As Saawariya takes on Om Shanti Om this Friday, we will see the Bollywood juggernaut at its most calculated and brutal. There will be no recourse, no escape, no prisoners,
Two monster movies are releasing this Friday, with ‘HIT’ in large purple neon signs written all over them. The quality won’t matter, the acting won’t matter, the reviews won’t matter; millions of Indians across the world will stampede into cinema halls, spilling their popcorn and squealing joyfully in anticipation, carrying several handkerchiefs each to wet saltily and rinse. The juggernauts shall roll and vast willing audiences will be wilfully crushed and go home babbling in hysterical joy.
Over the last few weeks, one could hardly switch on the TV without having to watch either Shah Rukh Khan, Deepika Padukone or Farah Khan, all associated with Om Shanti Om; or Ranbir Kapoor or Sonam Kapoor, the principal actors of Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Saawariya, or their parents, or Bhansali himself, with his manic glistening eyes and pursed lips. They were giving interviews, attending talk shows, judging contests, dancing, singing, shedding tears — the complete works. I believe Animal Planet was the only channel which didn’t carry anything on the films, but I may be misinformed, I hardly ever watch Animal Planet. But there’s two days left still. For all we know, Padukone will be cuddling koala bears on the channel tonight.
Om Shanti Om and Saawariya will be different films at every level. Farah Khan, director of Om Shanti Om is the best-known graduate of the Karan Johar School of Filmmaking, whose mantra is: go back in history and look for Hindi film storylines that have consistently been hits. Now choose one, glitz it up, add a twist of your own, and run with it. Johar’s Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham and Farah Khan’s Main Hoon Na resurrected the surefire formula of the ’70s-lost-and-found, and guffawed all the way to Fort Knox. With their own charming twists: in K3G, Shah Rukh was an adopted son and not blood brother to Hrithik Roshan; in MHN, Shah Rukh was an out-of-wedlock stepbrother to Zayed Khan. See how 21st century we have made our themes?
Om Shanti Om is apparently reviving that other old chestnut of Hindi film plots: reincarnation. Reincarnation has been neglected now for several years as deluded directors searched for more contemporary themes like alienated youth, terrorism, gender equality, Gandhiji’s relevance in our times, and Shakespeare. And to the born-again plot device has been added the usual pleasant twist. The first Shah Rukh is a struggling actor in the Hindi film industry in the seventies, in love with megastar Deepika Padukone, so everyone gets to wear cool retro ’70s hairstyles and bellbottoms; and the second Shah Rukh is a megastar in the here and now. It’s basically a remake of Subhash Ghai’s Karz, which was plagiarised from the minor Hollywood film The Reincarnation of Peter Proud. No shadow or suspicion of an original idea would be entertained by the men and women who have wrought Om Shanti Om. Even the notion of the 31-film-star song sequence being uber-hyped on television is stolen from Manmohan Desai’s Naseeb.
But Saawariya should be quite a different kettle of fish. Little is known about the story, except that it has a Muslim angle, and that, as far as sets go, Bhansali has gone way over the top again. This man is an extremist on a grand scale. In his Devdas, a story essentially about a man’s mind was turned into a thesis on how crass interior décor can be if you have enough money to throw at it. With actors panting under jewellery the weight of ingots, every colour making you reach for your sunglasses, every scene a crescendo that Pavarotti would have baulked at, Devdas was so harrowing an experience that I fled for my life within fifteen minutes. And I was only watching it on DVD.
He followed this up with Black, which, arguably made audiences cry more than any other film in the history of Indian — or perhaps world — cinema. No mention was made of the fact that the first half of the film was a close copy of the Hollywood film The Miracle Worker about Helen Keller’s early education, that Amitabh Bachchan as the teacher beats a deaf-mute-blind little girl into submission, and one awful piece of dialogue that gives it all away, Bachchan telling the girl’s despairing parents: “She’s not a RETARD for god’s sake, she’s just deaf-mute and blind!” The use of a word that no person of any sensitivity, let alone a child therapist, will ever utter, indicated to me that Bhansali has no true empathy for or understanding of people with special needs; he’s selected the story only for maximum emotional manipulation of his audience.
But, whatever one’s opinions, this Friday will see the Bollywood juggernaut at its most calculated, brutal and heaviest. There will be no recourse, no escape, no prisoners. The bombing will be carpet, blanket, and any other home accessories you can think of. Maybe you’ll run, but you won’t be able to hide. They’ll come for you and take you away and hoist you onto your seats in the dark hall, and serve you the bill. This is all stuff that is above good and evil, lights years from the aesthetic judgement space, too big to be ignored, avoided, evaded. Welcome, as they sang, to the Machine. You didn’t like the films? Too bad, the Machine is fatter, richer, and even more pleased than before. Don’t jump, that was just the sound of the Machine belching.
Two monster movies are releasing this Friday, with ‘HIT’ in large purple neon signs written all over them. The quality won’t matter, the acting won’t matter, the reviews won’t matter; millions of Indians across the world will stampede into cinema halls, spilling their popcorn and squealing joyfully in anticipation, carrying several handkerchiefs each to wet saltily and rinse. The juggernauts shall roll and vast willing audiences will be wilfully crushed and go home babbling in hysterical joy.
Over the last few weeks, one could hardly switch on the TV without having to watch either Shah Rukh Khan, Deepika Padukone or Farah Khan, all associated with Om Shanti Om; or Ranbir Kapoor or Sonam Kapoor, the principal actors of Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Saawariya, or their parents, or Bhansali himself, with his manic glistening eyes and pursed lips. They were giving interviews, attending talk shows, judging contests, dancing, singing, shedding tears — the complete works. I believe Animal Planet was the only channel which didn’t carry anything on the films, but I may be misinformed, I hardly ever watch Animal Planet. But there’s two days left still. For all we know, Padukone will be cuddling koala bears on the channel tonight.
Om Shanti Om and Saawariya will be different films at every level. Farah Khan, director of Om Shanti Om is the best-known graduate of the Karan Johar School of Filmmaking, whose mantra is: go back in history and look for Hindi film storylines that have consistently been hits. Now choose one, glitz it up, add a twist of your own, and run with it. Johar’s Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham and Farah Khan’s Main Hoon Na resurrected the surefire formula of the ’70s-lost-and-found, and guffawed all the way to Fort Knox. With their own charming twists: in K3G, Shah Rukh was an adopted son and not blood brother to Hrithik Roshan; in MHN, Shah Rukh was an out-of-wedlock stepbrother to Zayed Khan. See how 21st century we have made our themes?
Om Shanti Om is apparently reviving that other old chestnut of Hindi film plots: reincarnation. Reincarnation has been neglected now for several years as deluded directors searched for more contemporary themes like alienated youth, terrorism, gender equality, Gandhiji’s relevance in our times, and Shakespeare. And to the born-again plot device has been added the usual pleasant twist. The first Shah Rukh is a struggling actor in the Hindi film industry in the seventies, in love with megastar Deepika Padukone, so everyone gets to wear cool retro ’70s hairstyles and bellbottoms; and the second Shah Rukh is a megastar in the here and now. It’s basically a remake of Subhash Ghai’s Karz, which was plagiarised from the minor Hollywood film The Reincarnation of Peter Proud. No shadow or suspicion of an original idea would be entertained by the men and women who have wrought Om Shanti Om. Even the notion of the 31-film-star song sequence being uber-hyped on television is stolen from Manmohan Desai’s Naseeb.
But Saawariya should be quite a different kettle of fish. Little is known about the story, except that it has a Muslim angle, and that, as far as sets go, Bhansali has gone way over the top again. This man is an extremist on a grand scale. In his Devdas, a story essentially about a man’s mind was turned into a thesis on how crass interior décor can be if you have enough money to throw at it. With actors panting under jewellery the weight of ingots, every colour making you reach for your sunglasses, every scene a crescendo that Pavarotti would have baulked at, Devdas was so harrowing an experience that I fled for my life within fifteen minutes. And I was only watching it on DVD.
He followed this up with Black, which, arguably made audiences cry more than any other film in the history of Indian — or perhaps world — cinema. No mention was made of the fact that the first half of the film was a close copy of the Hollywood film The Miracle Worker about Helen Keller’s early education, that Amitabh Bachchan as the teacher beats a deaf-mute-blind little girl into submission, and one awful piece of dialogue that gives it all away, Bachchan telling the girl’s despairing parents: “She’s not a RETARD for god’s sake, she’s just deaf-mute and blind!” The use of a word that no person of any sensitivity, let alone a child therapist, will ever utter, indicated to me that Bhansali has no true empathy for or understanding of people with special needs; he’s selected the story only for maximum emotional manipulation of his audience.
But, whatever one’s opinions, this Friday will see the Bollywood juggernaut at its most calculated, brutal and heaviest. There will be no recourse, no escape, no prisoners. The bombing will be carpet, blanket, and any other home accessories you can think of. Maybe you’ll run, but you won’t be able to hide. They’ll come for you and take you away and hoist you onto your seats in the dark hall, and serve you the bill. This is all stuff that is above good and evil, lights years from the aesthetic judgement space, too big to be ignored, avoided, evaded. Welcome, as they sang, to the Machine. You didn’t like the films? Too bad, the Machine is fatter, richer, and even more pleased than before. Don’t jump, that was just the sound of the Machine belching.