Showing posts with label Ranvir Shorey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ranvir Shorey. Show all posts

Friday, March 1, 2019

REVIEW 676: SONCHIRIYA


Release date:
March 1, 2019
Director:
Abhishek Chaubey
Cast:



Language:
Sushant Singh Rajput, Bhumi Pednekar, Manoj Bajpayee, Ranvir Shorey, Ashutosh Rana, Sampa Mandal, V.K. Sharma, Khushiya
Hindi


“You haven’t got it?” one woman tells another, castes “are all meant to categorise men. Women are a different caste altogether, below all of them.”

In a film filled with more movement than conversations, words are used sparingly, but when they come they are on point. Women too are present in limited numbers, but the ones we encounter are prime movers in the battles being chronicled here. Writer-director Abhishek Chaubey’s Sonchiriya is a lyrical account of a gang of dacoits wandering the Chambal ravines, some of them anxious for a way out. 

Dreary, poetic and desperately sad, it is about unwritten codes of honour among society’s outliers,  about the cruelty of caste and patriarchy, and about the endlessness of violence once unleashed. “Dacoits too can be good,” says a character more than once. But this is not an effort to romanticise the outlaws in the frame so much as to highlight the self-defeating nature of social inequity in a world where men think patriarchy benefits them though it can pull them down mercilessly too. 

Deaths are the bookends between which unfolds this tale of a band of male dacoits led by Man Singh (Manoj Bajpayee) in Madhya Pradesh of the 1970s. Just once does one of these men refer to them as daaku. Otherwise, in their vocabulary they are baaghis (rebels) on the run. As they are hunted unrelentingly by the police, it becomes clear that at least some of them are trying much harder to escape their own demons than the long arm of the law.

We know nothing about their background beyond the fact that they are Thakurs, and that Man Singh and his younger associate Lakhan/Lakhna (Sushant Singh Rajput) are haunted by a sorrow that they seem unable to and unwilling to shrug off. Elsewhere in these arid lands, we hear that (the now legendary) Phoolan Devi (called Phuliya in the film and played by Sampa Mandal) is thirsting for the blood of Thakurs – but not all of them. Lakhna, it is clear, is fighting a fight he no longer believes in or takes pride in. Vakil Singh (Ranvir Shorey), for his part, does not trust Lakhna. Rounding off the primary players is the policeman Virender Gujjar (Ashutosh Rana) whose determination to clean up the Chambal seems to be as personal as it is professional.

Sonchiriya, which is written by Chaubey and Sudip Sharma, rarely misses a step. Like Chaubey’s three previous directorial ventures – Ishqiya, Dedh Ishqiya and Udta Punjab – it is rooted in the soil from which it emerges. This rootedness is reflected in every element of the film, from the dialect the characters speak (accompanied by subtitles which will hopefully give it the pan-India audience it deserves) to their clothing and concerns. This film has more depth than the more widely promoted, far flashier Udta Punjab though. And like the two Ishqiyas, it is uncompromising and unapologetic about what it has to say.

His direction of Sonchiriya is steeped in conviction. Except for perhaps three brief scenes in which the momentum is intentionally slowed down to needlessly heighten the melodrama – when a group of men realise that they have killed the wrong person/s, while a mother is telling her son his truth, and in the end between Lakhna and the titular character – not a single moment of this narrative feels out of place or unnecessary.

Chaubey’s canvas is enriched by production designer Rita Ghosh, fresh from her superb work on Nandita Das’ Manto last year, and by DoP Anuj Rakesh Dhawan’s ability to turn dust bowls into visual gold. Dhawan does not give us pretty frames here. His unsparing cinematography does nothing to lighten the impact of the harsh landscapes these characters traverse on their way to what seems like nowhere. Even the river is not prettified although it does provide some relief to the eyes. The audience is shown a lot of the violence that occurs, but not in a lascivious fashion.

The most bloody murder of the story, however, takes place off camera as one human being vents a long-burning rage against another, and sound designer Kunal Sharma, while not resorting to sensationalism, ensures that we know exactly what is going on without seeing any of it.

