No
art passes our conscience in the way that film does. It goes directly to our
feelings. It sinks deep into the dark rooms of our soul. We may argue as much as we want about the differences of both mediums,
yet the fact remains that one’s summation of both of them arrives from one’s
scale of sensibility and magnitude of knowledge. These then juxtapose to
provide one, a well-defined picture of why we choose to deconstruct what we are
viewing, and could end up being thoroughly idiosyncratic and quite left open to
deep deliberation, based, once again, on one’s sensibility and knowledge.
Ae Dil Hai Mushkil (ADHM), a romantic drama
written and directed by Karan Johar made it to the screens for Diwali. The
festival is particularly associated with the goddess of prosperity, and marks
the beginning of the financial year in our country. The motion picture sported
a stellar cast, yet Imran Abbas was the only saving grace I found in the film. Despite
that the charm of his mellifluous voice brought life to the beauty of Urdu, he
lit the screen up in what little was left of him to showcase, though
unfortunately, five of his vital scenes saw the scissors.
Whilst the film opened to great reviews and
appreciation by the critics, I was not able to endure the hollowness of the
character development, the poor quality of dialogues, and the over-exploitation
of endorphins. The scenes failed to flow seamlessly into each other, and the
script made no sense considering that it was not meant to be an experimental
piece of work, but pitched as la-di-da cinema intended to talk to people of a
particular section of society. I walked out during the interval, (not for any
didactic reasons as aforementioned) but because the incoherence, coupled with
the pretentious performances, got to me. On the way out, I pondered how such situations
had ever been conceptualised? And how the actors, who claim that they are
mighty sharp, had even approved to enact them? Didn’t they see that it was
going nowhere on paper itself? If that was not surprising enough, how did the
office bearers at the censor board, who object to films without any rhyme or
reason, not object to the shallow objectification of the human body here?
How had an actor like Anushka Sharma given a nod
to something as thin as this? And Fawad Khan – he had signed on the dotted lines
too! Just goes to prove that at times, great actors do end up making grave
mistakes, and this was one textbook sample of such a blunder. Anushka is
gifted, and she will catapult to doing stuff that suits her sooner than later. Fawad,
however, is as deep as the ocean, and as talented as the skies above. A
negligible stain like ADHM will make no difference to his stature. Instead of
bothering about markets that have given him a raw deal, he should go on and
make the world his canvas, and shine as bright as the brightest star in the
planetary system, showing those who shunned him out from here his middle
finger.
However, what irked me to stride out was the triteness
of the lead actor. My two cents of counsel to him would be that if he does not
stop mimicking his forefathers, then he is bound to end up in the dustbin. Such
histrionics suited those times. Not these. I concur that old wine can be
packaged in new bottles, but it has to be done in some innovative ways,
definitely not in the style that he is epitomising here. Coming to think of it,
he began his career with great promise, but overconfidence appears to have made
him lose the plot along the way. The characters he has been choosing lately
look like an echo of something that he has done in the past, and if he does not
get a hold of his bearings, and quickly, then it would not be too long before
he would be exiled from the screen and remain a mere memory.
No matter how big the banner, or how fabled the
director, the script must rule sovereign. Directors and producers need to
refrain from packaging garbage as gold with the assumption that the film buffs
would be incapable of seeing right through their foolhardiness. I do understand
that not everything one does can turn out to be a masterpiece, but you expect a
certain level of credibility at least from certain individuals, and when such
individuals think that they are one step ahead, and play to the gallery, the
outcome is bound to be a stillborn like ADHM. Perhaps I am making it seem
terribly grim, but not everything is gone with the wind – there is no dearth of
outstanding directors one can look up to, directors who concentrate most
earnestly on their subject rather than the sexual and sensual metre of their
material.
‘Aren’t you getting a bit too primeval?’ I was asked when
I shared the first draft of this article with a friend. ‘Would you watch porn
with your children?’ I asked. She used as many expletives her vocabulary
could muster, in jest obviously, and swiftly switched the topic. This is where
I say that as ‘fashionable’ as we think we are, at the basest level we are each
primeval, and in order to maintain that propriety we must refrain from meddling
with the purity of our thinking. I feel that one can be kinky, experimental,
have threesomes, orgies, do what they wish to do, but within the confines of
their homes: while in public, one must maintain the poise that has been
practiced from centuries, and hopefully will be practised for a long time
after, provided wisdom prevails over this generation that seems utterly
bewildered and overtaken by the frivolous. Similarly, writers and directors can
say what they want to say, but there has to be a level of artistic liberty that
illuminates their journey left to individual interpretation. Let us take Mohit
Suri as an example, the lead couple make love in his iconic film Aashiqui 2,
but the lovemaking he represented on the screen was sensual and not sexual, and
that is where the difference rests – in conveying exactly what you want, but
with finesse. Nothing should be made vulgar in order to capitalise on the
inability to support a weak theme.
Sultan, a romantic sports drama directed by Ali Abbas
Zafar had Salman Khan in the lead opposite Anushka Sharma. It did exceptionally
well without the use of love making or making out as the focus of its premise.
Salman’s films are eternally bursting with unpredictable dances, and buffoonery
to the limit of holding one’s stomach and tumbling off the seats in laughter.
They are tailor-made largely for the family going crowd. There was a time when
Salman did films that had dialogues that catered to the masses, but even then,
never were they written so shoddily so as to dip one’s head in shame while
watching him. When Salman, whom some love wholeheartedly, and some hate
sternly, can keep away from such gimmicky publicity and make himself and his
producers millions by delivering consistent successes at the box office, how
difficult is it for some of the rest to take a cue?
You can be as bohemian as you wish, and you can
watch what you want to watch if it makes you happy, and justify it with your
own viewpoint. Also, I may disagree with your viewpoint, but if you agree with
your conscience, who am I to disagree? Yet, I have only one question to ask – say
your child marches up to you one fine day and declares that she is all right
with living a promiscuous life, would you let your child wear skimpy clothes,
get hammered, dance the night away, and wake up the next day in bed with a
stranger?
In today’s free society anything looks possible,
but it is interesting that when faced with a trying situation one would find
one’s roots most shaken and stirred. Crux is that human beings are cut from a
similar fibre, laid-back for the world, but awfully conservative when it comes
to our own, which brings me back to square one – is this the vainness we are
leaving our children with? Is this the culture that we are proud about? When
our men delight in scantily dressed women, and women lust after men, why then
do we spend enormous amounts to cover ourselves up? We can simplify things by
walking about unclothed, can’t we? As they say, think right, for thoughts are
also things, and as we think, so we are. Similarly, know that words are like
precious stones, and our behaviour, the jewellery.
I happened to stumble upon an edition of a widely
read film magazine that stated in bold letters on its cover:
FAWAD AFZAL KHAN: THE CROSS-BORDER TURK WHO’S
GIVING OUR HEROES SLEEPLESS NIGHTS! In hindsight, these are the factors that
disturbed people here. They were unable to digest that the cross-border Turks
had invaded every discernable nuance of creativity in our country, and with
such passion and unmatched perfection, that many here were plainly incompetent
to keep up pace with. It is not hidden too that the abhorrence towards their
faith was the lone motive to ban them, when they were the true ambassadors of
amity, more like an iron steamrolling the hatred that was being spread by the
statesmen who were indulging in warfare for their own personal welfare. Deplorable
that by doing what they needed to do, they achieved their agenda in this
country, but it is not a worry really, considering that life is designed in
such a way that where danger is, grows, the saving power also!
Coming back to the drawing board, Imran Abbas sets
a glittering example with similar qualities as well. He is crystal clear that
those he is associated with on a daily basis speak with refinement and think
with intelligibility. That one does not violate the cipher of basic human
goodness. He is tolerant towards the absurd, and forgives the foolish. A man
who treats everyone alike, he makes an immense difference to the lives of
people, and a slice of that can be found in the goodwill he garners from
everyone around him. Succinctly put, both Imran and Ali demonstrate, with their
own distinct approach, that finally it is a courteous code of conduct that
leaves a mark on the imprint of time, and that crudity and unscrupulous
temperaments have little shelf life. And that is how life must be lived now,
shouldn’t it? With integrity and pride.
We may be repulsed of talent from the neighbouring
nation, but it cannot be refuted that the television series or the films being
made there have nil graphic depiction of obscenity. Nobody undresses anyone
there. Nobody drinks, or demands a prerequisite that if these many kissing and
lovemaking scenes are not included in the contracts, we will not do it, and
despite that the series and movies from there are sought after the world over.
The same goes with Iranian cinema. The ‘less is more’ policy due to their political
helplessness literally pushes them to rethink how something of consequence
could be portrayed without offending somebody, and keeping on track with the
quintessence of the story, with the added bonus of it making complete sense to
the current trends, it does wonders.
Lastly, we must remember that we are living in an age
where our lives are quite like an open book. And that it is each one of us who
have to figure whether we want a semblance of balance in our lives, and the
life of our immediate family, near and dear ones, or leave them to live the
lives the characters in some films, books, digital platforms are living lately
– insecurely, lewdly, and without aim or purpose. I also want people to realise
that cinema and literature are quite the mirrors of the time, and it is rather
in our own hands to amend the manner in which we want to behold their
reflection.
