Release
date:
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September 21, 2018
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Director:
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Nandita Das
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Cast:
Language:
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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
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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):
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UA
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Running time:
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116 minutes 35 seconds
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This review has also been published on Firstpost:
