Sholay

Opening Scene

From the opening shots in a desolate train station to the opening music, reminiscent of Stagecoach (1939), The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) and Blazing Saddles (1974), you know you are watching something very different. Sholay (1975) is something very different: it is the curry western, and one of the biggest, best, and most enduringly popular films ever made in Bombay. People don’t quote Sholay, they recite it. It’s a cultural touchstone, like A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965), The Sound of Music (1965), and The Godfather (1972) all rolled into one.

Veeru and Jai meet Basanti

 Retired police officer and local landowner Thakur Baldev Singh (Sanjeev Kumar) arranges for small-time crooks Veeru (Dharmendra) and Jai (Amitabh Bachchan) to be released from jail and brought to his village. There he offers them a deal- the capture of local psychotic dacoit (bandit) Gabbar Singh (Amjad Khan) in exchange for lots of money. In the village they meet tonga-driver Basanti (Hema Malini) and Thakur Singh’s widowed daughter-in-law (Jaya Bhaduri, real-life spouse of Amitabh Bachchan). Romance, dance sequences and shoot-outs ensure.

Holi!

The film was shot in the rocky landscape of Ramanagara, in the Indian state of Karnataka. Just as the premise- evil bandits vs roughish men of honor- tracks classic tropes of the Western genre and makes them specific, director Ramesh Sippy chose a setting that is reminiscent of American west but fundamentally South Asian.

Jai + Radha + harmonica

The director makes the most of the sparse scenery with wide shots and interesting camera angles. Some of the Holi scene was shot from the Ferris wheel, a creative touch that gives Holi an unusually festive touch. The fascinating little scene before the dacoits first attack, in which the rhythms of village life are amplified, is visually and acoustically inspired. The filmmakers understood the power of sound; in one key scene the director omits background noise entirely in favor of the sound of a squeaking swing, to great effect. The delicately realized love story between Jai and Radha are accompanied by plaintive tunes played on Jai’s harmonica.

Basanti dancing for Veeru's life

Sholay has some interesting things to say about gender and family. Both the independently-minded Basanti and the demure widowed Radha are shown to be desirable women, in spite of the fact that neither of them are the ideal reserved, obedient, virginal brides. Basanti’s determined dance on glass may be a sign of her devotion to Veeru, but it is also badass. Neither woman has led “ideal” family lives- Basanti’s parents are absent and Radha is a widow living alone with her father-in-law. The fact that their love interests are jailbirds who happen to have hearts of gold does not negate the fact that these are women following their hearts in less-than-traditional directions.

To some extent this is the result of the fundamental structure of the film, which shows the lines between law and order and criminality blur.  When law and order disintegrate, the desirable hero becomes the man who can provide protection- and in this village, that is Jai and Veeru. It is notable that these heroes still report to the local landowner/law-breaking police officer in a village in a modern nation-state. At the time things in India were getting slippery. In Sholay, as law and order crumble the only way to restore it is through violence. This film was also released the same year PM Indira Gandhi declared The Emergency in an attempt to maintain control- by violence.

Yep.

It has also been argued that the most important love story of the film is between Jai and Veeru. Before watching Sholay I read in several academic articles that the motorcycle song-and-dance scene in the film is homoerotic. And I thought, “Those smutty academics, they find homoeroticism absolutely everywhere.” Turns out, those academics were on to something. Now, it is true that in much of the world male friendship is shown in more physically affectionate ways than in the U.S., and that male friendship can be more openly, unapologetically close. Even with this in mind, Sholay is definitely homoerotic.

Ultimately Sholay is not interested in upsetting the established social order. The rich stay rich, the poor stay poor, widows stay widows, and no one stays gay. What makes Sholay so important is that it is really, really good.

Amjad Khan as Gabbar Singh

The performance of Amjad Khan, the actor portraying the psychotic dacoit Gabbar Singh, is strikingly good. In this role, in this context, it would have been easy to play Gabbar Singh off as flamboyantly insane, but the performance is sinister without straying (often) into the realm of camp. Indeed, the acting is solid throughout the film, which divides what could have unintentionally become the Hindi-language Blazing Saddles from what it actually is- a classic which has stood the test of time.

White bell bottoms

A few criticisms: at three and a half hours long, some of the film is bound to be expendable. This viewer could have done without the unusually vulgar item number, the Holi scene, and especially the jail; Hitler jokes are never really funny. The violence is mostly depersonalized and glorified throughout. At least one death scene suggests the director's knowledge of biology was paltry, and the final scene in particular could have used a bit more movie magic. The biggest tragedy might be that AB wears white bell-bottoms jeans. None of these complaints have prevented me from watching this film at least once a year. It is endlessly quotable and endlessly entertaining, so grab a few samosas and all your friends and enjoy!

Film: Sholay (1975) 

Director: Ramesh Sippy 

Writers: Javed Akhtar and Salim Khan (as Salim-Javed)

Country: India 

Runtime: 198 minutes 

Language: Hindi

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Kahaani

Victoria Memorial

The search for a missing person, a mysterious woman, an enamored police officer, coils within coils- Hindi cinema is not known for neo-noir, but Kahaani (2012), set in Kolkata in the days leading up to Durga Puja, suggests it should be.  The use of religious imagery remind the viewer that greater forces are at work than meet the eye. Strings of fairy lights highlight the darkness; fireworks distract more than they illuminate; neon bulbs reveal grime and indifference; monsters ooze wickedness in the shadows, and kajal hides the secrets behind the femme fatal’s eyes. Blues, oranges, and grays form the palette of the film, and their constant presence ties the many locations across Kolkata together.

Tram Depot

Setting this film in Kolkata (formerly Calcutta, sometimes still Calcutta depending on the politics of your conversation partner) was a unique choice: the city is not generally the site of Hindi-language films, although it is easy to find Tollywood films shot in Kolkata. Luckily for viewers, Kahaani shows off Kolkata in all her extravagant, cosmopolitan glory. As a leading cast member, the city is magnificent.

Durga and Kali

Intrinsic to Kolkata is the annual Durga Puja, the celebration of the Hindu goddess Durga’s defeat of the demon Mahishasura, and her return to visit to her maternal home. Created from power donated by the other gods to defeat the demon, Durga is a loving and lethal mother goddess, and the ten-day celebration of Durga’s victory over the forces of evil is a major holiday throughout Eastern India and into Bangladesh. Pandals, temporary structures venerating Durga, are a major visual theme in Kahaani, and several scenes are shot in Kumortuli, a community in northern Kolkata where pottery is made. Durga’s significance is explained in some heavy-handed exposition at the end of the film (narrated by Amitabh Bachchan) but her role is visually suggested within the first minutes. Durga is also associated with Indian nationalism and the idea of Mother India.

Durga submerged at the end of the Puja

Like Kolkata and Durga, Vidya Balan is also magnificent, as per usual- she is a remarkable actress with a penchant for playing strong, intelligent, sexual women in unique projects like this one (please also see Ishqiya). In this film, she plays Vidya Bagchi, a heavily pregnant software engineer who takes none of the patriarchy’s shit. Particularly satisfying is the scene in which she yells at the guest house owner for ignoring her and appealing to the man standing next to her. 

This is something every woman (literally every woman) has either thought or yelled at some point in her life, at colleagues, doctors, mechanics, bankers, salespeople- possibly all of the above. The struggle to be acknowledged as equal- or acknowledged at all- is ongoing.

Vidya’s unapologetic determination to find her husband, while heavily pregnant with his child, makes the romantic undertones even more interesting. The growing attraction of young police officer Satyoki "Rana" Sinha is played with sensitivity by Bengali actor and director Parambrata Chatterje. She stumbles and he catches her; she leans over and he smells her hair. Vidya’s allure is understated but immediate, and Balan injects personality and humanity into the role of a femme fatal. How could Rana fail to fall in love?  

Nawazuddin Siddiqui, who similarly appears frequently in parallel cinema (please see The Lunchbox (2013)) makes another welcome addition to the cast, and Saswata Chatterjee is fantastic as contract killer Bob Biswas. The film, however, belongs to Balan, Durga, and Kolkata.

Kahaani doesn’t include any of the frequent singing and dancing usually associated with Bollywood cinema, any more than C.I.D did in 1956. Noir is not a genre that lends itself to exuberance, so don’t come looking for choreography.

If, on the other hand, you are looking for a feminist take on the genre, or indeed a feminist take on anything, this is an empowering option. But to my mind it is worth watching for the interactions between the light and darkness in Kolkata: the city sets and then steals the scene in every shot.

I have yet to find a great history of the city, but for a slice of its history I recommend Producing Workers: The Politics of Gender, Class,and Culture in the Calcutta Jute Mills, by Leela Fernandes. Esoteric yes, but I promise you will learn something new. I also recommend Sanjay Patel’s The Little Book of Hindu Deities for an accessible intro to Hinduism. It was written for children but with a sense of humor and great illustrations, and is light enough for travel.

