REVIEW 585: BLACKMAIL

Release date:	April 6, 2018
Director:	Abhinay Deo
Cast: Language:	Irrfan, Kirti Kulhari, Arunoday Singh, Divya Dutta, Anuja Sathe, Pradhuman Singh Mall, Omi Vaidya, Gajraj Rao, Neelima Azeem, Urmila Matondkar Hindi

The seven-year itch is a tricky thing. Legend has it that it spurs seemingly regular folk on to highly irregular behaviour even when they are in happy relationships. Imagine then the fate of unhappy couples.

Dev Kaushal (Irrfan) and his pretty young wife Reena (Kirti Kulhari) are stuck in a loveless marriage and have found completely contrasting ways to scratch that itch. His moments of respite come when he masturbates in the office toilet, and when he peeps into his bedroom from a hole in the kitchen wall to gaze at the sleeping Reena. During one of those peering sessions he learns that she too has been seeking relief from him – in the arms of a man she had once wanted to marry.

The trailer has already told us that Dev blackmails the boyfriend, a beefy fellow called Ranjit Arora (Arunoday Singh). The reason: Ranjit is married, and financially dependent on his powerful father-in-law who keeps a tight hold on the purse strings and his damaad’s testicles.

As in director Abhinay Deo’s 2011 venture, the irresistibly maniacal Delhi Belly, here too one misdeed leads to another then another and another until everyone involved gets caught up in a vortex of deception and trickery.

Delhi Belly was a novelty on the Bollywoodscape for various reasons but primarily its chosen genre – black comedy – and its openness about sex and other bodily functions. Blackmail is not as thoroughly alien territory, perhaps because much water and experimentation have passed under the bridge in the seven years since Delhi Belly was released, but this film too is quite unusual for Bollywood.

(Spoiler alert for the ultra-picky reader) Blackmail is cleverly and self-deprecatingly misleading in its early moments. When Dev imagines multiple scenarios each time his head threatens to explode with suppressed anger, the repetition of the device is designed to lull viewers into assuming predictability on the part of the storyteller. Just as you think you have got Deo all figured out though … boom! … he stands the ploy on its head when you are least expecting it. (Spoiler alert ends)

That flip is Blackmail’s big turning point, the moment that urges viewers not to overestimate their own intelligence or underestimate the filmmaker. Surrender is the most sensible option left, and doing so yields considerable dividends.

The hero of Blackmail is not your regular bad guy. The worst thing Dev does before he resorts to blackmail is to steal photos of colleagues’ wives so he can pleasure himself while gazing at them. The believable casualness with which he and others in the film turn to crime is perhaps a commentary on the hidden villain in each of us, lying in wait below the surface, anxious for an excuse to tear through our skin.

(Possible spoiler in this paragraph) Blackmail’s characters are not repulsive, nor do they actively invite pity, but you sense the ennui in fleeting words and actions. Ranjit’s wife, played by Divya Dutta, addresses him as “Tommy”. When he protests, she asks if he would prefer “kutta”.  Ranjit wonders how Dev looks, and Reena replies, “like a husband.” You can almost hear the yawn in those three words. (Spoiler alert ends)

Parveez Shaikh’s screenplay is careful not to mock the lead characters although their exploits are deliberately exaggerated and caricaturish. The ridiculous rigmarole in which they ultimately lose themselves does not match the zip and zing of Delhi Belly, but is nevertheless mad and brisk enough to be exciting in large parts.

Without any overt intellectual intent, Blackmail also holds up a mirror to what unfolds when we allow life to happen to us instead of grabbing the steering wheel with both hands.

The film dips intermittently though. Among its weakest patches is the superficiality in the characterisation of Reena in comparison with the others, and the ordinariness of the writing of two cameos – if Ranjit’s mother-in-law had not been played by Neelima Azeem and if Urmila Matondkar was not featured in Bewafa beauty, there might have been no expectations from either.

Not that Bewafa beauty is an absolute write off – it is, in fact, fairly danceable and hummable – but you do not resurrect the Rangeela girl on the big screen after so many years for a song that is anything short of electrifying in its music and choreography. Worse, the number is abruptly dumped into the narrative.

The scenes at Dev’s office are tepid, owing largely to the unfunnyness of the boss’ obsession with toilet paper that is clearly meant to tickle us.

The film is also strangely indifferent to its setting. Blackmail is located in a city in Maharashtra, but offers none of the detailing and cultural specificities that made Delhi Belly such a delight.

Irrfan seems to be enjoying himself here playing a husband and corporate slave who lacks the energy to lift himself out of his boredom. He falters in a scene in which he confides in his friend Anand (Pradhuman Singh Mall), although the motivation for that decision is in itself so unconvincing that Shaikh should be faulted just as well here.

Besides, Dev is the only one in the story prone to underplaying his emotions, yet with barely discernable touches, the actor conveys the hope with which he had entered into the relationship with Reena and the lethargy that frittered everything away.

Kirti Kulhari is handicapped by limited writing, but still embodies a certain vulnerability through her performance, making Reena a person who is hard to hate despite the affair. (Aside: considering his unconventional career path, it is disappointing to see Irrfan too choosing to star with women who are, on an average, 20 years his junior.)

Arunoday Singh as Ranjit and Divya Dutta as his drunken spouse get the benefit of more over-the-top and meaty roles – both immerse themselves in the action to amusing effect. Jay Oza’s wicked camerawork in their joint scenes and the lens’ menacing gaze at them in a scenario played out in a toilet make those passages particularly memorable.

The standout performance of the lot though comes from Anuja Sathe playing Dev’s co-worker who metamorphoses into an aggressive monster. Sathe is a firecracker who owns her every moment on screen, even managing to overshadow a veteran like Irrfan in their scenes together.

Despite its imperfections, what sustains Blackmail is its irreverence towards the issue of marital infidelity. In an earlier era, such a theme is likely to have been explored only in a grave, weepie feature.

You know times have changed when an adulterous wife is no longer seen as either an off-mainstream focus area or the target of compulsory, lengthy sermonising if she is featured in mainstream cinema. You know times have changed when a male star of Irrfan’s stature merrily plays a chap whose daily routine includes jerking off at the workplace.

You know times have not changed enough when the non-judgemental tone of the film suddenly, without a perceivable progression leading up to that point, turns selectively judgemental towards the woman and sympathetic towards the man with Amitabh Bhattacharya’s lyrics of Bewafa beauty. Sample this: Kul mila ke saiyyanji ke / Achchhe sanskaar thhe / Sajaniya ke lakshan lekin / Thhode tadipaar thhe... (Very roughly: He was, by and large, a nice guy with the right values / she was the sort to go astray.)

The messaging is oblique (Dev and Reena are not present when the song plays) but unmistakable.

Blackmail then is an engaging but flawed tragi-comedy of errors.

Rating (out of five stars): **

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	139 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

https://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/bollywood/blackmail-movie-review-irrfan-and-co-drive-this-engaging-but-flawed-tragi-comedy-of-errors-4420427.html

Poster courtesy:

(1) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blackmail_(2018_film)

(2) https://www.facebook.com/irrfanofficial/

(3) https://www.facebook.com/KirtiKulhariOfficial/

REVIEW 418: MOHENJO DARO

Release date:	August 12, 2016
Director:	Ashutosh Gowariker
Cast: Language:	Hrithik Roshan, Kabir Bedi, Pooja Hegde, Arunoday Singh, Manish Choudhary, Umang Vyas, Narendra Jha, Suhasini Mulay, Nitish Bharadwaj, Kishori Shahane, Sharad Kelkar, Diganta Hazarika, Casey Frank, Michael Homik Hindi

“The film does not support or promote any specific interpretations of the Origin, Character or Decline of the Ancient Indus Civilization. It does not claim to be an actual portrayal. Archaeologists and Historians have many different opinions and interpretations that remain to be confirmed through further studies. The Sindhu script is still undeciphered and no one knows the names of the cities at that time. So we have used the popular name – Mohenjo Daro!”

– Disclaimer carried at the start of the film Mohenjo Daro

If you wish to avoid heartburn and stand any chance of enjoying Mohenjo Daro, take the words of this caveat very seriously. Far from being a faithful portrayal of the Indus Valley Civilisation, writer-director Ashutosh Gowariker’s film uses the name of a city with high recall value as a mere hook – along with other markers from antiquity such as Harappa and Sumer – not to revisit history but as a vehicle for a true-blue Bollywood romance and an eternal story of good vs evil.

