US: November 23, 2016. India: November 25, 2016.
Alia Bhatt, Shah Rukh Khan, Kunal Kapoor, Ali Zafar, Ira Dubey, Yashaswini Dayama, Rohit Saraf, Aban Deohans, Atul Kale, Angad Bedi, Aditya Roy Kapur
Two points. Dear Zindagi is clearly straining at the formula-ridden Bollywood straitjacket to give us a refreshing take on love and family, and for the most part it sticks to its guns. In the end, it does succumb to the pressure to bow to perceived public demand with passing mentions of what we have come to consider inevitable in every Hindi film, but the ride up to that point is so rewarding so often that it is tempting to look past those needless moments.
Writer-director Gauri Shinde’s Dear Zindagi comes four years after her remarkable debut with English Vinglish. If that film brought the charismatic Sridevi back to the big screen as a leading lady after a 15-year hiatus, this one redefines the concept of hero and heroine in Hindi cinema.
Dear Zindagi revolves around Kaira (Alia Bhatt), a talented young cinematographer in Mumbai who despises her parents, appears confident in her romantic relationships yet is ridden with insecurities about the men she is drawn to. Those insecurities lead her to deliberately hurt her boyfriends before they get a chance to hurt her. It does not take a degree in psychology for a viewer to figure out her behaviour patterns, but Kaira is naturally confused by her fears. She ends up seeking professional help, and with some wise counsel, finds her answers herself.
When one of the biggest stars in the history of Bollywood appears on screen about 40 minutes after the opening credits, it goes without saying that this is an extremely unconventional film. Bhatt’s Kaira is the focal point of the story from start to finish whereas Shah Rukh Khan – playing her therapist Dr Jehangir Khan – surfaces towards the latter part of the first half and is nowhere to be seen in the concluding scene.
In a male-obsessed industry still tending to subordinate women in most mainstream projects, this is a decision that shows guts on Shinde’s part and Khan’s evident willingness to experiment. That other MegaKhan, Aamir, took a similar gamble with rewarding results in Taare Zameen Par (2007), and this is a winning aspect of Dear Zindagi too.
SRK gets less screen time but owns every scene he is a part of. In fact, Doc Jehangir enters the picture just as the film is sagging and appears to be repeating itself. His arrival immediately lifts Dear Zindagi. It sags again occasionally thereafter, but never when he is around. Besides, there is such warmth in Kaira’s interactions with the Doc that it envelops the rest of the narrative too.
It is worth mentioning that Khan in this new phase of his career when he is acknowledging his age gracefully, showing us a dash of gray and a whiff of wrinkles, is looking hot.
Kaira explodes in anger at one point when someone describes her as a pataka (firecracker). Well, that’s precisely what Bhatt is – a pataka with pizzazz and verve. What makes her so impactful is that she has had an internal journey with each of her roles so far, and not so far allowed that journey to be overshadowed by her attractive personality. Kaira is simultaneously exasperating and endearing, and Bhatt remains in control of that difficult blend throughout.
Still, the film needed more matter to wrap around these two lovely stars, and Dear Zindagi too often does not. Some of that comes from the failure to build up the satellite characters who are Kaira’s go-to people in times of need. We get that she is pre-occupied with her own emotional struggles to the point of not noticing their problems, but that is no excuse for the writing to neglect them too.
Who is Fatima (Ira Dubey) beyond being a mature, married friend? Who is Jackie (Yashaswini Dayama) beyond being a sweet, supportive, possibly younger friend? Who and what is that chubby male colleague beyond being chubby and funny? Who is her brother Kiddo (Rohit Saraf) whom she loves, beyond being her brother Kiddo whom she loves? Who and what are her boyfriends Sid (Angad Bedi), Raghuvendra (Kunal Kapoor) and Rumi (Ali Zafar) beyond being a good-looking restaurateur, a good-looking producer and a good-looking musician?
(Spoiler alert begins) And then there are those two oh-no moments towards the end – you know the kind that make you say, “Oh no, you too Dear Zindagi”? One of them seems to go along with the traditional view that characters played by a major male star and a major female star must inevitably be attracted to each other if they interact long enough in a story; the other underlines the essentiality of a man in a woman’s life to make her feel complete. Both are fleeting suggestions, but they pull down the film’s assuredness about what it is trying to say until then. Oh no, you too Dear Zindagi? (Spoiler alert ends)
For this and other reasons the film is inconsistent and intermittently lightweight. Yet, there is much else to recommend in Dear Zindagi.
The use of music, Amit Trivedi’s breezy tunes and Kausar Munir’s conversational lyrics are lots of fun, as are Kaira’s many amusing interactions with her friends. DoP Laxman Utekar fills the film with pretty frames of Goa beyond what we are used to seeing of that picturesque state, and is just as imaginative in his focus on Khan and Bhatt’s faces. Watch out for the closing shots of Bhatt on a beach.
From an industry that usually treats parents as deities deserving to be worshipped, it is also unusual to get a story that does not ignore these gods’ feet of clay, especially considering that Dear Zindagi is co-produced by Karan “It’s All About Loving Your Parents” Johar.
Above all, it is nice to see a film making an effort to destigmatise patient-therapist interactions, in a portrayal far removed from the “paagalkhanas (lunatic asylums)” of an earlier Bollywood era.
Dear Zindagi then is a mixed bag. I loved SRK in the film, Bhatt is always a pleasure to watch, the story visits many themes that are uncommon in Bollywood, and several of the discussions are either witty or insightful or both. Overall though, the film comes across as being not enough because the writing needed more substance.
Dear Gauri Shinde,
You broke the mould with the delightful English Vinglish. Since you have defied convention in so many ways this time round too, you may as well have gone the entire distance without worrying about the consequences. We believe in you. Please do have faith in our faith in you.
A genuine well-wisher.
Rating (out of five stars): **1/2
CBFC Rating (India):
149 minutes 53 seconds
This review has also been published on Firstpost:
Poster courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/DearZindagi/
I write this neither as a die hard SRK fan and nor as a keen movie buff but only as a counsellor. The angle of inclination of Kaira towards Doc is not romance, but in fact a very important facet of therapy called transference. Acc to it, the client gets physically attracted and emotionally attached to the therapist as he/ she is unconsciously sharing his/her deepest secrets; hence feels vulnerable. It is the therapist’s duty to end the transference by slowing cutting off the cord. (That’s why he cancels an appointment and refuses to see her again)
As much as I loved the movie, I was hugely impressed by their homework done on psychology and aspects of counselling.
Hope I made sense :)
(Spoiler alert for anyone who has not seen this movie yet)Delete
I'm afraid I did not publish your comment earlier because I wanted to avoid the spoiler it contained and because I knew my response would inevitably contain spoilers.
I am aware of the very natural possibility of a patient developing a physical attraction and an emotional attachment for their therapist, but you will recall that Dear Zindagi does not leave it at that. The film clearly proceeds to indicate that this particular therapist reciprocates this particular patient's feelings. I concede that such a situation too may occasionally arise in real life, but this brings me to two points: First, in a society that is prejudiced against therapy and ignorant about it, this element in the plot could be self-defeating in a film with the evident aim of countering prejudice and ignorance. Second, if you see it in the context of the way Hindi cinema has traditionally approached relationships and the inevitability of a romance developing between a female lead and a male lead in any given Hindi film (with extremely rare exceptions), that moment when the film indicates his interest in her beyond their sessions is, in my view, a concession to conventional Hindi film formulae and to the traditional Hindi film audience that emerges from every film asking "so did he get the girl?" If you listen in on social media and drawing room conversations around Dear Zindagi, you will find several viewers reacting in precisely this fashion. The film was extremely unconventional up to that point but then bowed, I suspect, to commercial compulsions.
Another point: I love the way Dear Zindagi tries to de-stigmatise therapy. Do read this column I wrote in The Hindu Businessline on the subject:
But I found the treatment of the last couple of sessions in the film problematic. First, his cancellation of that session was extremely abrupt, which strikes me as rather harmful considering that his patient is a woman struggling with abandonment issues. Second, when she found him on that ferry, he seemed to be disturbed about something, which suggested that the cancellation had nothing to do with what she had said to him in the previous session but was due to a matter weighing on his own mind in the scene. Third, the haste with which he ended their sessions without laying the foundation for it was inexplicable and, in my view, once again harmful to a patient dealing with abandonment issues.
You say: "It is the therapist’s duty to end the transference by slowing cutting off the cord." I'm sure you will agree that there is nothing "slow" about his actions towards the end. After what seemed like a well-researched and effective portrayal of therapy until that point, I found this part of the film very disappointing.
As a counsellor yourself you may read meanings into his reason for cancelling their sessions because you are an expert on the subject, but keep in mind that the audience is not made up of counsellors and to me it seemed that the film implied (through his moment with the chair) that he had developed a romantic attachment for her and decided to curtail their association as a result.
This part of the film seemed formulaic and really spoilt the impact for me.
Now it's my turn to hope that I'm making sense to you :)