Showing posts with label Sonam Kapoor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sonam Kapoor. Show all posts

Friday, June 29, 2018

REVIEW 613: SANJU


Release date:
June 29, 2018
Director:
Rajkumar Hirani
Cast:



Language:
Ranbir Kapoor, Paresh Rawal, Vicky Kaushal, Anushka Sharma, Sonam Kapoor, Dia Mirza, Jim Sarbh, Manisha Koirala, Piyush Mishra
Hindi


As Sanju opens, a chap called D.N. Tripathi reads aloud from a book he has written on Bollywood star Sanjay Dutt to the man himself. In that passage, Tripathi has drawn parallels between the lives of Bapu and Baba. It is a clever line to take in a hagiography since Bapu, of course, is the father of the nation Mahatma Gandhi, Baba / Sanju Baba is Dutt’s nickname, and the actor’s most popular screen role till date has been of a modern-day Gandhi devotee. Far from being flattered by the comparison, Dutt is appalled and throws Tripathi out of the house.

Dutt/Baba is on the lookout for a biographer, you see, and what this interaction conveys is that he wants to tell the unadulterated, undiluted truth. The scene offers a precis of what Sanju wants you to believe it is: an honest account of a controversial star. The fact though is that this is one among many moments of insincerity in the film. Because Sanju, writer-editor-director Rajkumar Hirani’s biopic of Sanju Baba, is anything but honest.

Sanju is the story of Sanjay Dutt, Bollywood superstar, acclaimed actor, convicted criminal, son of the screen legend Nargis and the much-respected actor-activist-politician Sunil Dutt. The film skips Dutt Jr’s childhood and takes us through his work on his debut film, his mother’s illness, his rocky relationship with his father, his alcoholism and drug addiction, the allegations of involvement in the 1993 Mumbai bomb blasts, his arrest under the draconian and now lapsed TADA, the acquittal on terror charges and conviction under the Arms Act, his jailing and ultimate release.

Hirani does all this through a well-chosen narrative device: Sanjay Dutt trying to convince an acclaimed London-based biographer called Winnie Diaz to make him her next subject, while she parallelly investigates his claims about himself. The words are Dutt’s, but hey, they are all being verified by Diaz, so you gotta buy into them. Right?

Wrong. Abhijat Joshi and Hirani – who are credited with Sanju’s story, screenplay and dialogues – have cherrypicked facts and bathed their selectiveness in large doses of affectionate indulgence for their protagonist. For instance, we are told that Dutt acquired three AK-56 rifles and bullets without a licence out of fear for his Dad’s and his sisters’ safety following threats to Dutt Sr for his missionary work among Muslim riot victims in 1992-93 in Mumbai. This is a claim Dutt had made on the record in real life. However, the film fails to mention that he had also gone on the record to admit that he already owned three licensed firearms which, he reportedly told the police, he purchased because of his love for hunting. So why did he need any more weapons? (Note: he later withdrew the latter statement.)

Messrs Hirani and Joshi play this game throughout the film.

They are also wise in their choice of issues they do not whitewash. For instance, they make no bones about Dutt’s substance abuse, his sexual promiscuity, his unprofessionalism, his irresponsible behaviour towards his parents and colleagues, and his lies in these matters. But all this is portrayed in a cutesefied, comedified fashion to a fandom that has already forgiven him for these widely known facts anyway, each one carefully presented in such a manner as to elicit an “aww, cho chweet” reaction from us.

The object of the film is two-fold: to project Dutt as a misguided but well-intentioned man and all-round nice guy, and to scapegoat others for his failings. So yes, he was not committed to his work, but c’mon, what is bechara Baba to do when he is under so much strain to match his father’s greatness? So yes, he took drugs and alcohol, and no Ma’am, that was not okay, but c’mon, can you really blame Baba when his work stresses and personal traumas were compounded by that evil drug dealer who tricked him into addiction? Yes, he bought firearms, but did we not tell you it was because of his desire to protect his father and sisters, as any good Indian mard should? And yes of course he slept with hundreds of women and treated them lightly, but that is sho funny and sho cute, na?

The most well-strategised choice of scapegoat is the media, which is skewered in the closing song featuring Ranbir Kapoor and the real Sanjay Dutt himself. For everything wrong that Baba has done, the buck stops at the door of the lying press, according to the lyrics of Baba bolta hain bas ho gaya. This is a stroke of propagandist genius, because vast sections of the Indian media are so disgraceful that it is tempting to cheer when a finger is pointed at them for anything, even if our disgust for media sensationalism is being used to quietly influence us into viewing a movie star’s misdemeanours, vices, crimes and contemptible qualities with fondness.

Other facets of Dutt that are conveniently papered over include his difficult relationship with his siblings – Priya and Namrata are marginal, virtually dialogueless characters in Sanju – and his misogynistic, patriarchal mindset. I guess because you cannot expect to drive an audience to tears over Baba’s wish to bachao his behnas if you point out that their equation is so troubled that when he married his current wife Manyata, sister Priya Dutt appeared not to be aware of the development till the media asked her for a reaction; or if you remind us that he once publicly snubbed Priya by famously telling a newspaper reporter: “There is only one Mr and Mrs Dutt of Pali Hill (in Mumbai), and that’s Manyata and I. Girls who become part of a new family after marriage must assume their new surname and all the responsibilities that come with it.”

No doubt with the goal of painting this portrait of virtue, his first marriage to Richa Sharma, who died of cancer, is completely ignored. His second marriage finds no mention either. Manyata Dutt, on the other hand, is presented as his only pillar of strength once his father is gone and his best buddy leaves him.

How unfortunate that this should come from Hirani, creator of the brilliant Munnabhai films (both starring Dutt), in addition to 3 Idiots and PK, which, whatever their flaws may have been, had very relevant points to make.

This is not to say that Sanju is a lost cause. Initially, when its intent is not yet clear, it is often funny. There are several moving portions right through the film, interestingly all of them involving the late Sunil Dutt – perhaps because these are the only parts that come from a place of genuineness (Duttsaab, from every available account, was indeed a great human being, so the film is not lying about him) – and/or Baba’s friend Kamlesh Kanhaiyalal Kapasi.

The latter is played by Vicky Kaushal who is thoroughly convincing as the once innocent, now disillusioned Kapasi. He is particularly wonderful in a drunken scene in which he begs the father to understand the immense pressure his son is under because of the larger-than-life figure he is expected to live up to, and to tell the boy that it is okay to be ordinary.

Sonam Kapoor has not much to do in Sanju, but is still sweet as the girlfriend who gives up on Sanju Baba early on, understandably convinced that he will never emerge from the depths of decadence he had already sunk to. Anushka Sharma as Baba’s biographer Winnie Diaz has a decidedly unchallenging role in which her charisma is wasted. Paresh Rawal has the film’s best-written role, but is only okay as Sunil Dutt. A terribly miscast Manisha Koirala is awkward as the barely-there Nargis.

Sanju belongs though to Ranbir Kapoor who drowns out his own personality so completely in favour of the Baba persona, that in that closing song when he appears as himself – slim, handsome and not looking ravaged like his character – I had to remind myself that this is actually what he looks like.

Kapoor’s turn as Sanju Baba rises far beyond his physical transformation though. He delivers an immersive performance, especially in scenes of emotional intensity when the script is not using a farcical tone to soft pedal the hero’s life choices. But even this gifted star cannot camouflage the reality of Sanju being little beyond a PR exercise for Sanjay Dutt (and Manyata).

Rating (out of five stars): **

CBFC Rating (India):
UA 
Running time:
161 minutes 45 seconds 

A version of this review has also been published on Firstpost:




Tuesday, February 13, 2018

REVIEW 569: PADMAN


Release date:
February 9, 2018
Director:
R. Balki
Cast:

Language:
Akshay Kumar, Radhika Apte, Sonam Kapoor   
Hindi


Akshay Kumar is charming.

Arunachalam Muruganantham redefines the word fascinating.

Separately, Kumar’s charisma and Muruganantham’s saga are remarkable ingredients for any film. Together though, they are Padman’s failing and its strength.

Muruganantham’s life has been widely chronicled by journalists and was the subject of the excellent documentary Menstrual Man by Amit Virmani released in 2012. A poor school dropout from Tamil Nadu, Muruganantham invented a low-cost production system for sanitary napkins when he saw his wife using dirty, unhygienic home-made cloth pads during her periods. His methods, media reports tell us, have now become both a source of inexpensive, clean sanitary pads and income for rural women across most Indian states as he spearheads a movement to install these hand-operated machines in villages where they are run by women entrepreneurs.

The journey to this place has come at great personal cost. At first, shocked that a man would concern himself with menstruation – a subject that remains taboo in many communities in India – he was boycotted by locals and even his family who deemed him a pervert. Today, of course, he is an award-winning innovator of global repute who has earned the respect of his people and his parivaar.

In writer-director R. Balki’s hands, Muruganantham has become Lakshmikant Chauhan, a poor man from Madhya Pradesh who notices his bride using filthy rags in place of pads, is shocked at the high cost of sanitary pads available in the market and thus sets off on the same road taken by our real-life hero.