Gowariker, who earlier made Lagaan and Jodhaa Akbar, seems well intentioned even if he plays around with facts here. The film is genuinely concerned about environmental degradation. It is clearly intended too as a slap in the face of autocracy, an indictment of politicians and citizens who stay silent when confronted with despots, and a salaam to democracy. All this would have been far more effective if the quality of the storytelling had been consistent. As I watched Mohenjo Daro, I spent my time being partly amused (by the liberties taken with history), partly irritated, and partly entertained.

Mohenjo Daro is set in 2016 BC where we meet Sarman (Hrithik Roshan) living with his uncle Durjan (Nitish Bharadwaj), an indigo farmer, and aunt Bima (Kishori Shahane). Sarman is popular with the locals for his daredevilry that includes killing human-eating crocodiles. He is restless though, haunted by dreams of a one-horned beast and has for long longed to visit nearby Mohenjo-daro, much to Durjan’s dismay. One day, Durjan relents and Sarman travels to the city with his friend Hojo (Umang Vyas) and sackfuls of their produce. Once there, he discovers a people manipulated and oppressed by their cruel ruler Maham (Kabir Bedi), he falls for the high priest’s daughter Chaani (debutante Pooja Hegde) and discovers his own connection to the place.

Even to an inexpert eye, it is obvious that authenticity is not Mohenjo Daro’s strength – or goal. Chaani’s blue gown, for example, is so glaringly the handiwork of a 21^st century couturier rather than something from 4,000 years back as evidenced by statuettes of women of the Indus Civilisation unearthed by archaeologists. She takes a ritual dip in what appears to be a perfectly tiled five-star hotel swimming pool. Whirling dervishes pop up in a dance. And… I can go on.

To be fair, Mohenjo Daro is inconsistent in its inauthenticity. The unicorn is well chosen as a recurring motif since the beast appears on seals excavated from sites of the civilisation. The use of language in the film too is intriguing at first: the inhabitants of Sarman’s village are initially shown using a dialect that is just about decipherable to the average Hindi bhaashi, the camera then zooms in on the lips of a character as he speaks and when it zooms out they are all conversing in regular Hindi, which is really the only sensible route to take in a Hindi film since the Indus language is yet to be cracked. That clever cinematic device gives way to irregularities though, with “prateek” popping up as “parteek” (as Punjabis would say it) in the middle of the Sanskritised tongue spoken in the rest of the film. Never mind for a moment the historical appropriateness of Sanskrit in that setting. All that formal, old-world “kadaachit” and “sangini” and “anivaarya” sounds incongruous when the heroine wears dresses that in some scenes look like they were bought off a contemporary New Delhi catwalk and elsewhere seem sourced from the costumiers of The Ten Commandments and Ben-Hur.

The film’s special effects too have ups and downs. The river in the opening scene is not bad at all, but the unicorn and the aerial shots of Mohenjo-daro are flat. It is sad that Indian SFX studios do top-notch work for Hollywood, but our own cinema so often comes off looking shoddy.

Still, if you keep in mind the warning in Paragraphs 1 & 2, Mohenjo Daro is not a washout. The first 90 minutes or so are well paced, the action scenes are well executed, and Roshan shines. It is not just that he is one of the greatest-looking men in the history of great-looking men; the fact is that in the hands of a director who can check his tendency to ham, he is also a fine actor.

So even when all else around him fails in Mohenjo Daro, you want to believe what his character believes, because he believes it so much with those eyes. His love for Chaani is senseless since he knows nothing about her – nor do we – apart from the fact that she is a statuesque beauty, but you almost will yourself to buy into it. (Spoiler alert) When he rushes a mass of humanity across a makeshift bridge made of boats in the climax, though my mind was filled with questions about physics and crowd control, I could not help but notice how immersed he seemed in the moment.

Every step of the way, whether Sarman is fighting injustice himself or urging Chaani to do so, it is hard not to be drawn in by Roshan’s sincerity. Except for fleeting moments when he goes overboard with his cutesy mirth on first encountering the young woman and a couple of lines when he sounds borderline-Rohit-from-Koi-Mil-Gaya, Gowariker directs him with a firm hand.

They earlier teamed up in what turned out to be a highlight of both their filmographies. Jodhaa Akbar, however, featured a plus that is sorely missing in Mohenjo Daro: chemistry between the lead pair. Regardless of her acting flaws, when Aishwarya Rai Bachchan appears on screen with Roshan, the result is electric. Poor Pooja Hegde cannot be faulted here. Both Roshan and Rai have 42 years each of life behind them, and the gravitas and charisma that comes with it. Hegde is a child in comparison with her hero. She is further hampered by Gowariker’s treatment of her, not as a key player in the story but as a mannequin. She seems like she deserves better than that.

She is not the only one thus spurned. For a man who painted a fiery portrait of feminine strength in Jodhaa Akbar, Gowariker is disappointingly disinterested in the female half of Mohenjo-daro’s population. Women are missing from all the central action in the film. Literally. Not only do they have nothing to do, hardly any women are even seen on screen, even in crowd scenes.

Chaani’s only role is to look sweet and fall for Sarman as he goes about the business of being a born leader and an amazing human being fighting selflessly for an entire community. As Maham’s long-suffering wife Laashi, Suhasini Mulay has just one scene in which to do and say something worthwhile. While she is at it, she reminds us of what a commanding talent she is in comparison with the King of Over-Acting, Kabir Bedi, who gets to dominate much of the film as Sarman’s primary foe.

Bollywood’s obsession with female youth has unintended comic consequences in Mohenjo Daro. Kishori Shahane, who plays Durjan’s wife Bima, is just five years Roshan’s senior. I swear I did not know this when I watched the film, but when Sarman addresses her as Kaaki (Aunty) I laughed, because they look the same age and there are palpable lover-like sparks between them.

Among the supporting cast, Assamese film actor Diganta Hazarika – making his Bollywood debut here – leaves a lasting impression.

A.R. Rahman’s music is lovely and slotted perfectly in the narrative. Tu hai’s melody and the use of percussion in the title track are particularly haunting, as is the background score. The choreography is too basic though for Roshan who is, without question, one of the best dancers this industry has ever had.

The standout jarring note in Mohenjo Daro is in its finale. (Spoiler ahead) When a dam in the film is breached and the city is washed away, a new river is formed. What will it be called, Sarman is asked. Ganga, he replies. It is ludicrous to suggest that the Ganga – which was already in existence – was born at the death of the Indus Civilisation. If the implication instead is that the entire populace travelled to her banks, then the massive geographical distance that separates Mohenjo-daro and the Ganga tells us that would have been impossible in a short period in that era. For the record, Mohenjo-daro was on the north-western edge of the subcontinent, in Sindh (modern Pakistan), whereas the Ganga flows through north India and eastwards into Bangladesh.

Fictionalising history is certainly not a crime. It is bizarre though to make factually inexplicable claims around it, or worse, to take a rich history and water it down to suit contemporary Bollywood conventions. Today, the most iconic reminder of the Indus Valley Civilisation is the bronze figurine known as The Dancing Girl of Mohenjo Daro excavated from this ancient city. She briefly appears in the film. There she stands with her legs slightly apart, one hand on her hips, a woman child so confident that it is sad to witness her descendants so many thousand years later still fighting for gender equality. That Gowariker has marginalised her contemporaries in his story, reducing them to bystanders while his hero saves their world, is inexcusable.

It is the film’s good fortune that that hero is played by an actor whose chemistry with his director is unmistakable. Hrithik Roshan’s conviction and verve carry it through even when Gowariker’s perennial Achilles heel – the inability to compress his thoughts – sets in along with the silly season and laxity. Mohenjo Daro is well-meaning, even entertaining up to a point. Sadly, it is also a patchy, historically dubious affair.

Rating (out of five): **

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	155 minutes

Footnote on the film’s Censor rating: Mohenjo Daro includes some Game of Thrones-grade violence, yet has managed to get away with a UA rating from the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC). In the same week has come the Malayalam film Pretham which was granted an even lighter rating – the most coveted U – despite featuring a vile rape joke. A depiction of sex between consenting adults in either film, as we know, would have automatically invited an A. Loud claps for the CBFC, please.

Trivia: (Spoiler alert) The film’s bloodiest scenes involve hand-to-hand combat in a stadium between Sarman and two mountain-sized savages who we are told are from “Tajik ke parvat”. Did you know that Casey Frank and Michael Homik who play the giants are in fact professional basketball players from New Zealand? Now you do.

Poster courtesy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mohenjo_Daro_(film)