The ensemble cast is brimming with talent.

Bhumi Pednekar is flawless as the beleaguered woman who intrudes on the gang’s existence. With just four feature films under her belt (Dum Laga Ke Haisha, Toilet: Ek Prem Katha, Shubh Mangal Saavdhan and now this one), Pednekar has already emerged as one of the most versatile young actors on the Hindi film horizon.

All the grime and misery on the planet cannot camouflage Sushant Singh Rajput’s handsomeness, yet the actor ensures that what stands out is his character’s bruised and broken spirit. There are a couple of seconds here and there when Manoj Bajpayee’s facial expressions come across as exaggerated, but for the most part he is as fabulous as Man Singh as he usually is.

Commercial Hindi filmdom is either indifferent to, ignorant about or afraid of caste as a subject, as we were reminded most recently by the shameful manner in which it remade the Marathi film Sairat as Dhadak. The industry is also largely a patriarchal space, usually telling stories of men or portraying women through a restricted male gaze. Abhishek Chaubey’s new film, on the other hand, is a commentary on how, while oppressive systems crush the marginalised, the cycles of violence unleashed by dominant communities end up sweeping away everyone including the oppressors and in particular the few who wish to surrender their inherited privilege. Sonchiriya is unafraid, it is aware and it cares.

Rating (out of five stars): ****

CBFC Rating (India):
Running time:
146 minutes 

This review has also been published on Firstpost:


Poster courtesy:


Wednesday, September 26, 2018

REVIEW 638: MANTO


Release date:
September 21, 2018
Director:
Nandita Das
Cast:





Language:
Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Rasika Dugal, Tahir Raj Bhasin, Divya Dutta, Ranvir Shorey, Vijay Verma, Tillotama Shome, Neeraj Kabi, Chandan Roy Sanyal, Inaamulhaq, Ila Arun, Rajshri Deshpande, Javed Akhtar, Rishi Kapoor
Hindi/Urdu


In a memorable passage mid way through Nandita Das’ film, writer Saadat Hasan Manto is addressing a gathering of bibliophiles in Lahore when a member of the audience tells him that his works are so dark they could drive anyone to depression. Manto rebukes the man, not because he was critical but because he sought to speak on behalf of readers other than himself.

The scene could well have been aimed at present-day censors and morality warriors who presume to speak for entire populations while curbing the creative freedoms of artists. It is also possibly a cautionary note for film critics who make it their business to predict whether a film will strike a chord with audiences, and be a hit or not. Manto’s admonition put me in an introspective mood, reminding me not to try to answer in this review the question that preyed on my mind through the film’s 116-plus minutes running time, “Will it work for those who do not know Manto’s works well?” and instead to focus on the only question a critic should answer in this space: “Did it work for me?”

Das’ Manto – her second film as director after the critically acclaimed Firaaq – weaves several of the legendary writer’s short stories into the story of his own life, providing a running commentary on the heartbreaking socio-economic realities of Partition. When the film opens, Manto is thriving in pre-Independence Mumbai’s vibrant literary and film worlds, spiritedly clashing with tone-deaf producers and with the morality police (he was tried in court for obscenity six times, thrice in British India, thrice in Pakistan), debating censorship with his fellow writers including Ismat Chughtai, being a loving husband to his wife Safia and fond father to their daughter.

Manto is a happy man at the time, basking in the company of his friends, family and the characters he creates, in the perennial presence of his beloved whiskey and cigarettes. In private conversations, when he puts pen to paper and on his sojourns in courtrooms, he minces no words, simultaneously endearing himself to vast sections of the masses while shocking others.

At first, Manto is optimistic about Independent India, but Hindu-Muslim tensions take their toll on his psyche, and he finally tears himself away from Mumbai and moves to Pakistan. The downward spiral begins from there. This, after all, is “not the dawn we dreamed of”.