A few notes:

‘Arjun’s charioteer’ is a reference to the conversations between Arjuna, hero of the epic Mahabharata and his charioteer (a disguised Lord Krishna) which form the Bhagavad Gita. The gist is that Lord Krishna, disguised as the charioteer, encourages Arjun to do his duty.

Throughout the film Vidya (whose name means wisdom or knowledge) struggles to correct the pronuncion of her name from “Bidya” to “Vidya”. This is a running joke about Bengali pronunciation, which makes little to no distinction between the sounds and uses the same letter for both.

Finally, code switching between English, Hindi and Bengali occurs throughout the film and denotes class and origin. Rana speaks with his mother in Bengali but Hindi or English with Vidya and Khan. Vidya asks Rana to translate written Bengali for her; the hotel owner, less familiar with English, calls Vidya “Majesty”. Subtitles don’t pick it up, but as a rule, if Rana is speaking with someone from Kolkata he is speaking Bengali. Otherwise, he is speaking Hindi. 

Film: Kahaani (2012)
Director: Sujoy Ghosh
Writers: Sujoy Ghosh and Advaita Kala
Country: India
Runtime: 122 minutes
Languages: Hindi, Bengali, English

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Amar Akbar Anthony

It's Amar Akbar Anthony

Now the story of a family who lost everything, and the one nation state that had no choice but to keep them all together. Its Amar Akbar Anthony (1977). Before I launch into post-graduate-education-mandated analysis, an overview of the film for the uninitiated. Fredric Jameson (1979) argued that all post-colonial film is national allegory. He was perhaps thinking of AAA (1977), which is the most entertaining national allegory to ever sing and dance cynically/jubilantly across the silver screen.

The boys left at Ghandi's feet

The film opens with would-be patriarch Krishinlal’s (Pran) release from prison. His crime: he confessed to a hit-and-run accident perpetrated by the villainous Robert (Jeevan), his employer, after receiving assurances that his family would be cared for during his incarceration. Upon his release, however, Krishanlal finds his wife tubercular and his children starving. Krishinlal confronts Robert, shooting him and stealing a suitcase full of money. Rushing home, Krishanlal finds his wife Bharati (Nirupa Roy) gone, having left a suicide note. Gathering up his sons, he drives off, chased by Robert's thugs. He drops his sons under a statue of Gandhi, and crashes his car. Snagging the cash, Krishanlal returns to the statue, only to find his sons gone, adopted by a Hindu police officer, a Muslim tailor, and a Catholic priest. Bharati is crushed under a tree branch, goes blind, and is rescued from the side of the road by the above-mentioned Muslim tailor, who returns her to her home, where she finds her family gone.

Donating blood in the hospital

Fast-forward 20 years. The boys are grown and all end up together in a hospital in time to give their mother, named Bharati (literally ‘of India’), a life-saving blood transfusion. Please observe the heavy-handed visual- the Christian brother in front of a church, the Muslim brother in front of a mosque, and the Hindu brother in front of a temple. Subtle it ain't.

This is all during the 23-minute long prologue. Before the opening credits start to roll. AAA is a long film. The copy I own (this film is so awesome I bought it) runs to three disks. Sholay, another 1970s classic, is equally long. Hindi films require commitment, but I promise- this one is well worth it.

Amitabh Bachan is the top-billed star of the trio of brothers, and receives the most screen time. He is also the most gifted physical comic of the trio. His drunken dialogue with his reflection, which peaks with his application of iodine and bandages to the mirror, is world-class. “My Name is Anthony Gonzales”, featuring cosmopolitan beats and a misquote from a speech delivered by British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli, is another highlight of the film. The fact that Christians rarely emerge singing from Easter eggs at Easter parties is entirely beside the point, because really, wouldn't Easter be even better with more singing and dancing men in tails emerging from Easter eggs? And Amitabh Bachan is undeniably charming, especially circa 1977. OutlookIndia asked "Amar, Akbar or Anthony?" This is a stupid question- Anthony, every single time.