If you view Padman in a vacuum bereft of context, it is entertaining and, for the most part, sensible. How do you do that though after Muruganantham has acquired such fame, unless you have been sleeping under a rock?

Knowing that this is the biopic of a real person who has been changed from Tamilian to north Indian in the script so that a north Indian megastar could play the part makes Padman an example of so much that is wrong with north Indian cinema and our society as a whole. The north-Indian-isation of a southerner is becoming somewhat of a routine practice in Bollywood – and Kumar its foremost practitioner. The heroics of a Malayali man called Mathunny Matthews and others in the Middle East were turned into the tale of a fictional Punjabi called Ranjit Katiyal (again played by Kumar) for Airlift in 2016. Late last year, the experiences of a group of Malayali nurses who escaped captivity in Iraq after their hospital was taken over by ISIS (recounted so beautifully in the Mollywood film Take Off) was rewritten as an account of a swashbuckling fictional espionage agent called Avinash Singh Rathore (Salman Khan) rescuing them in the Bollywood film Tiger Zinda Hai.

The message from Bollywood is clear: the definitive, normative Indian is a northerner, Hindu, upper caste and male, while the rest of us are exceptions.

The difference between Airlift and Padman is that Matthews was little known outside Kerala, and therefore it was possible to place him on the backburner of the mind while watching the film. The difference between Tiger Zinda Hai and Padman is that Tiger positioned itself as over-the-top commercial fare that is not to be taken seriously, whereas Padman’s narrative style is such that it asks to be taken seriously.

This is, of course, heartbreaking, because barring this troubling truth, Balki tells his story with efficiency and, by and large, with sensitivity. It is wonderful to see a mainstream film pulling menstruation out of the realm of whispers. Besides, Kumar is a delight to watch, never more so than when he absolutely kills a speech delivered by Chauhan at the United Nations. He has an irresistible screen presence, Radhika Apte is flawless playing his wife, and the packaging – pleasant music, Kausar Munir’s breezy lyrics that resonate with meaning – makes the first half in particular completely engrossing.

(Spoilers in this paragraph) By the second half, Padman stumbles. One reason is the insertion of a character called Pari Walia as an MBA student who decides to help Chauhan/Muruganantham in his business. Sonam Kapoor is sweet as the fictional Ms Walia until the silly contrivance of a romance between her and the hero, which is hurriedly forced into the narrative. This terribly unconvincing angle sullies their segment because the writing does not convey a progression of emotions up to the point where she expresses her feelings for him. This is possibly the reason for the zero chemistry between the two stars (it does not help that Kapoor looks young enough to be Kumar’s daughter here). (Spoiler alert ends)

It is here too that Padman’s conflicted gender politics surfaces along with its limited understanding of the taboo around menstruation. Balki and his co-writer Swanand Kirkire seem to assume that two characters of the opposite sex played by two glamorous stars cannot possibly be just friends.

Besides, the early part of the film went into not just the need for affordable sanitary napkins in Chauhan/Muruganantham’s town, but another crucial issue: the social assumption that a menstruating woman is inauspicious and polluted, which is why women in so many communities are forced to stay out of the house, away from family and society, on those days of the month. By the end of Padman, the availability of sanitary napkins miraculously and without explanation leads to the end of the stigma too. This is a simplistic supposition, disappointing considering how well the subject of menstruation is dealt with in the first half.

For a film that is about self-sustenance among women, there is also some needless patriarchal dialoguebaazi about a mard being one who can provide raksha (protection) to the women in his life.

That said, there is so much in Padman that is enjoyable and meaningful. Muruganantham’s bio is so incredible that if you did not know his is a true story you might have refused to believe it. Kumar and Apte deliver engaging performances. And Balki says what he has to say with a light touch and in a non-preachy tone.

While watching Padman I tried my best to get over my exasperation at the Chauhanisation of Muruganantham. It was hard. Balki has said in an interview that his purpose was to take a message to a larger audience that Hindi cinema affords (especially since the Hindi belt is worse off in the matter of menstrual hygiene than the rest of India, that casting Kumar was part of this effort, that in any case he could not envision anyone but Kumar in the role and that it would have been unnatural to set a Hindi film in Tamil Nadu. Hmm, I wonder how we would have felt if Richard Attenborough had decided that it would be unnatural to set an English film in India, had rewritten Mahatma Gandhi as a white Briton leading India to freedom and had cast a famous white actor in the role, all with the claim that he wanted to spread the message of ahimsa far and wide. Same thing, no?

There is a lot I liked about Padman, but a lot that bothered me about it too.

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

CBFC Rating (India):
UA 
Running time:
139 minutes 59 seconds

This review was also published on Firstpost: