REVIEW 783: BULBBUL

Release date:	June 24, 2020
Director:	Anvita Dutt
Cast:	Tripti Dimri, Avinash Tiwary, Paoli Dam, Parambrata Chattopadhyay, Rahul Bose, Ruchi Mahajan, Varun Paras Buddhadev, Vishwanath Chatterjee
Language:	Hindi

I really enjoy the way Anushka Sharma’s mind works. 

I am not referring to this film alone for which of course writer-director Anvita Dutt must first be cited. The mention of Sharma right at the start of this review comes because of a pattern emerging from the choices this talented actor has made in her avatar as a producer in the past half decade. Her debut production, NH10 in 2015, was a feminist crime thriller. Then followed two supernatural flicks, one a romance (Phillauri, 2017), the other a horror movie (Pari, 2018). Just as she is reaping accolades and fending off outraged conservatives for her socio-political crime series Paatal Lok on Amazon Prime, here comes her first feature film to be released directly on a streaming platform. 

Bulbbul combines what appear to be Sharma’s two primary interests – feminism and the paranormal – that earlier came together in the terrifying Pari. Her courageous, non-conformist filmography as a producer is at odds with her off-screen image in recent years of being a supporter of the current right-wing regime.

In Bulbbul, the viewer is transported to the Bengal Presidency in 1881, where child marriages were a norm, and women born or married into aristocratic families were expected – no differently from today – to stay silent about the injustices meted out to them by patriarchy, their caste privilege notwithstanding. 

A sense of foreboding descends on the screen from the very first frame on the wedding day of a little girl (Ruchi Mahajan), and in the palanquin on the way to her marital home, as a kind older boy tells her the story of a murderous, bloodthirsty chudail (female demon). 

Twenty years later, the girl is now a gorgeous but oddly detached young woman (Tripti Dimri) presiding over her mansion while her husband (Rahul Bose) and his twin brother are nowhere to be seen, her elder sister-in-law (Paoli Dam) has been relegated to insignificance and her attractive brother-in-law (Avinash Tiwary) returns after a long absence. 

Director Amar Kaushik had blended humour and the other-world in his Stree in 2018 to turn the tables on men who suppress women in the guise of concern. In a completely different genre, in Bulbbul the conceptualisation of the spirit cocks a snook at anti-feminist propaganda and stereotypes of the man-hating woman. At a very basic level, to me Bulbbul is what Devdas might have been if in a paranormal revisitation of that classic, Paro had turned round and landed a tight slap on the eponymous loser hero’s face.

Dutt is an accomplished lyricist, screenplay and dialogue writer for Hindi films. With Bulbbul she makes her debut as a director. Her writing for this film combines superstition, mythology and history, fantasy, folktale, feminism and fable, to deliver a story drenched in a deep sadness and the blood of women across centuries who have suffered and fought battles so that some of us may today enjoy freedoms that they could not, giving us the strength to fight newer battles against the cruelty that still survives.

The fabulous atmospherics in Bulbbul are a product of Amit Trivedi’s music in collaboration with DoP Siddharth Diwan’s low-lit colour-saturated frames and the production design by Meenal Agarwal in the leading lady’s resplendent house and neighbouring areas. 

Bulbbul does not often venture into bright daylight. Using a palette reminiscent of the lovely Tumbbad (2018), it bathes the screen in shades of red with flashes of gold – the red of the Hindu bride’s clothing and sindoor symbolising the red of a virgin’s blood flowing on her wedding night and onward into a river of silent suffering or rebellion or both. 

The chudail in Bulbbul fits the physical description of the furious female spook of Indian folklore – beautiful, with long hair and feet twisted backwards. Dutt however gives even that convention a neat – and heartbreaking – twist. This mystery woman is not summoned up here to startle the audience in the way traditional horror films do, but instead to set us thinking. (Note: please read this paragraph after watching the film) She is a personification of the rage of the marginalised, and a stark portrait of what the world might be if the oppressed – in this case, women – were to unleash their rage on the oppressor. She reminded me of a conversation I had aeons back with a senior friend who said she hoped I would not become one of “those angry feminists”, to which I remember replying, “But considering all that we are subjected to, should you not be asking why we women are so calm, and why we are not angrier?” (Cautionary note ends) 

For a film that is so thoughtful in its take on gender politics, it is surprising that  Bulbbul  uses a mentally challenged character as one of its metaphors for patriarchy in an India that remains largely ignorant about disabilities of the mind. I also wish the woman-as-goddess trope had not been thrown into the mix, especially since it is articulated by a man in the film. After all, pedestalisation has long been used by patriarchy to deceive women into thinking they are valued, when in fact they are being set up to be pulled down when the system pleases. The film might also have been better served if the character of Bulbbul’s brother-in-law Satya had more detail. 

