Whoever created that piece of
tosh clearly considers it profound. It is not.
Yes sir, Messrs Editor, Writers and Director, I am willing to sit with
you and identify every needless scene and shot you could have done away with, without
charging a fee for the expertise of being a viewer – because there is a kernel
of an engaging film somewhere in this maze you have created; and because Shiva
the Destroyer and Regenerator, dancer of the Tandav, lover of Parvathi, father
of Ganesh and Karthikey, unapologetic smoker of you-know-what, Bholenath,
unabashed sexual being, composed yet combustible god, source of all life,
whether in an ancient or modern avatar, deserves better than this heavy-handed,
over-stretched film.
Rating
(out of five stars): **
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CBFC Rating (India):
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UA (an inexplicably light
rating if you consider the extent of violence in the film)
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Running time:
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172 minutes 38 seconds
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This
review has also been published on Firstpost:
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