I’ve been on a bit of a Bollywood watching rampage lately. So much so, actually, that I want to start learning Hindi. This is what happened to me several years ago with Japanese films. I fell in love with Japanese movies, from Ozu Yasujiro to Koreeda Hirokazu, and became determined to study the language. And I did. For years. I majored in East Asian Studies and focused on Japan, and even lived in Japan two times on someone else’s dime: for one summer as a language student in Tokyo, and then in 2014-15 I spent a year at Kyushu University in Fukuoka as a Fulbright research student. As a Film Studies grant recipient, I was able to study language, film, and culture, while living with my husband and our son in Japan. It was amazing, and I miss living in Japan, a lot, but I don’t watch as many Japanese movies as I used to. When I was in Japan I found myself feeling overwhelmed with all of the translating that I had to do for myself and for my family from time to time, and I looked to Bollywood to escape it. The films were lighter than the Japanese movies that I was watching for my project, and I think that I needed them for balance. I must still need them, for something else perhaps, because I can’t seem to get enough of them. So here I am. Thinking about studying Hindi. Thinking about studying India. Thinking about studying film. So, I figure I’ll go back to writing and see where it takes me.
So back to that Bollywood watching rampage.
I’ve been dabbling in the films of the other Khans lately. For those of you who don’t know, the three reigning kings of the Bollywood box office are Aamir, Salman, and Shah Rukh Khan (no, they are not related). They are Muslims in a country that is predominately Hindu, which I have been told makes their success even more unlikely and therefore, amazing. They are the same age, born in 1965. They began their careers around the same time, mid to late 1980’s, and have been the biggest ticket sellers in Bollywood for well over twenty years; the younger generation has yet to surpass their sales or produce this level of superstar. It was Shah Rukh Khan’s films that made me fall for Bollywood in the first place, and I have probably seen around fifty of them to date (I’ll have to update the list), but I became curious about these other guys. So I watched a few, and I get it. I totally get it. I’ve seen too many of Aamir’s movies to start at the beginning and work my way up (like I want to do with Amitabh Bachchan, Rekha, and several other stars and directors), but I might be able to do this with Salman. Hell, I’ll even make it a goal, but I’ll have to tackle a few more Aamir Khan films before I get started on that.
I started with Talaash (2012) and was blown away. First of all, I was surprised that a major Bollywood release would dabble with the underworld. The underbelly of the city, of the film industry and of the police force. It was dark, noir-ish, beautifully shot, and the acting was superb. I was all around impressed with Aamir. He was especially subdued in this role (I know this now). He wasn’t just a good actor, he apparently took good, different, roles. Rani Mukherjee was at her best. This was the first time that I had seen her in such a serious role, and it was also the first time that I ever forgot that I was watching Rani. There is something about Rani, maybe it is her raspy voice, or her look, but I can never seem to separate Rani Mukherjee the person from the characters that she is playing. But she owned this one, and was completely convincing. I have a newfound respect for her as an actor. I have always been fond of Kareena Kapoor. She is funny and charming, and it was refreshing to see her take on a role that used this to mask deep sadness. However, it was Nawazuddin Siddiqui who stole the show as Tehmur, a crippled lackey, who is scheming an escape from the ghetto. He was excellent. All around. I saw him in Bajrangi Bhaijaan soon after this, and cannot wait to see more of him.
I have read some criticism of the film, particularly the plot twist, which kind of surprised me. I have to admit that I saw it coming, but I was told a long time ago that we don’t watch Bollywood to see what happens at the end, because we can almost always see it coming (I mean, Bollywood films are formulaic. Duh.). So, we watch it for the journey. This film was an emotional rollercoaster of a different kind. I could see where the plot was going, but I couldn’t tell where it was going emotionally. I didn’t know if Surjan would face his past, or reconcile with his wife (and to be fair, I don’t know if he ever did), but it is apparent that he comes through this difficult period of time having faced something extraordinary. We may not get to see the results, but are privy to the journey, to his breakdown. As a viewer, I appreciate this.
I think it is worth mentioning that I was surprised that this film was directed by a female. This is something I find happens occasionally in Hindi cinema, where female directors are far from the norm, but when I find out that the film that I am watching was written or directed by a woman and I begin to ask myself: why I am even thinking about this? The fact that it even stands out says quite a bit about the lack of female directors in the U.S. (and in Japan – Naomi Kawase is the only one that comes to mind). Aside from Karyn Kusama (who is hardly recognized in Hollywood), I had a hard time thinking of a single famous female director (until my friend reminded me of Kathryn Bigelow). That is it (and please, if you know of others, enlighten me. Save me from my ignorance). Talaash’s director, Reema Kagti also co-wrote the screenplay, and was the assistant director on Aamir Khan’s films Lagaan and Dil Chahta Hai (both excellent films that I plan to write about soon). I loved her technique in all of these films, and hope that she plans to do more.