Gaman (1978)

Muzzafar Ali’s first film, Gaman, is an effort that, at one level, delineates the chasm between the India of the villages, and the India ruled by urbanity. At another level, it portrays the multitude of different worlds that inhabit the urban fold. The film keeps oscillating between two starkly shot geographic settings throughout its duration; Kotwara, a small village in Uttar Pradesh, and Mumbai, the quintessential metropolis, simmering with a lure that is almost Pied-Piper-esque. The lead character, essayed by a tremendously understated Farookh Sheikh, migrates to the big city from this native village of his, in search for a living, leaving behind a newly-wedded wife and an ailing mother. This migration (or Gaman), is his last resort, much like how it is for thousands of his ilk. How his life first interacts, and later merges, with the all-encompassing landscape of Mumbai, and how he constantly tries to make peace with the guilt of having left his family behind, while all the time trying to seek redemption in this choice made by him, is what the film is all about, at least on the surface. But the director has ensured that deeper connotations are implied by giving a very unique treatment to the screenplay, where instead of focusing on the affairs of just the main leads, he has created a mesh of similarly themed stories of human survival, which suffuse into each other, and construct an ensemble. And yet the handling is minimalistic, and in most of the frames the emotions are more explicit through the visuals, than through the words spoken by the characters.

The movie is also an excellent example of crowd-sourcing and how ‘real’ people, places, and locations have been used in the narrative (The director duly metions the natives of Kotwara in the credit roll). In fact, it is hard to find a frame which looks inauthentic or which might have been shot on a set or in a studio. Mumbai too has been shot painstakingly, with much love, and for anyone familiar with the city’s terrains, the cinematography of the movie is reason enough to give the movie a watch. The language, grammar, and dialect of the words and the music of the film is rooted in realism and is full of references from history, and especially that from the history of Islam, for the lead characters are Muslim, and their native village, as in the film, has a sizeable Muslim population. The practices observed during Muharram at the village of Kotwara have been shot guerilla style and are depicted unequivocally. In a poignant moment from the film, the lead character gets caught in a frenetic Maharashtrian celebration, and is promptly reminded of the Muharram communal mourning back at his village. This is perhaps another way to bring to fore the intermingling of cultures, which the director portrays, not just by setting his film in the melting pot of all humanity that is Mumbai, but also by relegating the religious identities of his characters to the background by treating them in a very matter of fact manner, which in itself is very refreshing. The songs too are reflective of this timeless convergence that is perhaps the most defining feature of Indian socio-cultural fabric; the music (by Jaidev) is based on our ‘Hindustani’ tradition and has a classical base with the lyrics in both Hindi and Urdu. Half of the songs are set against Smita Patil’s incredibly expressive eyes in the backdrop. She hardly has any dialogue to speak in the film, and yet she says a lot in each and every frame she is present in. 

Signing off with the song ‘Seene Mein Jalan’, which is the perhaps the best remembered song from the movie… 

P.S.- Nana Patekar has a character role in the movie, while Satish Shah also appears in a scene.

Dard Ka Rishta (1982)

An artist’s best work is often the one that has risen out the melting pot of his own life experiences.  The best artists in the world are known to create art for themselves, not caring much about the expectations the world burdens their shoulders with.  In fact, there have been innumerable cases where an artist was not even acknowledged during his or her lifetime; the famous painter Van Gogh’s name comes to mind as a prime example of such an occurrence. If we have to looks for an example closer home, the name of Guru Dutt can be mooted in this regard. Although he wasn’t completely unappreciated while he lived and made movies, his true worth was recognized only after an untimely death. Though, it must also be said while citing his example that cinema, as compared to painting or music, is a highly corrupted art form, owing to the fact that films are almost always made for an audience and are hardly ever devoid of commercial considerations.

Another observation that I will make before turning to discuss the movie I wish to discuss in this post, is that it is often painful experiences and grief that act as the most effective catalysts to the most creative of expressions. This particular sentiment has been widely popularized by the movie ‘Rockstar’, but I had to say it to set the context.

Sunil Dutt, was a prolific actor, and more than just an occasional director/producer. In fact it won’t be wrong to say that some of his directorial/production ventures were far more ambitious than most of the movies he starred in as an actor. From ‘Yeh Raaste Hain Pyaar Ke’ which dealt with a taboo real life adultery case, to ‘Yaadein’ that was an unique experiment with just a soliloquy piecing together a narrative, to big canvas dacoit films like ‘Mujhe Jeene Do’ and ‘Reshma aur Shera’, the man was never afraid to challenge the stereotype. In 1981, the year in which his son Sanjay was launched by him in ‘Rocky’, he suffered a huge personal setback when his beloved wife Nargis succumbed to cancer. Out of this great grief must have emerged the story and concept of ‘Dard Ka Rishta’ a movie that he made just after, as a tribute to his wife, and apparently to further the cause of cancer awareness and research. And in my view, this particular movie, made as a labor of love and pain, is the best movie out of all that were produced by him. 

The structure of the story is simple but touches upon many issues that remain relevant even today. One, it highlights the conflict in the mind of an expat originally from a poor/developing country like ours, of whether to lead a somewhat selfish existence where there are many personal gains to be had, or whether to go back to one’s own country and contribute using the skills gain abroad. Two, it talks about the conflict in the mind of a doctor, of how to best use one’s education, that is, to use it as a privilege or as an aid to the society’s betterment, also whether to make best use of what’s current, or whether to throw oneself into research and look for better methods to improve on the current.  Three, it looks at the relationship between an estranged couple, and how it plays out when they meet after many years. Four, it looks at the plights (and the delights) of a single parent, on how kids such raised, mature quicker and come to terms with life’s realities and responsibilities a lot sooner than kids indulged by both the mother and father together. Five, through a somewhat clichéd and yet entertaining side-track it looks at the eternal Hindu-Muslim communal issue, which again is an apparent offshoot of Sunil Dutt’s own life, owing to his marrying a Muslim lady. Lastly, and above all, it highlights how difficult it is to face loss, to watch a loved one die, and not being able to do anything about it.

The story, refreshingly for a Hindi movie of that time, has a broad geographic canvas a narrative that has a wide time span. Thus, the characters and lives evolve and grow as the story progresses. Most impressive is the restraint on melodrama, which is left implied and unsaid on most occasions, truly unique for a 1980s Hindi movie. A lot of this can be attributed to the calmness and grace that is brought to the screen by all the female actors- Smita Patil, Reena Roy, and a young Khushboo (the famous actress in South Indian films) who plays Sunil Dutt’s daughter. Sunil Dutt, essaying the lead male part, expectedly acts with great sincerity and sensitivity. The music by RD Burman is pleasant to the ears and complements the mood of the film.

Also unlike most Hindi movies, it is difficult to decide what the best parts/scenes of the movie are. The father-daughter relationship is heartwarming and in essence is the core to the plot, but the subsidiary emotional linkages, for instance the relationship the girl shares with the servants/helpers of their household comes out very well through some nicely written scenes. The NRI portions of the story, which would have done Jhumpa Lahri proud, have a stamp of finesse and class. The medical procedures and functioning of a foreign health-care setup, as shown in the movie, give the impression of being well researched. The only dated bit of the movie is the part where Sunil Dutt has to marry Reena Roy because of certain unfortunate circumstances, but even that can be excused as a well-received big-star movie used the same plot device as much as twenty-five years later (How Shahrukh Khan ends up marrying Anushka Sharma in his blockbuster hit Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi).

 

Overall, the movie is well worth its slightly long duration, and is quite a classic if you consider the period it was made in, and the personal element of the maker involved. It is unfortunate that this movie is seldom talked about in the media circles (it even fails to receive a mention in the main body text of Sunil Dutt’s Wikipedia page).

Thikana (1987)

There was a time when Mahesh Bhatt used to make films. Good, bad, ugly- whatever- but they were never business projects, just stories that he used to put to life on celluloid. And more often than not they were stories that emanated from the heart that aimed to strike a cord with the hearts of the patrons. Strike a cord with hearts. Nothing above. Nothing below!

Thikana is one such story that is quintessential Mahesh Bhatt of the 1980s. Emotionally verbose, melodramatically intricate, perfectly imperfect, and remarkably sinuous. And yet at the core the film’s simplicity is akin to a child bawling in pain in front of his mother. Save the last thirty minutes when it deep-dives into the pits of mediocrity, the film could have been a well remembered one.

The genre of the movie can be defined as pulp fiction at best- the kind which is available in abundance in the bookstalls of the railway stations across the country. The sub-genres can be described as concentric circles- with mystery forming the outermost circle, and drama forming the central core. The story is woven around the travails of an idealist lawyer, Ravi, who is also unabashed drunkard. Anil Kapoor plays this wasted young man who is pitied, detested, and admired in equal measure. This is established by scene early on in the movie when an inebriated Ravi returns home one night to the caustic remarks of his widowed mother and the comforting presence of his elder sister Shashi (essayed by Smita Patil). What follows next is a full blown melodrama where a semblance of sobriety is incorporated through some wonderful dialogue. The very next morning, however, normalcy is restored, acting as a subtle metaphor to the new day and the fresh start it indicates.

Some other powerful scenes follow, one in which when Ravi’s self-respect is questioned he decides to do away with the ideals he had inherited from his father. In the court of law, he is asked to prove that a young girl is of legally marriageable age, when she clearly looks like being years away from that. How Ravi’s hands waver while signing the testimony and how he admits to have been led astray by his own insecurities, is a study in how a single powerful scene can etch out a characterization that in most movies a series of scenes cannot. Some remarkable scenes between Shashi’s fiancé Ranbir Singh (a police officer- enacted by a superb Suresh Oberoi) and Ravi follow. In fact it is the relationship between these two men and their confrontations constitute the most emphatic part of the movie. A cameo by Anupam Kher is worth mentioning, but just like the movie- it is overstretched and redundant beyond a point.

The most striking part of this movie however is that each and every character has grey shades. And thus the dialogue is so forthright that it gets uncomfortable for an average Hindi movie watcher after a while. But what’s not unusual here is the generous use of songs, and none of them worth a mention. And neither the unnecessary and completely headache inducing last part of the movie, which kind of overshadows the merits of the first three-fourth of the movie to a certain extent. It looks like a lot of it shot keeping the commercial prospects of the film in mind. But in retrospect it might have just backfired.

Performances from Anil Kapoor and Suresh Oberoi are the highlights. Smita Patil is her usual poor weepy self and Amrita Singh (who plays Ravi’s love interest) is in her usual flashy yet lost avatar.

Parting Note: The film is engrossing for most parts and has some remarkably well-written moments of drama. However the last half an hour prevents this movie from being a fondly recalled one.

Trivia: This film was released after Smita Patil's demise and thus its release was dedicated to her.

Nishant (1975)

“Zulm karna paap hai, par zulm sehna us se bhi bada paap hai”

This line may be an oft repeated one in many of the old Hindi Masala potboilers from the 70s and the 80s. But few would expect it to be the most definitive and poignant lines from Shyam Benegal’s take on the curses of the feudal system, Nishant (Night’s end). Nishant is a story set in the pre-independent era when our country was no country at all, but an agglomeration of fiefdoms, kingdoms, and states- some tiny and non-descript, while some mighty and formidable. Benegal tells the tale of one of the many insignificant Indian villages from that time, which has a landlord family lording over it. This village remains unnamed throughout the film which implies that the story could have been an occurrence in any part of our country. Though from the dialect and the customs and traditions shown in many of the scenes, it can be inferred that it is somewhere in Andhra where the cruel Zamindar (Amrish Puri) and his three younger brothers exploit the poor and helpless villagers in a bid to sustain and further their dominance over them.

Like Benegal’s previous work Ankur, this one is a no-frills representation of an era and a place that we deliberately choose to glaze over while talking about our great nation. Written by noted playwright Vijay Tendulkar, the seemingly straightforward story has many contours and dimensions that cannot be missed. However, the first forty minutes of the movie are devoted solely to setting the context and establishing the characters. Through some cleverly handled sequences we are introduced to the terror of the powerful feudal lords, their blatant and brazen suppression of the villagers through their illicit ways, their intra-familial dynamics wherein the eldest brother is the commander, the next two (Mohan Agashe and Anant Nag) are his devoted uncouth followers, while the youngest Vishwam (Naseeruddin Shah) is a sometimes reluctant sometimes eager follower of his elder brothers’ ways and means. This much confused youngest brother Vishwam later becomes the inadvertent catalyst of a violent revolution that sees the villagers take up the arms against their oppressive guardians, while his much affected wife Rukmini (Smita Patil) can be nothing but a silent observer.

Vishwam and Rukmini

While we have had movies that have dealt with the issue of zamindari, Nishant is unique as it mainly addresses the issue of carnal exploitation by the debauched men of the landlord family, while the other forms of exploitation are relegated to the backdrop. Unabashed in its treatment and unequivocal in its approach, the misdoings of the zamindars is clearly highlighted through the bouts of drinking and sexual gratification the brothers indulge in every night at the expense of one or the other innocent village girl. This world of moral depravity is shaken when the youngest brother Vishwam gets attracted to the wife of the village schoolmaster (Girish Karnad). The schoolmaster and his wife Sushila (Shabana Azmi) move in to the village and just as they slowly start to get attuned to the ways of the land, the Zamindar brothers’ forcibly take her away to their haveli, while her hapless husband kicks and wails watched on by the suppressed villagers. At the haveli, Sushila becomes a sexual object to the brothers, though the access to her is primarily given to the youngest Vishwam who is terribly besotted by her beauty. She is kept confined in the house, and slowly resigns to her fate. On the other hand her husband tries to appeal to all the official authority in this regard, but proves unsuccessful. But egged on by the village priest and spurned by an exchange he has with his wife in the temple (when she is allowed a visit there by Vishwam), the schoolmaster sparks a revolution in the villagers that takes a violent turn…

The reference to Ramayana is obvious in the way the narrative pans out. The Ravanas (Zamindars) forcibly take Sita (Sushila) as her hostage and keep her in Lanka (Haveli). Then Ram (schoolmaster) assembles a sena (villagers) to fight against the devil. However the similarities end here as everything else is a much stark departure from what happens in the epic. The treatment here is dark and disturbing, which makes the movie quite hard to watch (I saw it in two sittings).

