Reviews, Vol. I, Issue III
George
Sand, a nineteenth century French novelist asserted way back in 1872: “Art for
art’s sake is an empty phrase. Art for the sake of truth, art for the sake of the
good and the beautiful, that is the faith I am searching for.” Chinua Achebe, a
postcolonial African writer in a trenchant way, goes to the extent of hailing ‘art
for art’s sake’ as “just another piece of deodorised dog shit.”
Art
demands a lot of ingenuity whilst being assertively alert to socio-cultural
maladies. Truly it is an artiste’s prerogative to conceive cutting-edge
expressions to voice it to as many souls as possible- a multitude of emotions
that abode a human heart; and the prejudices of the degenerate society. A
gargantuan task indeed- which engages the artists’ in commingling a variety of
techniques : concocting newer crafts to laundry the system’s rot and affiliating
it with aesthetically tailored recital of events, aimed at enchanting the
senses of the viewers in sync.
The
winning dialogue of The Dirty Picture (2011)
– “Filmein sirf teen cheezo ke wajah se chalti hain... entertainment, entertainment
...” garnered a lot of applause in the contextual framework of the movie
but falls deflated and dispirited when assessed scholastically beyond the
precincts of the movie. Not only it puts at risk the wisdom of the cine-goers, who are no more
infatuated with Bollywood masala movies but instead prefer to judiciously spend
their time and money on issue based cinema. It also confines the critical
acclaim and commercial success of a movie to its ‘entertainment quotient’ only brushing
aside the thematic concerns and social relevance of ‘substance cinema.’
The Dirty Picture triumphed in ‘stirring
the souls’ of its audiences by inviting them to view in all nakedness; and live
outrightly through the oculus of cinema – an assortment of splendour and pathos
in the lives of the so called ‘sex-symbols’ of the film industry, be it Silk
Smitha of Kollywood – the Tamil language film industry or Marilyn Monroe of
Hollywood. The fictionalised biopic initiated newer debates pivoted around many
a feministic discourses. Borrowing words of Rajat Aroraa- the dialogue writer
of the movie, the film dared to raise questions on how in a patriarchal
society: “women are held up to judgement more easily in roles men have gotten
away for ages.”
In
the recent past Bollywood is engaged in churning out with élan and finesse, a
banquet of issue based cinema. The list is long but a few references like Chak de India, Taare Zameen Par, 3 Idiots,
Fashion, Queen, Mary Kom, Mardani, Haider and PK are suffice to define the canon. Dum Laga Ke Haisha (2015) is the latest entrant to the bandwagon.
The romantic comedy under the production aegis of Yash Raj Films and adroit and
foxy direction of sophomore director, Sharat Kataria; zip codes a number of
termini in one go, to name a few: the Indian obsession with English language,
the topsyturviness of youth under overreaching patriarchal authority, and the
issue of envisioning female bodies as erotic objects only.
The
plot of the movie introduces us to Prem Prakash Tiwari (Ayushmann Khurrana) -
as a 25 years old, school dropout, courtesy his disabling lack of talent to
qualify his tenth-standard English exam. Viewed as a loser by his family
especially his father, Prem is invariably exposed to his father’s ridicule and
bullying. Marooned in his father’s audio cassette-repair shop, hearing to Kumar
Sanu’s timeless melodies comes as a refreshing breather for Prem. A dialogue
from the movie pertinently describes his state of mind and his status quo too:
“Teen Cheez hai koi kuch karle meri
aankhon se assu tapakne se na rok sake. Ek to angrezi ka prashn patra, dusri
Kumar Sanu ki awaaj, teesri papaji ki chappal.”
Undeterred
by his dilapidated realities; Prem -doused and sodden in the film world, would
not happily settle down with a bride, having even a speck less than the
sculpted look of a cinestar- lithe, taut, and svelte. Film critic Laura
Mulvey’s treatise of ‘cinematic spectatorship’ is quite plausible in stating ‘the
standard operative procedures’ adopted by conventional film makers.
Conventional cinema pitches men as ‘emissaries of voyeuristic gaze’ in both the
story and the audience while the female characters hold an “appearance coded
for strong visual and erotic impact.”
Waylaid
and entrapped in this psyche, Prem’s inflated male ego is shattered to
smithereens when his family takes a utilitarian decision of marrying him off to
the twenty -two years old, amply qualified, (aspiring teacher) plus- size but
fun-loving and confident Sandhya Verma (Bhumi Penderkar).
After
an inaugural pandemonium Prem and Sandhya’s ‘marriage of unequals’ mutates into
a mushy, lovey-dovey affair. ‘Love comes in all sizes’ as the tagline of the
movie comes alive when Prem gazes at the true worth of Sandhya. He starts
taking pride in consorting- the educated and intelligent Sandhya. Not only the
‘couple compatible’ dares to participate in “Dum Laga Ke Haisha” contest which
entails the male partner of the duo to shoulder his female chum and run a race.
The joie de vivre of Sandhya goads
Prem to backpack his 85 kilos damsel like a trophy. Celebrating his newly-found
love, Prem stretches the race way beyond the winning post by blithely and
buoyantly taking Sandhya around the entire town in the same posture.
The
film manages to denounce and deconstruct unrealistic images of women’s beauty
assuaging both men and women out of its constrictive tutelage to live wholesome
lives. The movie echoes- bereft of all sermonising and in all subtlety, the
eternal feminine tiding- “Look at us beyond our bodies.”
Who said- Art is not functional.
Reviewed
by Manjinder Kaur Wratch
The writer is an academician-turned- research scholar who is having a gala time pursuing her literary interests; her recent stopover being reviewing literary works and penning homilies on the arty-crafty realm of ‘substance cinema.’
The writer is an academician-turned- research scholar who is having a gala time pursuing her literary interests; her recent stopover being reviewing literary works and penning homilies on the arty-crafty realm of ‘substance cinema.’
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