Of course the Christian character spouts pompous English-language nonsense and attends religious events. Not one to discriminate against stereotypes, director Manmohan Desai calls upon nearly every possible filmy trope in this film. Taking the notion of Hindu-Muslim bhai bhai to new heights of literalness, the three brothers fight, frolic, woo religiously appropriate matches (same same!), and defeat imperialist influences, all while confirming the power of the Hindu Nation-State, as embodied by eldest brother Amar. To elaborate: the villain is English-speaking, whiskey-drinking Robert, replaced by the Hindi-speaking (and obviously less villainous) whiskey-drinking Krishanlal; only Britishers and bad Indians ever drink alcohol. Akbar, the Muslim brother, sings qawwali (sufi religious music) and his father is a tailor. Anthony, the Christian bother, is a bar owner and flim-flam man with a heart of gold and a Jesuit priest as a spiritual and stand-in father; aren't all Christians simultaneously devout and up to no good? Amar, the Hindu brother, is solid, upright, forgiving, and fundamentally virtuous police officer (Nation-State!). Unsurprisingly, he is also the least entertaining brother. Most importantly to the story-line, when push comes to shove and there are women in wedding gowns to be rescued, the three men and three faiths come together to save the girls, sing another song, and celebrate their unity as brothers and Indians. Unity! India! Hooray! Spoiler alert: this film has a happy ending, and just in case there was any question, the Nation-State was right all along.

Or maybe not. More than just national allegory, AAA is also a self-aware satire of post-colonial, post-Nehruvian Indian nationalism. The forth wall is broken throughout the film by Anthony, who winks with self-awareness at the camera, acknowledging the impossibility of the tale and the fantastical elements of the story and action. The stereotypes are a little too pat, the ending a little too jolly. As Tobias exclaimed, "This is ripe for parody!", and the campy exuberance often feels like the parody of Nehruvian propaganda, in which religious tensions, injustices, and economic stagnation are subsumed by the love of a just, modern, brotherly India.

Given the political climate in which the film was released, the underlying cynicism is unsurprising. The film's release coincided with the ending of Indira Gandhi's Emergency Rule, which lasted from June 25, 1975 until March 21, 1977. The Emergency saw opponents of Indira Gandhi imprisoned, the press censored, civil liberties suspended, elections canceled, slums cleared, and the poor forcibly sterilized. The Emergency remains controversial, and was the greatest challenge to Indian democracy to date.

Thus, the image of Lucille Bluth is appropriate- Lucille, like the Indian Nation-State, claims to want to “hold this family together”, while in truth, neither has any interest in anything of the sort except to the extent that the repetition of the idea can be harnessed as a means to self-serving ends. This underlying theme is not immediately obvious- on the surface, AAA is an unabashed celebration of a pluralist nation and benevolent nation state. However, the fact that the film was both extremely popular and censored until 1977, after the Emergency ended, lends still more relevance to Lucille's snap, “If that’s a veiled criticism about me, I wont hear it, and I wont respond to it.”

Is this film perfect? No. When people joke about ridiculous fight scenes in Hindi films, AAA's kind of fight scene is what they were talking about. It is very, very, very long. I love this film. It is very long. However, if there is any doubt in your mind about the use of 3.5 hours of your time on this film, remember - Amitabh Bachan emerges from an Easter egg- an actual Easter egg- in a top hat and tails.  

Bollyweird.blogspot.com, by Byron Aihara, offers insights into the "lost and found" themes in the film and additional context.

Film: Amar Akbar Anthony (1977) 

Director: Manmohan Desai

Writer: Smt. Jeevanprabha M.Desai, Kader Khan
Runtime: 184 minutes
Languages: Hindi, Urdu, English
Country: India

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The Lunchbox

Fruit on banana leaves in Kolkata

Mainstream cinema is about people running toward socially prescribed endings. Parallel cinema is about people running toward beginnings of their own choosing. Compare the endings of DDLJ (1995) and Dor (2006): both feature women running down station platforms to catch trains, but the futures they run toward could not be more different.  The Lunchbox (2013), directed by Ritesh Batra and set in Mumbai, is a gem of the parallel cinema scene, and accessible to newcomers to Indian cinema. 

Snacks in Lucknow

Ila (Nimrat Kaur), an unloved wife in Mumbai, sends her husband his lunch in a tiffin every day. She sends her culinary devotion via Mumbai’s extraordinary tiffin transport system of Dabbawallas, which boasts an accuracy rate most delivery services can only dream of. However, on this particular day the tiffin reaches the desk of Saajan Fernandes (Irrfan Khan) an ornery widower on the verge of retirement. They strike up an unlikely conversation through notes enclosed in the tiffin, and the story develops from there. Food becomes the sometimes heavy-handed metaphor- Ila feeds Saajan, Saajan feeds Shaikh (Nawazuddin Siddiqui), Auntie feeds her husband, Shaikh feeds his bride Mehrunnisa (Shruti Bapna). When Ila sends Saajan an empty tiffin, she is making an angry point of her own emotional hunger. 

There is a lot of hunger in this film, which is as much about loneliness as love. Khan's widower Saajan is isolation personified, but the marriages of all three female characters are also ending, due to ill health, death, or infidelity: Ila, Auntie-ji, who lives one floor up and who is never seen, only heard, and Ila's mother. All three are facing life without the companionship and support marriage is meant to guarantee; loneliness can creep up on all of us without warning. The counterweight to this melancholy is provided by the marriage of Shaikh to Meherinusa and the budding affection between Ila and Saajan. Love offers no permanent solutions, but without the hope it offers, what do we have? The suicide early in this film suggests we have nothing.

Guavas, cauliflowers & cabbages in Nishat Ganj, Lucknow

Given this, Saajan's choice to chase Ila is unsurprising. That said, the ambiguity of the ending struck my mother and sister, who watched the film before I did. However parallel this film, it was unsurprising to me- it would be highly unusual for an Indian film to end with a married woman leaving her husband and taking up with an older man of a different faith in a different country. The ambiguity allows different viewers to imagine individually acceptable endings, while also avoiding anything cloyingly sweet or vulgar. 

The only thing I love more than parallel cinema is food, and contemplating this post, I am struck by how many of my memories of India revolve around meals shared, discussed, organized, cooked, and enjoyed. I remember the spicy soups I ate with my friend Jyoti in her cozy dining room and the sangria I drank with Jamiesista, the masaala chai I drank in the mornings after my long walks through the Himalayan foothills, the grilled cheese and tomato soup I made for my friend Vaidehi’s birthday and the chocolate cake my friend Aisha prepared for mine. I remember foods I ate off steel plates on mud floors, in restaurants with white table cloths, around kitchen tables, and on worn stone steps. I remember the people I ate with, the conversations we shared, the person I thought I was. Food is spiritual, eating or abstaining religious ritual. Small wonder it flavors our memories.  

Vegetables for sale in Lucknow

Food in South Asia varies from region to region, as it does everywhere else, but food ways also vary by gender, caste, religion, economics, and circumstances. Women in some parts of India may fast for their husband’s continued health on Tuesday; some sadhus fast for weeks. Muslims fast for Ramadan, unless ill, travelling, menstruating, pregnant, nursing. Some Brahmins eat fish or mutton, others do not. Some vegetarians don’t eat onions, eggs, garlic. Caste-based purity hierarchies meant (can still mean) that members of some castes can give to or receive water from some castes, but not others. City dwellers may not maintain the same food ways as relatives in a village. I was welcome in the kitchen in my Sunni host family in Lucknow and upper-middle class host family in Kolkata, but was shooed out with horrified gasps from the kitchen of my Brahmin host family in Naukuchiyatal.  

The most accessible guide to the complexity of South Asian food and food ways I have read is Curry: A Tale of Cooks and Conquerors by Lizzie Collingham. Collingham charts the changing development of food in South Asia, from its Ayurvedic roots through the arrival of Arab, Central Asian, East Asian, and European traders and colonizers, highlighting the role each group has played in the development of foods now considered “quintessentially Indian”.  The chapters about what the British ate in India dragged on- there are only so many ways to say that British food is not very good, and it is not exactly a new thesis. However, the chapter devoted to chai is fascinating; I knew the British encouraged tea production and consumption in India, but never before knew how or why. Collingham also explains Ayurvedic medicine in a way I finally understood, and made 16^th and 17^th century geopolitics compelling reading. I suspect the pictures and recipes helped. The best and most readable discussion of the impacts of urbanization on food ways in India is "Dining Out in Bombay", by Frank F. Conlon.

My mother and sister requested cultural explanations. Although not an exhaustive list, here are some high points:

The necklace Ila removes and leaves by her nightstand while reflecting on the suicide of another woman is called a mangala sutra (spelled as one or two words). These necklaces are tied around a bride's neck as one of the wedding ceremonies. Ila also removes her bangles, which also mark her as a married woman.

Saajan Fernandes is a Christian- his Portuguese name, and the fact that his wife has been buried in a cemetery make this clear.

Ila's apartment includes a washing machine, which marks them as middle-class. They do not, however, have a cook, which suggests they are not upper-middle class.

I look forward to the day when the life of a Mumbai tiffin man is also the subject of a film.  You can bet that film will fall under the umbrella of ‘parallel cinema’.

Film: The Lunchbox (2013)
Director: Ritesh Batra
Writers: Ritesh Batra, Vasan Bala
Runtime: 105 minutes
Country: India
Language: Hindi

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Dhobi Ghat (Mumbai Diaries)

Some films are so evocative of place that it is possible to smell the rain as it hits the pavement, taste the air blowing off the ocean, and sense the buzz of humanity on the streets even when music supplants background noise. Dhobi Ghat (2010), helmed by first-time director Kiran Rao is one such film. Mumbai (Bombay) is shown to be moody, subtle, overwhelming, treacherous, squalid, and gorgeous, and the film is at its best when the focus of the film is not the characters, but the city itself, which functions as the humming background note in a vibrant ensemble of characters: Munna (Prateik Babbar), Shi (Monica Dogra), Yasmin (Kriti Malhotra), Arun (Aamir Khan), and Mumbai.

"My muse, my whore, my beloved" says Aarun of the city. 

Shi is an Indian-American banker on sabbatical from NYC pursuing her passion for photography. Arun is a brooding painter, Yasmin a lonely bride, and Muna, the unlikely heart of the film, is a dhobi (laundry man) who dreams of becoming a film star like Salman Khan. The lives of these four Mumbaikers bump up against one another over the course of the film, with surprisingly lasting impact.

Munna and Shi

Of the cast, only Khan is a star. Babbar's subtle performance as Munna, and Malhotra's tremendous screen presence as the fragile Yasmin suggest Rao has an eye for talent, a talent for directing new actors, or both. A lesser actor than the capable Khan might have played Arun as a melodramatic, "angry young man"; instead, Arun is broody, damaged, and entirely self-contained. Dogra's Shi is not especially likable, but I am never sure if I dont like her because she seems not-quite-real or so real that I actually dislike her as a person. Either way, her stalking of Arun is believable- Khan's Arun is exactly the kind of man a woman artistically inclined and inclined towards artists might stalk a little bit. Shi claims she is following and photographing him for the sake of "unfinished business," and neglects to specify what that business might be. However, the way Shi's camera lense pans Arun's body invites the audience to make inferences, and I am struck by the fact that Kiran Rao was an assistant producer on Lagaan long before she married Aamir.  

Arun's painting

There are many cameras in Dhobi Ghat. Shri's black-and-white photographs tell one story of the city, Yasmin's video letters to her brother another, and Arun's paintings yet another. These various eyes bring the viewer closer to daily life (lives) in the city, particularly with very narrow-angle shots and close-ups on bangles, hands, cloth, canvas. Rao's directoral lens shows us the connections between the stories, but the other lenses remind the viewer that Mumbai is a city of millions of lives, textures, hands, faces, tragedies; the city ultimately remains a mystery, even to the director.

In this film, Mumbai (most of the characters prefer Bombay, a choice nostalgic, political, or both) is shown to be both like and unlike any and every other city in the world. The rich and the poor live separate lives packed together like a shoal of fish in a too-small tank. In the crowd, the denizens are alone. Lives brush up against one another without every touching; connections are misunderstood, ignored, rejected, chased, dreamed up, and some are ultimately impossible. Maybe even most, although the film ends on a note of quiet hope. Maybe- and this is a big maybe- some dreams can come true in the city of big lights and big promises.   

Most reviewers wrote that Dhobi Ghat has the sensibility of a European art house film. I disagree. Although fluent in the visual language of the international film festival circuit and fundamentally cosmopolitan, Dhobi Ghat is an Indian art house film. There are enough beautiful Indian art house films making enough of a splash that the industry speaks for itself, without the aid of neo-colonial comparisons. If you are interested in reading additional reviews, however, the Hollywood Reporter's review is beautiful.

The DVD I received from Netflix also included some wonderful special features, the very best being that which recounts the collaboration between Rao, Khan, and composer and musician Gustavo Santaolalla of Brokeback Mountain (2005) and The Motorcycle Diaries (2004) fame. It is a mini-exploration of the creative process and the role of atmosphere in art. Santaolalla and Rao have managed to add local depth and global breadth to the city through the music of this film, and gaining some sense of how and why was fascinating.

In a final note, for readers interested in more Bollywood gossip than is available in the special features, I recommend Mumbai Fables: A History of an Enchanted City, by Gyan Prakash. I read it first in a course about urban South Asia, but it is not an academic book- it reads like a really long issue of People magazine crossed with a true crime novel, and joyfully rakes around in the muck. Its fantastic.

