Reactions to Om Shanti Om

Thank you to everyone who replied to my post. Again, I apologize for all the technical difficulties I had which made my post late. Apparently, PowerPoint 2011 doesn't let you create videos of presentations, BUT PP 2010 DOES. It took me about 2 days to figure this out, and another day to recreate the presentation using my roommates computer (luckily he was using the older version of PowerPoint).

I'm glad that people responded to my question about reincarnation in Om Shanti Om. Shelby, I thought your comment was really insightful. The fact that Shanti is pregnant when Mukesh kills her definitely makes the scene more significant. Motherhood does often signal the "death" of a female actors career, making the implications of her scene where she confronts Mukesh all the more symbolic. I enjoyed your discussion of the relationship between actors and age. It's true that female actors are much less likely to win prestigious awards after the age or 40 (unless your name is Meryl Streep), while male actors are much more likely to win awards after the age of 40. Leonardo DiCaprio case and point!
Nathan, I also appreciated your contribution. You're absolutely right that the directors were very calculated in their decision to reincarnate Om and not to reincarnate Shanti. This decision sets up the encounter at the end where Shanti's spirit is able to enact her revenge on Mukesh. I wonder if there are some metaphysical implications here. Perhaps Shanti's spirit is symbolic of India as "motherland," and in abusing the mother (Shanti), Mukesh (western decadence and betrayal) reaps his just punishment. That might be reading into it a bit too much, but still it's interesting to ponder!

Again, I really enjoyed getting the chance to watch Om Shanti Om and to discuss it with the class. I'll be finishing my critical reading of the film in the next few days.

P.S. I just watched Kahaani today with my girlfriend, and we both thought it was great! Really different from anything else we've watched this year. Ciao!

Om Shanti Om Presentation

Om Shanti Om: Intertextuality and the Figuration of the Actor

            Om Shanti Om, choreographed, co-written and directed by Farah Khan, is an multigenerational romantic drama and thriller. The story focuses on two star-crossed lovers; Om Prakash Makhija, a junior artiste in the Bollywood film industry, and Shanti Priya, a film star. Shanti’s wicked lover, the producer Mukesh Mehra, arranges her murder in order to hide their relationship from the public and to preserve his budding career. While trying to save Shanti, Om is blown up and hit by a car, and subsequently reincarnated as Om Kapoor (OK), the son of movie star Rajesh Kapoor, and a heartthrob in his own right. After a series of flashbacks and visions, OK remembers his previous life as Om, and plots his revenge against Mukesh. He decides to recreate “Om Shanti Om,” Shanti’s fateful last film, and scare Mukesh into believing that Shanti’s ghost haunts him. OK casts Sandy, a modern day Shanti look-a-like, to play Shanti, and initiates a series of stunts that push Mukesh to the brink of his sanity. Mukesh eventually uncovers OK’s plot, but right as Mukesh is about to kill OK, Shanti’s spirit comes to OK’s rescue and enacts her revenge against Mukesh. The film was the highest grossing Hindi film in history at the time of its release, and received favorable reviews from both audiences and critics.

            Om Shanti Om is a film that parodies, comments on, and alludes to Hindi and Western films, forming a meta-narrative that interacts with films and actors as texts to be interpreted in comparison with one another. According to Shastri, “Intertextuality in OSO consists of references to previous films through such tropes as names (of movies, of actors) as well as plots—of movies such as Karz (1980), for example. The first impression left on the viewer by such interaction is the thrill of recognition because no other Bollywood movie until now has borrowed so diversely or eclectically or with utter disdain of ontological borders.” (Shastri, 2011) The film contains numerous references to Hindi and Western films, actors, and cinema tropes.

            In Om Shanti Om, the male star, Shah Rukh Khan, also called “King Khan” or the “King of Bollywood,” serves both as an object of obsession and as an obsessive fan boy. Khan’s newest film, “Fan,” just set box office records in Pakistan, and is about a man who develops a dangerous obsession with a movie star who looks just like him. Khan’s star power bleeds into the narrative of Om Shanti Om as well. Many of the shots in the film are centered shots on Shah Rukh Khan; he dominates the screen both literally and figuratively, assuming a larger than life image. When Om Prakash gains starring role in his own film, Omswami, the extras on the set flock around him and praise his over-the-top acting, chanting, “Wow what acting, wow what acting, wow what acting.” This hero worship is taken to another level after Om dies and is reincarnated as OK. OK, the spoilt movie star has his every whim catered to, and is constantly surrounded by beautiful women and screaming fans. In the song, “Pain of Disco,” Khan parodies the fetishized figuration of the male body; OK goes through an increasingly ridiculous series of poses shirtless, then wet and shirtless, then wet and shirtless and being doused with a bucket of water.

            Fantasy and idolization also plays an important role for the main female actor in Om Shanti Om. Om Prakash fantasizes over the billboard of the film star, Shanti Priya, played by Deepika Padukone, with whom he engages in one-sided conversations. Om’s idolization of Shanti parodies Hindi cinema’s obsession with female stars, and the manner in which film actresses are objectified and scrutinized in the media and by the public. According to Shastri, “The name “Shanti Priya,” for instance, is a throwback to Bollywood actress Hema Malini, whose rise to stardom in the 1970s was no less phenomenal than her occupying prima donna status in Hindi cinema for decades to come.” (Shastri, 2011) Shanti Priya, the “Dreamy Girl,” is the ultimate symbol of female stardom, and the object of the male gaze.

            In the scene where Om attends the movie premier of “Dream Girl” with Pappu, Om gets caught on Shanti’s shawl, and is figuratively pulled along by her down the red carpet. This action speaks to not only the connection between Om and Shanti, but is also a parody of classical romantic tropes in cinema. Later, during the screening “Dream Girl,” Farah Khan uses a bit of cinematic magic to impose Deepika Padukone onto the image of Hema Malini. This use of video effects allows the audience to draw connections between the character of Shanti and Malini’s Dream Girl, and also establishes a link between fantasy and film history. Om fantasizes about being the hero in the film. By inserting Om into that alternate reality, Khan draws a distinction between actors playing a part in a film and actors engaging in masquerade.

            Throughout the film, male and female stars – from Shanti to the reincarnation of Om, OK – are depicted as spoilt and demanding. Shanti Priya refuses to act until her producer and lover Mukesh shows up on set, while OK is shown to repeatedly abuse his staff and argue with directors and producers. Even Om showed flashes of his inner diva after the opening scene, when one of the production assistants on the set of Karz says to him, “Is your dad some ‘Raj Kapoor’ who will stop our shoot?” Regardless of sex the claim is made that movie actors are susceptible to the allure of stardom and the power and attention associated with media fame.

            Om Shanti Om also contains numerous references to both Hindi and Western films. The film begins with a flashback to the late 1970s, an age of disco, sex, glitter and disco. The opening shots depict a film studio during the filming a movie, Karz. According to Shastri, “The title of OSO comes from a famous song featured in the Bollywood movie Karz. The plot of OSO, based on reincarnation, also comes from the movie Karz. To leave the audience in no doubt over its link with Karz, OSO begins with a car entering RC Studios, and we see a poster for Karz on one side. This is followed by the supposed shooting of the song “Om Shanti Om” featured in Karz. Watching this from among a crowd of cheering spectators inside the studio is junior artiste Omi.” (Shastri, 2011) This early allusion establishes a pattern that audiences can easily recognize, and keys viewers into the themes of parody and intertextuality early on in the film.

            

            In one scene, Om and Shanti are shooting a film that involves a sequence where Shanti has to run through a field of burning haystacks. This scene is almost identical to a scene in Mother India, where Nargis runs through a field of burning haystacks searching for her son, Birju. Shanti runs into the field only to be trapped by the raging inferno that has been allowed to grow up around her. Om Shanti Om parodies this scene by showing the hero of the film refuse to jump in and save her, and then having Om step into the shoes of Sunil Dutt, the actor who actually saved Nargis during the scene when the fires grew out of control during the filming of Mother India. This allusion to both Mother India and to one of the most infamous moments in film history demonstrates the willingness of Om Shanti Om to engage with film narratives on a macro level.

            To thank Om for saving her life, Shanti agrees to accompany him on a date. What follows is a whirlwind of behind-the-scenes parodies and allusions to Western romance films. Om and Shanti dance through an empty studio set, pretend to drive stationary cars while sets whisk by in the background, and ice skate under a blanket of fake snow. They even become dancers in the snow globe that Shanti gives to Om at the start of their date as a thank you present. This meta-awareness of film techniques and tropes creates a cinematic duality, because their romance is the stuff of movies, and they act out their romance on a movie set. To top it all off, Om and Shanti very neatly reenact a similar dance scene to one in the film, Singing in the Rain. The allusion to this fantasy scene speaks not only to the influence of Western films on Hindi cinema, but also the universal power of the fantasy narratives.

            The most blatant example of parody and self-awareness in Om Shanti Om occurs during the Filmfare awards show and after party. To begin, OK is nominated for the best actor award, but the two films that he is nominated for are almost identical. Meanwhile, the other actors nominated for the best actor award are depicted as attractive meatheads who play perfectly into the role of vapid movie stars. During the trailer of one of the films, one of the male actors shoots a pistol using his crotch, further supporting the theme of fetishization of the male actor. After OK is crowned the winner, what happens next has to be one of the longest series of cameo appearances and displays of star power that I have ever seen in a film. Movie stars – both male and female – from different eras in Hindi film enter the awards show after party and strut their stuff on the dance floor. According to several sources there are 42 cameos from famous Indian actors throughout the course of Om Shanti Om, but it’s hard to say for certain considering how many stars appear during the awards ceremony. And of course, what over-sexed scene is complete without a shout out to the bar dancing and strip scene from Coyote Ugly, Hindi style.

            The theme of reincarnation deserves some attention, as it plays a critical role in the film. The fire that engulfs Om and Shanti not only takes Shanti’s life, but it becomes the vehicle for Om’s rebirth as OK. In the narrative of the film, fire both gives life and takes it away. Like the phoenix, OK is born from the ashes of Om, and lives with visions of Om’s life, including his death.

            Oddly enough, reincarnation is only an issue for Om, and not for Shanti. Unlike Om, who is reincarnated as OK, Shanti is not reincarnated, but remains behind to haunt the studio set where she was murdered. Sandy, who OK casts to play Shanti in his revenge saga against Mukesh, is not the reincarnation of Shanti, but merely a look-a-like. I have to pose the question of whether or not this is a critique of the Hindi film industry’s one-sided favoritism of male stars? Unlike female actors, who normally age out of movie roles – particularly starring roles – male actors enjoy much longer careers as film leads. The male actors ability to “reincarnate” over the years elevates the male star to status of relative superiority in relation to female co-stars. This preference towards male actors has been well documented in scholarly literature, and is evident in the narrative of Om Shanti Om as well.

 

            Om Shanti Om is one of my favorite movies that we’ve watched this semester, and I’ve really enjoyed having the opportunity to conduct a close reading of the film. The intertextual elements, figurations of male and female stars, and allusions to Hindi and Western films make it a multi-layered film that casts a wide net in its critique of the movie industry and film actors. 

Monsoon Wedding and the Language of Globalization

Monsoon Wedding is a film that heralds India’s arrival on the global stage. Technology, new consumer goods, and The film uses a wide array of camera angles and shots taken on a Super 16 camera that give it a “home movie” feel and roots the audience in the realistic melodrama of the narrative. Throughout the film, language plays a key role in cluing in the audience to influence of globalization on modern India. Characters throughout the film use English frequently for both business and pleasure, and switch between the two languages frequently and with ease. For example, Hemant’s father uses the word “rockyolies” to describe ice cubes when he requests a scotch on the rocks. In earlier films, English would be used only for casual expressions or by the social elite; now, English is seen to enter into everyday conversation, and English slang is shown to be much more popular and pervasive.

Also, many of Lalit’s family come from across the world to attend to wedding, from Oman to the U.S. and Australia. The array of accents, like Rahul’s Australian accent, speaks to India’s increasingly global demographics.

The film features multiple scenes where the medium of language is important to establishing the mis en scene. For example, we are first introduced to Dubeyji as he is talking on his cellphone with Lalit about the wedding. Dubeyji lies about being in traffic when speaking with Lalit, which cues in the audience to his character; he is a hustler, someone always on the lookout for an opportunity. Later, we are introduced to Varun as he is watching a Hindi cooking show. The host of the program is teaching the audience how to cook coconut curry, a traditional Indian dish. This program speaks to global reach of Hindi media and culture, and also to Varun’s passive, effeminate nature.

Language intersects the issue of censorship frequently throughout the film. The talk show anchored by Aditi’s former lover, Vikram, broadcasts an episode about India’s censorship laws and their place in a modern India. Some guest argue that the censorship laws are outdated, while others argue they preserve the nation’s “Indianness.” Nair often snubs the censorship laws through verbal and non-verbal language; for example, the kiss shared between Vikram and Aditi, and, later, Aditi and Hemant, blantantly flies in the face of India’s censorship law against showing kissing on screen. Similarly, for the first time ever we are introduced to a Hindi film that features frequent, mature language. The use of the “f” word demonstrates that India’s are much more laissez faire about “Western” culture and its influence on Indian culture.

Sometimes, the language in Monsoon Wedding that speaks the loudest is the language of the things that are unsaid; the silence between the moments. The scene where Dubey arrives at Lalit’s house to confess his love to Alice is one of the most poignant and tender moments of the film. Alice encounters him sitting in a circle of candles and holding a heart made of marigolds, and the two share a silent moment with each other that encompasses their entire relationship. Their love is simple, pure, and requires no words to explain it; in this case, the film frame says a thousand words. Unlike Aditi and Hemant’s wedding ceremony, theirs is quiet, serene, and it is this contrast of traditional and modern expression that speaks to the complicated role that language plays in a modern, global India.

Satya and Masculinity

Set in the chawls and gritty streets of Mumbai, Satya is a film-noir style gangster narrative that interrogates dominant representations of masculinity in Hindi cinema. In Satya, men are depicted as violent, cruel, and self-serving, but also devoted to conventional and nonconventional forms of family life. The manner in which the characters of Satya, Bhiku, and Uncle Kallu interact with one another negotiate conceived notions of masculinity in Hindi cinema culture. Additionally, the characters spatial relationships with the backdrop of Mumbai influence the manner in which the audience perceives the characters as representations of typical masculinity.

Satya establishes the association between masculinity, men, and violence early in the film. The opening shots of the film include explosions and gunshots set against a backdrop of police raids on gang activity in Mumbai; the audience sees the city as a war zone where territory is fought over and won at the end of a barrel of a gun. When we are introduced to Satya he appears as an every man. Satya is an orphan, and therefore can easily be interpreted as a representation of the lower, disenfranchised classes of Indian male youth. Satya quickly resorts to violence when he feels insulted or mistreated, going so far as to slash the face of gang member underneath Jagga, a local crime boss in the employ of gang don Guru Narayan. Jagga’s men beat up Satya in revenge for the attack, which begins a cycle of violence that spirals ever downward throughout the film. This cyclical pattern of violence leads the audience to believe that masculinity and violence are intrinsically hardwired into the male psyche, and the bond of the gang member and violence is even stronger considering the dangers of their profession and their proximity to criminal activity. Yet Satya also resist the pattern of violence. The theme of escape recurs in the film as Satya’s relationship with the playback singer, Vidya, grows stronger and more romantic. At one point, Satya awakens from a nightmare in which is relives all of the violent encounters he has been engaged in since coming to Mumbai. Satya’s sudden release from sleep can be interpreted as his desire to escape the system of violence and crime in which he has become embroiled. However, the masculine tropes of status prove too strong, and Satya only ends up becoming more deeply involved in the criminal activities of the Mhatre gang throughout the film.

Cinema has long been fascinated with documenting gang members amidst the trappings of their ill gotten wealth. Indeed, gangsters in Hollywood are often depicted as driving nice cars, throwing about large sums of cash, and establishing their dominance through grandiose public displays of power and status. In many regards, Satya depicts gang life in Mumbai in similar ways, thereby positioning the gang members as typical masculine examples of violent thugs. For example, when the gang member Chander first meets Satya he shows off his gun and pager in an obvious display of his status with Mhatre gang. This display of status connotes masculinity with objective wealth and power, and serves to reinforce the notion that masculinity is tied to demonstrating territoriality and strength. When Bhiku later gives Satya his own gun, the connotation is that Satya is now a fully-fledged member of the gang, and is therefore an equal in the eyes of his peers and of Bhiku. The gun becomes an equalizing symbol of power in the film, implying that those with power (guns) are in control of their own destiny, a traditionally masculine theme.

In Satya, the chawls of Mumbai provide the backdrop for the criminal dealings of Satya and the rest of the Mhatre gang. “The street is usually the primary site of narrative action in gangster films because it symbolizes freedom from home and it enables constant movement and liberation from the claustrophobia of restricted and controlled urban space. The street evokes a sense of power when gangs control it. The control of space is also an expression of masculinity, as gangsters fluidly traverse treacherous parts of the city — often, gambling and leisure joints — both at night and during the day.” (Mazumdar, 2007) Yet, the film also interrogates the traditionally male space by blurring the lines between the streets and the home, a traditionally family space. For example, Vidya and Satya are often pictured walking the streets of Mumbai together as a romantic couple. In these scenes, we see Satya not as a gangster, but as a normal citizen, a promising family man who seeks to distance himself from his criminal lifestyle. Similarly, the family space often becomes embroiled with masculine spaces throughout the film. Bhiku is often depicted taking phone calls where he discusses illegal activities in his family home, blurring the line between masculine and family space.

Brotherhood and brotherly love are tropes of masculine culture that play key roles in Satya. Bhiku and Satya’s relationship begins at the start of film as one of mutual respect, but by the end of the film blossoms into brotherly love; in the end, Satya dies for Bhiku by putting his life on the line to avenge Bhiku’s death at the hands of Bhau Thakurdas Jwahle. The gangster den run by the Mhatre gang is depicted as a place where the gang members drink, smoke, and dance raucously throughout the night, as well a place where they conduct their criminal enterprises.  Yet the film complicates this masculine, testosterone filled space through the presence of Uncle Kallu, a key member of the key. “As the wise and humane father figure in the gang, Kallu Mama (played by Saurabh Shukla), evokes the bonds of family life. In a spectacular rendering of this community, the song “Kallu Mama” projects the idea of a different kind of family through an overwhelmingly male space.” (Mazumdar, 2007) This conflation of family space with masculinity interrogates traditional notions of masculinity by transposing Uncle Kallu into the role of the gang’s matriarch. Indeed, Kallu even serves the role of the avenging mother figure when he kills the treacherous lawyer, Chandrakant Mule, for betraying the gang’s patriarch, Bhiku.

One of the most interesting aspects of the film for me was the way in which fathers played such a marginal role in the film. Satya is an orphan, and therefore his father is completely absent from the film. Vidya’s father is a mute and an invalid, leaving her to be the primary breadwinner of the family. In a sense, after her father’s death, Satya steps into the role of patriarch in her life, filling the void that her father left, fulfilling the idiom quoted by the music manager earlier in the film; “to gain something, you must give something back.” Even Bhiku, the only father figure in the film of any real note, fails to live up to the role of an honorable father due to his status as leader of the Mhatre gang. I couldn’t help but be fascinated by the way in which he lived a dual existence of doting family man and cold-blooded. This contradiction of roles created a dichotomy of identities that both Bhiku and Satya ultimately negotiate to their respective demise; men trapped between two worlds, that of family man and of criminal, of respected male figures and hated social pariahs.

Dilwale and Subverting Patriarchy

In Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, we are introduced to Simran, a Non Resident Indian woman growing up in London. Baldev Singh, Simran’s father, has arranged for his daughter to be married to the son of a family friend in India, Kuljit. Simran is initially unperturbed by the notion of her arranged marriage, but during a vacation in Europe she unwittingly falls in love with Raj, a spoiled but affable fellow NRI from London. The rest of the film concerns Raj and Simran’s machinations to legitimize and cement their relationship despite Baldev’s reservations. According to Purnima Mankekar, Dilwale affirms the Indian male’s agency by casting him in the figure of the NRI investor and the custodian of the Indian woman’s sexual purity – the quintessential trope of Indian identity – thus replaying the classic woman/nation conflation. (Virdi) I prefer to read Dilwale as a film that addresses how modern Indian identities and values both operate in and subvert traditionally patriarchal family structures, while also serving as a commentary on the Indian diaspora and its connection with Indian culture.

When we are first introduced to Simran she is portrayed as a young, independent Indian woman. The first shot Simran is a close up of her face instantly connects the audience with her eyes, and establishes the theme of perception through the female gaze. Unlike female characters in earlier Hindi films, women in Diwale can be simultaneously promiscuous and virtuous, and Simran, who is pictured as a wild heroine with wind blowing through her hair embodies that duality. Simran wears Western clothes rather than traditional Indian female attire like her mother, and enjoys Western music. In the opening song of the movie, Simran dances around her bedroom covered only in a towel; the dance weaves both modern and traditional elements that serve as a foil for Simran’s identity. Although she is amenable to her arranged marriage she still writes love poetry in which she describes encounters with strange men whose faces she’s never met. Her sexual fantasies propel her into her eventual love affair with Raj, ……

Simran is as much a product of Western values and she is Indian virtue, and she negotiates this duality through the exploration of her sexuality and subversion of patriarchal norms. Simran and younger sister dance to popular music, but as soon as Baldev comes home the music is switched to traditional music and they sit demurely on couches. While this act of male appeasement reinforces patriarchy, it also exposes Baldev’s frail grasp on his Hindi heritage and bay extension his traditional authority. Later, in order to convince her father to let her go on a holiday to the European continent with her friends, Simran ensures that her father sees her praying early in the morning at the family shrine. She sits bathed in a glowing aura of light, and appears similar to a Hindu deity. This ruse convinces her father to allow her to go on vacation with her friends, and is another example of how perceived virtuousness clashes with modern identity.

In her relationship with Raj, Simran repeatedly subverts traditional romantic tropes of Hindi cinema. The theme of perception reappears in the train scene where Raj and Simran recount their initial meeting to their respective friends. While Raj disingenuously casts himself as a suave Don Juan who effectively wooed Simran, Simran’s account subverts his narrative through satirizes patronizing flirtations. Later when Simran and Raj are forced to share a room in Switzerland, her honor (izzat) won’t allow her to sleep in the same room with another man, and she is seemingly offended when Raj drinks alcohol in front of her, asking, “are you not ashamed to drink in front of a lady?” Her seeming primness vanishes when she accidently gets drunk, and her inhibitions melt away as she and Raj engage in a series of drunken escapades across the Swiss countryside. In a subversion of the Hindi film archetype, Simran’s are not interpreted as virtuous, but rather as a product of the intersection of modern Indian identity and traditional values. Alcohol allows Simran to search out and pursue her hidden feelings for Raj, and later when she learns that her honor is intact she is justified in having feelings for Raj knowing that he is an honorable man who wouldn’t take advantage of her.

In a twist upon traditional family roles, Simran and her mother, Lajjo, act more like friends than mother and daughter. They sit on opposite beds while Simran reads her love poetry to her mother, and Simran repeatedly confides in her mother concerning the details of her and Raj’s love affair. This subversion of the traditional mother and daughter family dynamic sets up Lajjo and Simran as conspirator’s against patriarchal norms, as Lajjo becomes and accomplice to Simran and Raj’s schemes. In one scene right after Simran has been brought to India to marry Kuljit, Lajjo tells Simran that women sacrifice their happiness; they give up education, love, and independence, while men are forced to give up nothing. Her insistence that women and men are not equal subverts the long running theme in Hindi film of elevating women as symbols of Indian sovereignty. Although she proceeds to beg Simran to forget Raj to preserve family harmony these comments have been interpreted as a critique of womens’ lack of agency in patriarchal system that denies them a voice, which serves as a form of sub textual subversion. Later when Lajjo encourages Simran and Raj to elope she effectively gives her blessing for the couple to subvert traditional patriarchal norms and pursue a modern romance. Her blessing uses the trope of family permission and marriage to subvert Baldev’s designs for Simran’s romantic future, and further establishes the notion that the film is a critique on women’s roles in a time of increasing fluid boundaries of what it means to be a modern Indian woman.

Simran and Raj’s insistence on seeking parental approval for their relationship has been read as a form of adherence to the patriarchal order of Indian culture. “More importantly, as ‘formula’ romances set in an Indian culture of kinship, the romantic happy ending in … DDLJ… requires the reconciliation of parental and individual desire.” (Uberoi) Rather than elope as Lajjo suggests the couple stubbornly try to win Baldev over to their side without avail. Simran’s acceptance by Raj’s father and eventual release by her own father has been seen as an example of female sexual desire commuting to patrilocal authority, yet I read the text as much more complex. Simran’s subversions throughout the film speak to a broken system that has little to no meaning for NRI and intergenerational Indian youth, while also grappling with the injustice of traditional roles for women.

The Veil and Obstacles in Bombay

In Bombay, Sekhar Naranyan travels to his home village to visit his family. As he arrives he encounters the beautiful Shaila Banu, a Muslim woman, and he instantly falls madly in love with her. Sekhar and Shaila begin a whirlwind love affair that drives them from the homes of their deeply religious parents to the modern city of Bombay. Sekhar and Shaila marry, and begin a new life together as husband and wife. The young couple give birth to two twin boys, Kabir and Kamal, and enjoy a few happy years together as a family before the country becomes embroil in religious violence spurned by the destruction of the Babri Masjid mosque in Ayodhya. In the end, the family learns that differences drive people apart, and fear of the other can internalize into outward aggression, while they walk a fine line as dual citizens of both Hindu and Muslim culture. 

            Veils are recurring motif in the film. When Sekhar first meets Shaila, her veil lifts up in a gust of wind, and her face is revealed. This invites the viewer to see the scene through the male gaze; we see Shaila as a woman, and her sexual nature is laid bare for Sekhar to pursue her as the object of his desire. When Sekhar stumbles upon Shaila in the village marketplace, she is dressed in a white sari without a veil. She is exposed to his gaze, and she avoids meeting his eyes. Without her veil she has lost the modesty and protection of her religion, yet throughout the ensuing dance sequence, the audience watches as her eyes begin to glance in his direction, and eventually linger upon him; in one moment, she forgets her dance moves, and for the first time we see her recognize him as a man, as a sexual mate. Later, when Sekhar is pursing Shaila and her friend, Shaila fools Sekhar into thinking her friend is she, but as she is leaving she lifts her veil and deliberately shows him her face. This foreshadows Shaila’s eventual revocation of her family’s religious values; she chooses Sekhar over the religion of her house, shunning the rituals of Islam for romantic love. Although veils recur throughout the entirety of the film, such as when a stray breeze blows a veil in front of Shaila’s face, the veil is seen more as a ripple f the past, an old reminder of the patriarchal shroud that Shaila has cast off in order to be with Sekhar.

            Bombay is an Indian Romeo and Juliet story; two tragic lovers who come from different families must battle to be together. Physical obstacles frequently conspire to drive Sekhar and Shaila apart, and the two have to find creative solutions to overcome. When Sekhar and Shaila conspire to meet in secret together for the first time, Sekhar bids her to come to the old fort by the edge of the sea. The fort is a symbol of authority, of rule and law, but it is overgrown with vegetation, signifying that the old order has been destroyed, and modern India now rules. Shaila then runs past an old anchor, which can be construed as a symbol of the weight of her subordination to patriarchy, but in the next moment her veil blows away, hinting that she has cast of the yoke of her subservience.

            As Sekhar and Shaila are waiting to be married at the courthouse, Shaila avoids contact with Sekhar for fear that people will see their public displays of affections. At this point, they are still afraid to be themselves around each other, especially Shaila. Once they are married, their relationship is legitimized in the eyes of the law, and although they haven’t reconciled their religious obstacles with their family, they at least are no longer afraid to be seen with each other. But even after Sekhar and Shaila are married they still face obstacles, for they are forced to watch over their landlords children and nieces and nephews during their honeymoon. The kids are a rampaging horde that can’t be controlled, and although they don’t care whether Sekhar and Shaila or Hindu or Muslim their presence dampens the newlyweds romantic coupling. In one of the most iconic scenes of the film, the children form a barrier on the floor between the resting forms of Sekhar and Shaila. The children play a game of telephone between Sekhar and Shaila, silently whispering messages between each other. When Sekhar says he loves Shaila the children shout out his message and the game is broken, symbolizing that love cannot be stifled if it is true and pure.

            Despite their different religions and upbringings, religion cannot keep Sekhar and Shaila apart. To them, religion is more liquid than solid, and the two frequently morph between the two; Sekhar even offers to change religions for Shaila, but she says there’s no need. Sekhar is pictured wearing a Muslim Taqiyah, and Shaila plays with wearing a bindi. Throughout the film, barriers rise up to separate the couple from physical threats from rioters to emotional appeals from their parents, yet nothing can separate them from each other. Through thick and thin they draw strength from their love for each other, and persevere in the face of any and all odds to prove that they are Indians before they are Hindu or Muslim, man or woman.

Gender Identity in Mr. India

In Mr. India by Shekhar Kapur we follow the story of Arun, an orphaned violinist who runs an orphanage for children in Bombay. Together with the strong-willed reporter and love interest, Seema, and the orphanage nanny/cook, Calendar, Arun unravels the diabolic plot of the foreign megalomaniac Mogambo. The film – which features a number of progressive roles and scenes unique to Hindi cinema – is a landscape of myriad gender identities, and the politics of gender normativity and interrogation are demonstrated in the portrayal of the film’s heroes and villains.

During the film themes of cross-dressing and masquerade serve to challenge the audience to reconceive notions of masculine and feminine identities in modern India. At the start of the film, Arun is pictured completing traditionally feminine roles; he cooks for the children of the orphanage, gets them ready for school, plays music for them, and acts motherly to many of the youngest children. It is only later, when Arun discovers the invisibility watch invented by his father that he becomes the heroic Mr. India and begins to take on a more masculine persona. By acting out more feminine roles, Arun positions himself as a liberated Indian male not bound by traditional notions of femininity or masculinity. When Arun eventually becomes Mr. India his earned power of invisibility acts to further complicate the masquerade. As Mr. India, Arun is no longer a person, but an idea, the common Indian man fighting against foreign intervention.

According to Chakavarty, “Woman… unlike man, cannot change herself at will, cannot adopt and discard identities to signify a wider social embrace. On the other hand, it is her fixity that allows the hero to narcissistically (dis)play his body.” (Chakravarty, 1993) However, the character of Seema in Mr. India demonstrates that women in modern Hindi cinema are just as capable as men to change their identity and act out their transformation. Throughout the film, Seema masquerades as different people in order to infiltrate Mogambo’s evil organization; she poses as a French entertainer to infiltrate one of Mogambo’s many night clubs, and later cross-dresses as a Charlie Chaplinesque-looking man in order to enter a gambling hall. The latter example of cross dressing casts Seema as an androgynous, transsexual character who can appeal to both male and female audiences. Furthermore, Seema’s character is – at times – more masculine than Arun. Seema dislikes children and devotes her life to her career, traits which are antithetical to traditional female roles in Hindi cinema, and while she eventually has a change of heart and falls in love with the Arun’s orphans, her role is never confused with that of a mother, like Arun.

Of the characters in the film Mogambo is the most traditionally masculine portrayal. From his chiseled features and deep voice to his smart military uniform and violent nature, Mogambo embodies the archetypal male form. Mogambo is often pictured carrying a cane, an obvious phallic symbol His Aryan features and accent position him squarely as an “other,” an outside threat to Indian independence. “A notable feature of the male-dominated romantic drama of the post-sixties era is that while the identity of the villain is fixed and self-evident, the proof of the hero’s heroism is that he can change identities at will, if only temporarily and playfully.” (Chakravarty, 1993) Arun has both masculine and feminine attributes. He acts as the avenger, standing up for the rights of the orphans and other common Indians. At the same time, he also takes care of the children of the orphanage by cooking and cleaning for them, and by playing music. As a super villain, Mogambo can never be anything but a villain, and unlike some of the villainous portrayals in earlier Hindi cinema, his storyline can never be anything but evil and tragic.

I couldn’t help thinking that Seema is the more courageous hero character compared to Arun, because she puts her identity at stake. Arun is able to masquerade as Mr. India without revealing his identity, thereby preserving himself and the people he cares about. Seema on the other hand puts her life on the line to uncover Mogambo’s villainous ventures, and therefore opens herself up to retribution from his goons. In every way except the most obvious power differential Seema embodies more masculine, transsexual qualities than Arun, whose identity shifts from feminine to masculine throughout the film. The gender politics of Mr. India demonstrate that it is not just men that have the capacity to shift gender identities, and also highlight the changes in the gender dynamic in modern India.  

Symbolism and Bhumika

            Based loosely on the life and autobiography of 1940’s Marathi screen actress Hansa Wadkar, Bhumika concerns the life and career of Usha, a young actress who struggles to find identity and self-fulfillment. Usha’s mother, Shantabai, doesn’t want her to be a singer and actress, but poverty compels her family to send her to work in a movie studio. Usha rebels against her mother’s imperialness in her choice of career as well as her choice in love. She continues to act, and marries Keshav, an older man whose leeches off of Usha’s success. Usha wants to be her own person, but doesn’t know what kind of person she wants to be; is she an actress or a mother, a lover or a fighter?

The theme of time is an important element of the film. When Keshav confronts Usha after she returns from the studio at the opening of the film a ticking clock echoes in the background. The clock roots the scene in the now, which Benegal proceeds to undercut through the use of flashback. Black and white scenes of Usha’s past are juxtaposed with full color scenes of present day. Time and again we return to the same dance scene that opens the movie. This endless cycle – of film, romantic tryst, followed by romantic disillusionment – propels the plot of the movie forward, and speaks to the notion that Usha is stuck in time. She keeps trying to leave the film industry to start a family, but she keeps coming back. She is a prisoner to the role that she has been forced to play by first her family, then Keshav, and later Kale. It is only in the theater that her identity takes form.

Throughout the film we see many shots that expose the technical details of the film industry. We see shots of boom mikes, directors coming in and out of shots, sound recorders, all of the unseen elements that work together to create a film. The behind the scenes shots demystify the glamour of the film industry, and allow the audience to view the dirty underbelly of film. When we are first introduced to the movie studio it is depicted as a dirty, ill-kempt place, a place of sin and ill repute. Villainous laughter from an actor shooting a scene on one of the lots creates an eerie atmosphere. Later when Usha and Keshav go to a film together Keshav puts his arm around Usha in the dark theater. This lustful act in the shadowy environment of the movie theater highlights the Keshav and Usha’s unhealthy relationship; she is his captive, beholden to work the theater’s to keep the family solvent. Even after Usha becomes a star, we see a montage of her film roles, and in all of them she is a persecuted or pitiable woman. She becomes a metaphor for the modern Indian woman, a woman who is educated and independently wealthy, but still subservient to the patriarchy of Indian society.

Mirrors also play an important role in the film. When Usha first arrives at the film studio where she will one day work we see an actress fixing her appearance in a mirror. The actress is glamorous and beautiful, but her beauty feels impersonal and transient, which is underscored by an actor rehearsing his lines in the background, “I will destroy your beauty to ashes. Fire. Fire.” Beauty and free will are pictured as a threat to men’s power, and mirrors act as a means of reflecting back the inadequacies we notice about ourselves. When Usha’s costar Rajan is pictured staring at his image in the mirror it is implied that he sees a man that he does not like. He sees a coward, a man unable of telling Usha how he truly feels. Sunil puts it best when he says to Usha, “Your lovers are mere mirrors. And you are that idol locked in the mirror. You are worried that a new experience does not break that idol into pieces.” Mirrors show who we are rather than how we would like to be seen.

In one of my favorite shots Usha is filming a scene at the studio. She messes up a pose, and the choreographer steps in to show her how to properly perform the pose. The implication is that she doesn’t know what her role is or how she is supposed to act. She is torn by her desire to rebel against her mother and make her own choices, and her desire to a mother and leave the film industry behind. She is full of contradictions, and it is in celebration of contradictions that the film captures some of its most poignant moments.

Showdown in Hinditown: Curry Westerns, Villains, and Frontier Justice

Drawing from genres as diverse as Hong Kong martial arts films and “spaghetti Westerns,” Sholay engages in a discourse that roots the audience in the experience of the other. Shot in the desert-like environment of Southern India, Sholay is a transnational epic that features narrative and stylistic elements that make it both a typical masala film and a genre bending innovation, and is the first example of the affectionately named “curry Western.” The story of a village imperiled by a band of ruthless bandits who seek the protection from a band of disreputable warriors has been recycled in numerous formats including the Magnificent Seven and Seven Samurai, with Sholay marking just one installment in a series of revenge films. The film serves as a backdrop for conversations about brotherly love, frontier justice, and the hero/villain dichotomy.

Sholay utilized techniques considered cutting edge at the time, including quick cuts back and forth between shots, as witnessed in the opening battle scene on the train where Veeru, Jai, and the Thakur fight off a band of thugs. Later, freeze frame and slow motion shots are used to heighten the melodrama of the deaths of the Thakur’s family at the hands of Gabbar and his henchmen. Unlike a lot of traditional Hindi films which emphasize static shots and close ups Sholay utilizes a number of tracking shots and inventive angles, including a number of “bottom up” shots where the camera is position on the ground facing upward at the actor. Sholay often blends traditional Indian instrumentation with Western style music. Veeru and Jai are depicted playing the harmonica, an instrument utilized time and again in Hollywood Westerns, but also make time for the typical song and dance numbers typical in Hindi “masala” films.

The theme of frontier justice is an important motif in Hollywood Western films, and the same is true for Sholay. When the Thakur first catches Gabbar Singh he grips Gabbar’s head in a vice and says, “They aren’t arms, they’re a noose.” This bit of gritty dialogue harkens to the use of lynch squads as a form of frontier justice, and serves as a manifestation of the power of the common man. Like many tortured heroes popular in Western films the Thakur is a damaged person out for revenge, and his sense of morality is shaped by the violence that his been committed against him and his people. “In a reversal of the usual hostile imagery, the ‘feudal’ landlord too is shown as fundamentally good, able to act where the state cannot.” (Metcalfe, 2012) The Thakur justifies hiring Veeru and Jai to deal with Gabbar by saying, “Only because iron will deal with iron,” meaning that only strength (meaning violence) can counter strength, and in Sholay the strongest characters are those with the greatest martial talent. When the Thakur later confronts Gabbar after Veeru effectively neuters Gabbar of his masculine power by decimating his band of thugs the Thakur cripples Gabbar’s arms by crushing them under his feet. This act of retribution honors the “eye for an eye” message that is propagated up till the end of the film when the Thakur’s vengeance is derailed by timely arrival of the police, whose appearance enforces that notion that law and order is ultimately the realm of the state. Yet the film also undercuts the effectiveness of traditional forms of law and order. The jailer who pompously lords over Veeru and Jai while they are in prison is depicted as a ridiculously ineffective character whose appearance is clearly influenced by Charlie Chaplin’s depiction of Hitler in The Great Dictator.  Simultaneously a metaphor for British imperialism and national law the jailer serves a laughable foil to the more gritty and effective methods of justice dealt out by Veeru and Jai against Gabbar Singh and his evil henchmen.

Gabbar Singh is also as much a creation of the Western film genre in Hollywood as he is a distinct product of Hindi cinema. One of Hindi cinema’s first true super villains, Gabbar is a hyperbolic human incarnation of sadism and greed, and operates as a dual representation of Western violence and mythological villainy. “Gabbar Singh, by his creator’s own admission, was modeled on the psychotic, laughing villain, Indio, in Leone’s For A Few Dollars More. Yet he enjoys the kind of uncontested authority over his men that Indio can only fantasize about. More evocative is the way that both men are situated in a moral universe where greed and revenge, violence and betrayal are the primary referents.” (Banerjea, 2005) Throughout the film Gabbar repeatedly commits the gravest moral taboos, almost none of which is more heinous that the betrayal of his own men. Gabbar proves his disloyalty by shooting three of his men after sparing their lives in a miraculous game of Russian roulette, and the enigma of his character only grows more complex, because his true motivations other than sadistic pleasure are never revealed. “By the end of the film the audience is none the wiser about the substantive location of Gabbar’s desire. He has no social history, no personal biography beyond the stylistic markers of criminal excess: the howling, the tilt of the head, the mad, rolling eyes, that studded belt.” (Banerjea, 2005)