Das’ finely detailed screenplay provides a fertile playing ground for Nawazuddin Siddiqui who has, in recent years, been largely tapped by directors for his ability to play wackadoodles and kinky criminals or for the mischievous glint he summons up in his eyes like no other while taking on the roles of slightly eccentric regular folk. He has been good in all of them and brilliant in many, most especially Anurag Kashyap’s under-publicised Raman Raghav 2.0 and Ritesh Batra’s The Lunchbox. In Manto though, there is not a trace of anything he has done so far. His physical transformation for the part is in itself quite astonishing. This is a ruminative, considered performance, in complete empathy with the person whose shoes he steps into for it, and without question his best till date.

(Possible spoiler ahead) Some of the conversations in Manto are like a punch in the gut, and could easily be transposed to a more conventional Bollywood film where they could well be histrionically interpreted as bombast – to striking effect. Imagine, for instance, a young Bachchan in a biopic directed by Manmohan Desai in that scene in which a friend tries to dissuade Manto from leaving for Pakistan. Manto was born Muslim but is clearly not a devotee, and so the man points out, “You are hardly Muslim,” to which comes the reply, “I am Muslim enough that I could be killed for it.” Drum rolls, please. This paragraph is not an effort to diss Bachchan and Desai – I thoroughly enjoy both – but to point out that Das and Siddiqui’s work here comes armed with absolute clarity about the film’s tone and the space it inhabits in the cinematic realm. Dialogues are not delivered in Manto, lines are spoken as naturally as life is lived. (Spoiler alert ends)

Siddiqui as the fulcrum of the cast gets excellent backing from Rasika Dugal playing Manto’s loving but exasperated wife, and Tahir Raj Bhasin as his close friend, the real-life Bollywood actor Shyam. Just as important is the attention to detail in the casting and writing of the minutest roles, as a result of which multiple characters remain significant and unforgettable despite the few seconds to few minutes they get on screen.

Das’ naturalistic storytelling style is complemented well by Rita Ghosh’s sepia-toned production design (particularly notable in the shift from prosperous pre-Partition Bollywood to decrepit, post-1947 Lahore) and Kartik Vijay’s atmospheric, moody camerawork that remains intimately involved with the characters in the story, never choosing instead to pan out and emphasise the ambitious nature of this period project.

The seamless switches from fact to Manto’s fiction in the narrative are born of smart writing and some great editing by veteran A. Sreekar Prasad, the transitions fashioned in such a way that it often feels like we are observing scenes play out while standing beside Manto.

The only bumps on this otherwise smooth ride come when Das gets too obtuse in filming a couple of Manto’s shorts. Thanda Ghosht (Cold Meat) is perfect and as soul-shattering in this film as it is when I first read it, as are most of the others that find a place in this script, but I found the telling of Khol Do (Open It), for one, too dense and – god how I hate to use this word for a film that otherwise means so much! – somewhat pretentious, coming across as if it was trying to walk a tightrope between wanting to be clear to those who have not read the story and wanting not to be too explanatory to those who have. The pressure causes it to fall right off that rope.

Through all this, what leaves a lasting impression is the realisation that when it comes to communal divisions and censorious, interfering social, political and religious overlords, little seems to have changed between colonised India, Manto’s Pakistan and the India of today. (The words “Manto lives on” flashing on screen in the end are incongruous. They were not needed, the point was already made...very well.) Manto was unrelentingly vocal in his objections to injustice, prejudice and stupidity. Das, for her part, has remained consistently outspoken about her concerns – reflected over the years in Firaaq, her public pronouncements on various platforms, and now this film – without allowing herself to become a sermoniser in her directorial ventures.

The messaging in this film is for us to imbibe if we wish, as she chronicles a remarkable, dramatic true story in an engagingly unmelodramatic style. In doing so, Das makes her Manto a stirring, sensitive portrait of a tortured genius from an era seemingly long past yet tragically mirroring our troubled present.

Rating (out of five stars): ***1/2

CBFC Rating (India):
UA 
Running time:
116 minutes 35 seconds 

This review has also been published on Firstpost: