Pyaasa and Filming Hunger

            Directed by Guru Dutt, Pyaasa is one of the most cherished films to come out of India in the past century. The movie tells the story of Vijay, a troubled young poet searching for recognition of his art. Vijay experiences a taste of fame only to have it stripped away from him by the scheming of his employer, brothers, and supposed friends. Pyaasa is a social film that reflects the feelings of loss and disenfranchisement felt by many in postcolonial India. In particular the theme of hunger is of particular importance to the film; hunger is not only an important plot point, but inspires critical compositional themes that set the tone for the entire film. The title, Pyaasa, translates to thirst, and is a perfect metaphor for the film, that of longing for what you need to live, but also suffering. The film includes lines like, “In life, besides love and poetry, there’s hunger,” which further underscores the motif of hunger.

           

            Pyaasa is a film of shadows and light, and represents a monumental achievement in natural cinematography. Dutt and Murthy used natural lighting and shadows to create scenes that are full of depth, and skillfully draw the audience’s attention to certain areas on screen while carefully veiling others. The use of shadows and light enhance the motif of hunger, as the exchange of what is seen and unseen creates an imbalance that leaves the audience yearning for realization. When Vijay first encounters Gulab he follows her through the columned walkways and alleys of the city as she lures him to her home (and place of work); there is mystery and allure in this scene, as our eyes are pulled to the dark places where we can not see but our hearts encourage us to search. The dark and unknown spaces are fetishized throughout the film to such an extent that the cinematography even bleeds into the writing. Vijay’s book of poems for which he achieves great fame is entitled “Shadows,” harkening to the influence of shadows on the Guru Dutt’s vision for the film. When Vijay reveals himself to the crowd at his memorial service, his frame is backlit, so his features are hidden in shadow; this speaks to the fact that he has lost his identity, and has become disembodied through the betrayal of personhood by his family and friends. During the ensuing riot brought about by the revelation of his existence, shadows are used to highlight the intensity of the scene, as people in the crowd lose their defining features and become more like monsters or beasts lurking in the shadows, hungry for the opportunity to lash out in the confusion of chaos behind a veil of anonymity. The final shot of the film depicts Gulab and Vijay walking hand in hand away from the camera and into a hazy mist; their identities become blurred, and we recognize them as allegories for the lost and disenfranchised voices of their generation.

            The music of S.D. Burman plays a very prominent role in Pyaasa, particularly in heightening the melodrama of particular scenes or creating moments of cognitive dissonance. For example, when Vijay is first spotted by his mother walking the streets of the city at the beginning of the film, Burman’s score soars to a dramatic crescendo, with all the strings plying to imbue the scene with a sense of pathos and longing; it lets us know that this encounter is meaningful, and painful, particularly for Vijay’s mother, who feels as if her son has abandoned her. Her only desire is to feed him, to provide sustenance for her favored son, and in doing so to give her life meaning as a mother. Later, I was struck by the shrill quality of the speaking voice of the masseuse, Abdul Sattar, particularly in comparison to his pleasant singing voice. There is a clear disconnect hear, with Guru Dutt and Burman saying that appearances are not always as they seem. Ambient sound also plays a subtle role in the film. We often hear the chirping of crickets in night scenes involving Vijay, which beckons the audience to view him as in communion with nature. The sounds of nature such as the crickets are a reflection of the emptiness inside Vijay as he searches for recognition that he hopes will give his life meaning; he is ravenous for artistic achievement, but is met only with the sounds of silence. When Vijay is committed to an insane asylum for claiming to be himself (ironically), there is a great scene where we see Vijay sitting on the floor surrounded by his fellow inmates. Dutt masterfully uses sound and silence to create beautiful tension on screen; despite being the only sane person in the room, Vijay is the only one who is quiet, refusing to project his frustration.

            Eyes are extremely sensual objects. Over the centuries, stories about eyes have emerged insinuating that eyes can bewitch men, turn people to stone, or even kill. In Pyaasa, Guru Dutt uses the close up, particularly drawing attention to actor’s eyes, to create scenes of tension and expressiveness. “To get proper expressions from the artist, to convey to the audience the intensity of those expressions. Shooting mainly in mid or long shots would not have given those expressions in that way. For him, everything had to be in close shot. (Murthy, 1999) Dutt utilizes close ups through a large portion of the scene where Gulab and Vijay first meeting, focusing particularly on Gulab’s eyes, which are sharp and alluring. Gulab’s hypnotic gaze entices Vijay to follow her to her home, where she hopes to make him a customer; her eyes are not glamorous, but that of a cunning albeit playful predator. She enamors Vijay, and we can see the hunger in his features as he stumbles seemingly without choice after her; his curiosity creates a burning desire inside him to learn how she knows of his poetry. Later, when Vijay and Meena encounter each other in the elevator, Dutt and Murthy use a close up to create the impression that they are the only two people in the elevator. They drink up each other’s faces, and become lost in the carnal orgy of reverie over their past romantic relations.

            Movement and framing are other important compositional elements to the film. Unlike many other directors of the time, Guru Dutt utilized movement to create dynamic shots that personified emotional undercurrents of the film or created dramatic tension. “Others just used to keep the camera fixed, have the actors perform the song, walking in or out of frame and have a few cut to close-up shots, that’s all. But Guru Dutt was not like that at all. He emphasized movements and that too in close-up shots.” (Murthy, 1999) For example, during the scene where Vijay and Meena meet in the elevator, as Vijay is leaving the elevator screen closes shut and Meena is left behind. Her face is framed by the bars the screen, giving the impression that she is trapped against her will; she is like a caged animal, her eyes hungry with sensual yearning for times past. Later, Dutt and Murthy uses movement to create wonderful tension in the scene where Gulab runs away from a police constable; beginning with successive shots of Gulab’s and the constable’s feet, followed by panning shots of the two running, the scene is reminiscent of a scene in nature, that of a hawk bearing down on a helpless field mouse, hoping for a kill. My favorite shot occurs when Vijay’s paper are scattered by the wind in Gulab’s home after his supposed suicide; his poetry assaults her, and she is shocked by the onslaught of his words as they now drift about without him. We can sense her longing for his presence, and the words – which one comforted her – now bring her pain, but she clings to them nonetheless, because they are all she has left to remember him.

            Pyaasa broke a number of conventional cinema norms upon its release; the use of camera movement in musical shots, a female heroine who is also a prostitute, an unhappy editing. The film is a powerful melodrama that utilizes unique compositional elements designed to propel the emotional tension of the story. In Pyaasa, hunger becomes a motif that speaks to the disenfranchisement of the common man, and the desire for self actualization that – for most – never materializes in the face of overwhelming societal pressure to perform and be productive.

Shri 420 - Nationalism and Citizenship

In Shri 420, Raj Kapoor navigates themes of nationalism and citizenship through the story of Raj, the oft-misguided but sympathetic hero of the film.  Released in 1955, Shri 420 is typical Hindi melodrama with a social conscience, a product of both the influence of Charlie Chaplin’s filmography on Kapoor as well as the state of affairs in post-colonial Indian. This period, known as the Nehru years, bore witness to a significant change in the socioeconomic and political climate in Indian. “The Nehru years (1945-1965) witnessed the welling up of post-independence optimism as well as its ebbing away.” (Sahai, 1987) We see the optimism of the common man reflected in the aspirations of the footpath dwellers, whom, upon meeting Raj – or Raju, as he is affectionately called – espouse their belief in his ability to achieve success in Bombay. “Listen, I told you the poor man’s ‘Raj’ will come some day.” This statement reflects the desire of the common man to see one of their own overcome the odds. We later see Kapoor deflate this optimism during one of Raj the tramp’s musings. “To see this wretched world you have to look at it upside down.” In this statement, Kapoor coyly undermines the moral fabric of the Hindi film universe by casually asserting that to get ahead in life you have to consider the immoral, the perverse, and the untraditional.

If you want to find a model for the ideal Indian identity in Shri 420 you may look no further than the two female heroines of the film, Ganga Ma and Vidya. Ganga Ma, played by Lalita Pawar, is the very likeness of the typical mother figure in Hindi cinema, although she is not Raj’s actual mother; she is always pictured wearing a plain sari; her sexuality is never in question; she espouses quaint rural wisdom; and, she even sports the quintessential cross-eyed look so popular of rural mother figures in Hindi movies of the time. “The use of the mother figure, however, also points up a metaphor that is never far from the surface in Indian discourses on both femininity and nationalism: mother as motherland, Mother India, Mother Earth.” (Thomas, 1995) Vidya in turn is the archetype for female virtue. In typical Bollywood fashion, Vidya serves are Raj’s moral compass, and always strives to do what is just for society. Vidya represents what it means to be a good wife, just as Ganga Ma represents what it means to be a good mother. Betwixt the two they serve to paint a portrait of the ideal Indian woman.

At the opposite end of the spectrum, Seth Dharamanand and the showgirl Maya serve as the villains of the film.  “The villain lacks any pride in Indian culture, usually represented either by his being a complete outsider or by his grossly parodied aping of Western mores.” (Thomas, 1995) Seth Dharamanand dresses in Western attire, drinks, and whores, but his greatest sin (according to the universe of Hindi cinema) is his willingness to cheat his fellows and prey up on the naivety of the common people. Similarly, Maya drinks, smokes, and dresses immodestly, all inappropriate behaviors for a young woman. Together, the two represent the corrupting influence of Western values and greed that serve to undermine the Indian values of modesty, hard work, and respect for tradition.

The subject of clothing is explored to such an extent in Shri 420 that it effectively becomes a metaphor for citizenship and patriotism. The opening song of the film, “Mera Joota Hai Japani,” was a smash success following the release of the film, and became a popular patriotic anthem. The chorus of the songs translates to: “My shoes are Japanese, my trousers are English, my hat is Russian, but my heart is Indian.” Through this song, Kapoor’s character of Raj the tramp positions himself squarely in the middle of the conversation of what it means to be a modern Indian man; he may wear clothes from other countries, but at his core he is a son of India, and that is where his allegiances lie. Later in the film we see Raj posing behind a fashionable Western suit in the window of the laundry where he works. When he appears in front of Vidya dressed in his normal shabby clothes, she questions his attire. Raj scolds her, saying, “Man wears clothes, clothes don’t wear man.” In this Kapoor is saying that appearances are deceiving, and that what is truly important is what a man (or woman) does through action and deed. When Raj buys Vidya a beautiful black sari with dirty money given to him by Dharamanand, Vidya is pleased at first, but later resents the gift, because it is a product of the corrupting influence of money and power. She imagines a snake slithering in the folds of the cloth, symbolizing the treachery of placing too much faith in material wealth.

Throughout the film, Kapoor toys with the duality of opportunity and corruption. With his country values, naivety, and desire to find honest work, the Raj who first arrives in Bombay is presented as the future of Indian prosperity, a man dedicated to find honest work in the promised land that is urbanized India. Yet, it is not honest and hardworking Raj who hits it big, but rather Raj Kumar, the 420, who realizes these ambitions of power and wealth. “In Shri 420, Raj Kapoor has sought to bring out the moral and metaphysical dimensions of urban corruption.” (Sahai, 1987) Still, in keeping with tradition, the movie ends happily; Dharamanand and his cronies are taken off in a paddy wagon, Vidya and Raj are reunited, and Raj repents for his misdeeds. Through his errors, Raj learns that life is a 420; you may cheat, steal, and lie to the top, but this success is hollow and will bring you no happiness. Rather, it is only through hard work and organization that can one hope to achieve prosperity. This sentiment echoes the nationalism and opportunism of the time, a reflection of the hope harbored by a fledgling democracy striving to find its place in modern world while clinging to time honored traditions.