Magic of Bombay Talkies

I was rather sceptical about Bombay Talkies , right up till the lights dimmed in the theatre.

I was converted in about 15 minutes, mid-way through Karan Johar’s segment. By the time the second short, Dibakar Banerjee’s, ended, I was downright ashamed of myself for having doubted if this experiment would work.

Why had I been so sceptical? Because it seemed to me a somewhat half-hearted attempt to mark the centenary of Indian cinema. B-Towners have not been particularly pro-active about celebrating this milestone. They’ve chipped in when asked to, but have otherwise been too preoccupied with their own films and lives to mark the occasion with a big bang.

The concept for Bombay Talkies came not from any Bollywood biggie but young producer Ashi Dua, who has spent three years cajoling directors, finding funds, and releasing the movie.

Serendipitously, for her and us, her idea has worked splendidly. The movie shows us what Bollywood can come up with when freed from mega stars and big budgets (its four directors were allowed just Rs 1.5 crore each), from the compulsions of item numbers and box-office expectations, and, above all, from the baggage of image that inevitably hangs heavy around a successful star’s or director’s neck.

Karan Johar making a film about hating your family? Shooting in grimy railway stations in scenes worthy of a Ram Gopal Varma? Johar’s short is a dark, uneasy, moving take on sexuality, lies and violence that kicks off the film with a bang and uncovers a new facet to this director. All his lead actors — Rani Mukerji, Randeep Hooda and Saquib Saleem — look steaming hot and are immaculately dressed for their parts (there are some things Johar can’t let go!) but the film is a revelation coming from the founder of the super-glossy, happy-families-conquer-all genre of Hindi cinema.

In contrast, Anurag Kashyap, the poster boy of the dark, bitter, violence-ridden brand of realistic cinema, comes up with a funny, bitter-sweet tale that is all about loving your father… and Amitabh Bachchan. Unexpectedly, Kashyap’s is the weakest link in this joint effort. It’s let down by its mildly meandering pace but redeemed by a terrific performance from its lead actor, Vineet Kumar.

Then there is Zoya Akhtar, whose two earlier films, Luck By Chance and Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara , were an ode to the star system. Here she works with two child actors in a funny, gentle story about gender stereotypes and dreams. Naman Jain as the young boy who wants to dance instead of playing football and Khushi Dubey as the sister who understands, are charming in the way only children can be.

But it is Dibakar Banerjee, the absolutely spectacular Nawazuddin Siddiqui (in his best performance ever), and the late master himself, Satyajit Ray, who give us the real ode to cinema — an achingly beautiful story about the magic of cinema, and the actor and dreamer in all of us. So, you tell yourself, this is what happens when a great writer-director, a superlative actor and a director who never ceases to surprise us, get together in one incandescently beautiful film. But how can I leave out the brilliant Sadashiv Amrapurkar, the quietly endearing Shubhangi Bhujbal, the set design… and so much more? Let’s wrap it up by saying that when all the elements in a film coalesce in a work of such joy and perfection, you salute the director.

Fittingly, this film has been publicised on the strength of its directors, not stars — and about time! If you’ve ever complained about Hindi cinema being trite, vulgar, offensive, melodramatic, star-ridden, and far too dependent on songs and dances to cover up its faults — go see Bombay Talkies . It will show you what Hindi cinema is capable of when it liberates itself.

To come down to more mundane matters, the film will earn money for its producers with it modest collections of a little over Rs 5 crore in its opening weekend, because of its low budget. But to get real, the other film that released along with it, Shootout at Wadala , did double that business. That’s the other face of Bollywood. May they both co-exist harmoniously.

There is another film that also released on May 3, and deserves more mileage than it’s got: Celluloid Man , a documentary by Shivendra Singh Dungarpur about P. K. Nair, the man who has done more to preserve Indian cinema and its history.

It was released selectively in PVR cinema halls in some cities, as part of the centenary celebrations. The award-winning film was made last year but managed a commercial release only this year, after having won two National Awards and being shown in over 20 festivals across the world.

If you’re a film buff, if you care about cinema to any degree, please catch this film any which way you can. Let me warn you it is self-indulgent and could be at least 20 minutes shorter, but will offer you an inspirational, heart-warming narrative told by some of the biggest names of our times as they pay tribute to Nair, the man who founded and enriched the National Film Archive of India.

It is because of Nair Sir, as he is often referred to in the film, that we have at least two reels of Raja Harishchandra , the silent film that started it all. And footage from so many other movies that are part of our cinematic heritage. Many of those clips play in the documentary, which show how one man’s glorious passion fought to preserve a wondrous part of our history and culture.

It is also a testament to the doggedness of another man — the film’s director. This is the kind of passion that drives cinema anywhere in the world, and this is a wonderfully apt film to mark the centenary of our cinema. Do try to catch it, and Bombay Talkies.

shashibaliga@gmail.com

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