Of the men in the storyline, the one given most heft by the writing is the doctor (Parambrata Chattopadhyay) who becomes the heroine’s friend. And of her many relationships, the one I found most complex was with her sister-in-law, Binodini – two women united in mutual despair yet playing games with each other for survival. 

Dutt has assembled a solid cast for Bulbbul. Tripti Dimri as the title character lives up to the promise she showed in Laila-Majnu. Her Bulbbul is in a state of constant internal turmoil camouflaged by an enigmatic demeanour, which the young actor conveys almost imperceptibly with the lightest of touches.   

Dimri’s co-star from Laila-Majnu, Avinash Tiwary gets a role here that is not flashy like the one he had in that film or the delightful but underrated Tu Hai Mera Sunday. He too is a picture of understatement. Ruchi Mahajan who plays the child Bulbbul is a dear. My pick of the supporting cast though is the unfailingly good Chattopadhyay. 

Since the film is set in Bengal, it requires a suspension of disbelief to accept characters who are all speaking Hindi. Dutt wisely does not ask her non-Bengali actors to do exaggerated Bengali accents to convince us of their characters’ ethnicity – the milieu is right, the look and styling are on point, thus making it possible for the viewer’s imagination to do the rest of the work. 

Among other joys that it offers then is the fact that Bulbbul is one of those rare contemporary Hindi films to travel beyond the Hindi belt and Punjab to a culture and place that Bollywood does not often visit these days. With its eerie air and mythical, mystical tone, Dutt’s film brings alive a spectre that is not scary in the way the average Hindi film bhoot or daayin is – what is scary are the circumstances that brought this creature to such a pass. 

Rating (out of 5 stars): 3

Gulabo Sitabo is streaming on Netflix.

Running time:

94 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

https://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/bulbbul-movie-review-anushka-sharmas-continuing-interest-in-the-paranormal-yields-compelling-results-8519781.html

Poster courtesy: IMDB

REVIEW 631: LAILA-MAJNU

Release date:	September 7, 2018
Director:	Sajid Ali
Cast: Language:	Tripti Dimri, Avinash Tiwary, Parmeet Sethi, Benjamin Gilani  Hindi

The ancient Middle Eastern folktale of Laila and Qais (a.k.a. Majnun/Majnu, The Obsessed One, The Crazed One) is so deeply embedded in the Indian cultural consciousness that it has been adapted by filmmakers in various languages right from the silent era.  In this latest retelling, writer-director Sajid Ali – whose famous sibling Imtiaz has co-written the film and is its presenter – chooses contemporary Kashmir as the setting. Laila and Qais are the children of warring families. When they meet accidentally one night, the attraction between them is instant. Both youngsters have poor reputations within the community, but they are undeterred. Following in the footsteps of decades of Hindi film heroes and heroines, she feigns disinterest in him even while leading him on, and he stalks her until she declares her feelings for him.

This is the Ali brothers’ take on how Laila and Qais came together. If you have read various versions of the story or seen any of the films, then you know the gist of what follows. (Spoilers ahead only for Laila-Majnu virgins) The enmity between their fathers forces the lovers to split up, and the separation drives Qais insane. (Spoiler alert ends)

The biggest plus point of Sajid Ali’s Laila Majnu is its young lead pair whose acting confidence and screen presence bely their lack of experience. Besides, the chemistry between them is electric. Tripti Dimri is pretty and imbues her Laila with an edge that makes the character’s constant flirtations with danger believable. Avinash Tiwary possesses the kind of charisma that makes conventional prettiness seem dull, which is why he can pull off a conversation in which the hero tells the heroine that he works hard to appear smart since he is not good looking. His role is better written, but that is not the only reason why it is impossible to look away from him when he is on screen. If you have seen him in last year’s Tu Hai Mera Sunday, you know he possesses that X Factor that transcends roles and films. While I would like to see Dimri again to figure her out fully in a project that gives her character the writers’ undivided attention – which is what Tiwary gets in Laila Majnu – my mind is made up about him: Tiwary is, without question, star material.

The film’s other major positive is its music by Niladri Kumar and Joi Barua, and the way Sajid Ali has incorporated their songs in his narrative. I am in love with the closing number, O Meri Laila – the melody, the energy, the orchestration, the singing by Atif Aslam and Jyotica Tangri, the cinematography in that passage, the choreography, and especially Tiwary’s completely unselfconscious dancing.

That said, the primary excitement in watching any adaptation comes from noting the manner in which a story we already know has been reinterpreted with a fresh vision. The decision to place this Laila Majnu in J&K holds out so many possibilities, but the screenplay remains largely immune to the politically charged atmosphere and the specific social milieu of the state. The conservatism and gender segregation that stand in the way of the two lovers could have been set in any other part of India, and the wedge between their parents could have been transposed to any corner of the country with a tiny tweak here or there, so why bother in particular with Kashmir? I could not help but wonder what Vishal Bhardwaj would have done with this material.

Exasperating though this aspect is, what is truly  troubling is the fact that the Alis have resorted to the woman-as-a-tease and the male-suitor-as-a-stalker clichés that were once a fixture in Bollywood but that many contemporary filmmakers now abjure. Not only does this triteness reveal a dangerous inclination for gender stereotyping, it is also, frankly, boring. I mean, seriously, how much longer must we contend with writers whose idea of romantic sparks is a girl pretending not to like a boy although she does, or a boy being obnoxious to win her affections? Do such writers think couples absolutely have to be jerks with each other on the road to falling in love?

In that sense, sadly, this Laila Majnu has in fact regressed in comparison with the 1976 Hindi film in which Ranjeeta and Rishi Kapoor played the star-crossed lovers. Those two were friends who actually had warm conversations instead of playing nasty games with each other. There was a genuine fondness between them. With these two it feels like they are simply sexually attracted to the forbidden fruit. Considering what ass****s they both are, you have to wonder if they actually like each other, and if yes, why?

The stereotypical portrayal of the initial part of Laila and Qais’ romance seems to have emerged from a strong conviction that love can and does blossom in this fashion (shades of which we saw in Imtiaz Ali’s Rockstar), that confused and intentionally confusing women do need the firm guiding hand of a male lover who knows his mind and bullies/intimidates her on to the right path. In one scene, as Qais watches a brooding Laila through binoculars, he expresses confidence that she is thinking about him and adds this analysis of the workings of her mind to his companion, “Nadaan hai bechaari. Usko kya pata?” (The poor girl is ignorant. What does she know?) What indeed can a woman possibly know about her own innermost thoughts?

She is still acting pricey when he articulates the stereotype in black and white to her: “You are a girl, you will play games. I am a boy, I will bear it all. Finally, you will give in.” In a society where men in real life routinely stalk women in the belief that women want a man to be “persistent” with them and that women say no when they mean yes, in a society where such stalkers have been known to throw acid on the faces of women who have rejected them, it is scary and heartbreaking that such lines have come in a film presented by one of Bollywood’s leading lights who once gave us Geet from Jab We Met. Maybe Laila Majnu should have been titled How To Reinforce The Widely Held Notion That Young Women Are Out To Toy With The Feelings of Helpless Men.

Misogyny and lack of originality are a lethal combination. The clichéd manner in which Laila and Qais’ relationship is established makes it hard to buy into their later devotion to each other. Qais’ ultimate descent into hell is marked by some excellent acting from Tiwary, but by then it is too late for the film. Personally, I found myself more intrigued by Laila’s equation with her emotionally manipulative father than with her boyfriend.

Dear Sajid and Imtiaz, from the space in your minds where that came from, why could you not have thought up a more credible, imaginative adaptation of Laila Majnu? Why?

Rating (out of five stars): **

CBFC Rating (India):	UA
Running time:	140 minutes

This review has also been published on Firstpost:

https://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/laila-majnu-movie-review-avinash-tiwary-is-star-material-but-why-riddle-an-epic-with-bollywood-cliches-5134381.html

Poster courtesy: https://www.facebook.com/ImtiazAliOfficial/