Film: Dhobi Ghat (2010)
Director: Kiran Rao
Writers: Kiran Rao, Anil Mehta
Runtime: 95 Minutes
Country: India
Language: Hindi, English

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Mangal Pandey: The Rising

Rajasthan

While at a bus stop in the middle of nowhere Rajasthan, a very old woman saw my friend and I and asked if the British had returned. Although the people at the bus stop laughed at her, I was struck by the incongruity of her question, or rather, by the distance between us. It was sometimes easy to forget that the Raj ended more recently than WWII- but maybe only for me.  

Plenty of Hindi-language films have been made about the end of the Raj, from Rang de Basanti (2006), to Bandini (1963), to 1942: A Love Story (1994). Comparatively few have been made  about 1857 (the obvious stand-out being Satyajit Ray's 1977 Shatranj Ke Khilari ); this is the only film I have ever seen which depicts the First Anglo War in Afghanistan, despite the terrible cost in human life and the importance of the conflict to regional and world history. This film is based on the real-life figures of Mangal Pandey and Col. Gordon Ramsey, who both served in Afghanistan and were actors on the South Asian stage in the conflict 1857, although liberties have obviously and openly been taken. 

For readers not familiar with the events of 1857 (alternately called the Sepoy Rebellion and the First War of Independence) the basic facts are as follows- in 1857 the East India Company (EIC) introduced new cartridges which were greased with the fat of hogs and cattle, haram and sacrilegious for Muslim and Hindu sepoys respectively. This, combined with many other concerns, not the least among them being the EIC annexation of Oudh in 1856, resulted in a series of uprisings against the EIC in central and northern India, the first beginning in the cantonment in Meeruit on May 10 of 1857. The EIC reasserted control in India with the fall of Gwalior on June 20, 1858. Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal ruler of Delhi, was deposed and sent into exile in Rangoon, Burma, and the Crown assumed control of the subcontinent, establishing the British Raj. Queen Victoria was crowned Empress of India in 1877.

Set against this backdrop, Mangal Pandey: The Rising (2005) revolves around the relationship between sepoy Mangal Pandey (Aamir Khan) and Col. Gordon Ramsey (Toby Stepehens*), survivors of the First Anglo War in Afghanistan and BFFs. Together they wrestle with the injustice inherent in the systems in which they are invested- social, economic, political, gendered- and make life-changing decisions about what to do about these injustices.** In Bollywood there are good Britishers and bad Britishers; Toby Stephens plays a good Britisher. Both men also fall in love (Pandy with slave and sex worker Heera and Ramsey with rescued widow Jwala), dance a bit, and do a surprising amount of growing as leaders and human beings.

The music, inevitably by A.R. Rahman, provides opportunities for the relationships between Pandey and Heera (Rani Muckerji) and Ramsey and Jwala (Ameesha Patel) to develop, and for the mood and moment in history to be established. The song "Rasia" juxtaposes the private relationship between Jwala and Ramsey and the public lives of Pandey and Heera. I dont know why Jwala cries (maybe she wanted the lights on), but by the end of the sequence the Bollywood taboo of including anything particularly explicit –and outside of marriage, no less- has been flaunted, albeit with the bodies of a virginal widow and a Catholic Scottish colonialist. The song's entire sequence is notable for the extreme sexualizing of India's nomadic peoples- the two women dancing together is particularly lacking in subtly. I have long believed orientalism in Bollywood film (here, for example) would make an excellent dissertation topic, and this sequence would be a good place to start.

The song "Main Vari Vari", in addition to being catchy, is consequently a problematic reflection on the public gaze. The viewer is watching Heera, but the viewer is also watching the EIC watch Heera. The viewer is meant to condemn the leering men visually consuming the body of a slave, who is singing about the deadly power of her beloved's gestures; but while the viewer is condemning the EIC, we are equally guilty of viewership. However, this self-reflexive judgement is completely absent in the objectification of the Indian tribal women dancing during the erotic "Rasia". Is objectification acceptable, or isnt it? The film seems to answer "it depends on the women."   

There are other problems with the film. The music is not up to A.R. Rahman's usual standards. There is a Holi scene, complete with song and dance. Why is there a Holi scene, complete with song and dance? Why not, I guess, although it seems cruel to make Toby Stephens dance. There are some explicit moments between Pandey and Heera, which seem more-or-less gratuitous. Reviewer Raja Sen went so far as to call the film "inane". A New York Times reviewer complained that, "the racial hatred seems rabid and cartoonish, the political discussions of the opium trade become preachy, and the romance feels more like a cause for dance-offs than an exploration of intimacy." These reviewers miss the point. The second in Amir Khan's trilogy of patriotic epics (the others being Lagaan (2001) and Rang de Basanti (2006)), Mangal Pandey is making a lot of points that are not inane, cartoonish, preachy, or cause for dance offs. (Really? Dance offs?) 