It is tough to talk about performances in such a film where the written material is so strong. All the actors do a terrific job. In fact this movie is one of the early movies in the careers of all the major stalwarts of parallel cinema- Naseeruddin Shah, Shabana Azmi, Smita Patil, Girish Karnad, and Amrish Puri. However the two strongest performances are by delivered by Amrish Puri and Shabana Azmi. The latter is simply brilliant in the temple sequence when she meets her husband. The way she expresses helplessness, defiance, anger, and disgust is simply seen to be believed. Amrish Puri has the physicality and presence of the cruel villain, and the director fully capitalizes on it by giving him such a persona. 

Parting Note: Like Ankur, this one too is a disturbing watch that basically mirrors some uncomfortable truths about our society through an engaging story. These Shyam Benegal films are a study in contrast to the Rajshri films from the same time that dwelt on all the things that were happy, well, and bright in our villages. In my opinion each of these schools of film-making is as important as the other and should be treasured equally.

Aakrosh (1980)

Angst. Anger, Aggression… Govind Nihalani’s Aakrosh (1980) is a dark and disturbing film set in the heartlands of our country where there is little regard for law and order and the men in power have all the powers of the world in the true sense. Based on true events, Aakrosh tells the story Bhiku (Om Puri in one of the most acclaimed roles of his career) who is accused of killing his own wife (played by Smita Patil), and how he remains silent-suppressing his cry of outrage due to his distrust and disbelief in the system.

This helpless and defenseless peasant, who refuses to tell his side of the story to the lawyer who has been appointed for his defense, is an enigma for the people around him as he literally stays mute all the time. The Lawyer Bhaskar Kulkarni (Naseeruddin Shah in a remarkably restrained and uncharacteristically powerless role) is utterly disappointed by his client’s lack of support (read speech), and in an attempt to salvage some pride in his first case, makes some investigations on his own. In the court, his professional adversary is his real life mentor- Public Prosecutor Dushane (played by Amrish Puri).

Before I go on about my mumblings on the movie I have an interesting observation to make. The basic plot of this movie is replicated in Puneet Issar’s Salman Khan Starrer Garv (2004). Despite having the same thread throughout the movie- one cannot have two more diametrically different movies. While Aakrosh is given a really realistic texture- Garv is full on front-bencher pleasing commercial cinema with a hero at the helm of the affairs. Needless to say, in Aakrosh there is no hero.Also while Garv doesn't let the evil prevail over the good in the end, Aakrosh does not fall in any such trappings and takes a realistic look at story. 

Aakrosh has a narrative that does not flow unrestrained. It is multilayered and has many political and social points to make- which it does by giving due importance and care to each and every scene. The story is told from the eyes of the young advocate Bhaskar. It is his fears, his apprehensions, and his persistent efforts at knowing the truth that bring out the tension in the plot. Bhaskar Kulkarni represents the educated and grounded youth of the country, fresh out of their studies, and having very little idea of the malice in the society. He makes his efforts not in an attempt to save Bhiku, but because he considers it his moral responsibility being the lawyer assigned the case. He never gives up, despite facing resistance from not only his detractors, but also from the people he tries to defend (Bhiku and his family).

Although Amrish Puri’s character is not very important to the central plot, his Dushane is very important to the points that Govind Nihalani intends to make with the movie. Dushane is respectable man in the society who, despite being from the lower caste, has managed to gain acceptance from the people around him, by the very strength of his professional achievements and legal acumen. He is also an impassive observer to the whole dirty politics that is being played out in the village. On his level of involvement in the swamp, the director remains non-committal. However he is shown to be a regular at the get-togethers of all the powerful people of the village (who are also the villains in the plot- to use the conventional lingo). Also, Dushane is the only source of comfort and also a confidante to the young Bhaskar who lives alone in the village infested with criminal elements. All this lends him a very ambiguous position, which Amrish Puri justifies very well with his polished portrayal of the character.  

The director shows no hurry and treats the story with a touch that is reminiscent of his mentor Shyam Benegal’s cinema. It is the harsh reality- take it or leave it. There are no efforts to please on set of people over the other. I guess such movies aren’t banned by the authorities as they know hardly anyone would watch them. There are many powerful scenes that stay with you once you are done watching the movie, but none is more stark than the climax scene when Bhiku finally abandons his silence with a heart-wrenching cry of outrage. His savage act which precedes this cry makes a very pessimistic statement (which is unfortunate), but it manages to put across the point that the director is trying to make effectively.

Parting Note: Aakrosh is a dark, disturbing, and hard to watch (despite it being really well made) mainly because of its serious content. For people who like their cinema all grim and true to life (that too the dark side of life), this is a mandatory viewing.