Yes- British cruelty, personified by one of Ramsey's fellow EIC officers, is on full rabid display. I am curious as to what he thinks colonial rule looks like. More to the point, Pandey's caste-hatred for his untouchable neighbor is on equally rabid display. The EIC is shown to be inherently unjust-therefore, it must be dismantled, by violence if necessary. But if the resulting world is to be more just than the one ruled by the EIC, so too must caste hierarchies be torn down. Pandey cannot be the leader the sepoys (and occupied India) needs until he learns to overcome his own prejudices.

An even bolder rejection of prejudice is made in Pandey's choice of love interest. Heera is a slave and tawaiff, and therefore a completely unsuitable wife for explicitly upper-caste Pandey. In a region where marriage, women's sexuality, and caste boundaries are rigidly intertwined, a national hero marries an explicitly lowest-caste sex worker- and a mouthy one at that. Given the high premium placed on the purity of national heroes everywhere, this choice is nothing short of shocking. Remember- we are all still waiting for the Hollywood blockbuster about Thomas Jefferson's affair with Sally Hemings, his slave and dead wife's half-sister. This aspect of the film was so controversial the BJP called for the film to be banned, claiming the film was guilty of character assassination. The government of UP considered banning the film unless changes were made; there were also sit-ins, protests, and damages to a shop selling CDs and DVDs of the film.

Ramsey's choice of widow Jwala is less controversial. He was a white colonial and she was a virginal widow saved from sati; neither are invested in the caste system's purity strictures or concerned with the sanctity of Hindu marriage. More interesting is the film's approach to the issue of sati (also transliterated as suttee) itself. When Ramsey and Pandey see a funeral complete with sati in the works, it is Ramsey who insists on intervening; Pandey is shown reluctant to get involved in ending the outlawed tradition, just as Ramsey was reluctant to get involved in the slave trading he witnessed. Both men have some learning to do along their path to becoming national heroes. However, on the issue of sati Ramsey- and by extension the EIC- is shown to be in right. More than a battle of Indians vs. Britishers, this film explores the battle of justice against injustice, in all forms and from all sides. The romance in this film is not about intimacy or dancing. It is about social politics.

As to the preachy criticism... well, yes. It gets a bit preachy. The messages could have been more subtle; but given that the Times reviewer missed most of them, perhaps it is best they were not. Do not be dissuaded- Mangal Pandey: The Rising is ultimately an extremely entertaining celebration of national myth, with solid performances by beautiful people in beautiful settings to beautiful music. The solidly progressive, if somewhat heavy-handed, messages should be viewed as an added incentive.      

As a final note, although it is certainly a nice touch to have Heera join the fight with her very own violence (hooray agency!), I am still waiting for a film about India’s real-life female freedom fighters. There are some films about modern-day women terrorists, including Dil Se… (1998) and Dhoka (2007- ghastly) but a film about women who participated in early anti-British movements could be fascinating and inspiring. Manikarnika: The Queen of Jhansi (2019) was recently made about the life of Lakshmibai, Rani of Jansi but was plagued by very real complaints of right-wing political bullshit, but Noor Inayat Khan (1914-1944), an unsung heroine who spied against the Nazis in occupied Paris during WWII would be another excellent choice. In spite of some hopeful signs in the direction of female-centric films, most cinema- in every industry- concerns itself mostly with men.  

For a fascinating discussion of the First Anglo War in Afghanistan I recommend Return of a King: The Battle for Afghanistan, 1839-42 by William Dalrymple. It lays out the conflict within the context of Afghan, British, and Great Game politics, as well as explaining the consequences of the conflict on the events of 1857. There are probably other resources, but  I cant imagine any are more readable. Dalrymple’s The Last Mughal: The Fall of a Dynasty: Delhi, 1857 is also an interesting read , although I must add a caveat- most South Asianists take umbrage with Dalrymple’s academic work. Everyone loves City of Djinns: A Year in Delhi.

Film: Mangal Pandey: The Rising (2005)

Director: Ketan Mehta
Writer: Farrukh Dhondy
Runtime: 151 Minutes
Language: Hindi
Country: India

*Evidently Stephens had to learn his lines phonetically; his accent is unusually good for a white guy in a Bollywood film. 

**They also wrestle with one another in a manner that can only be called homoerotic.

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