The most agreeable part of watching three immeasurably beautiful women take centre stage in three very different films, in three different languages is that there is no sense of self-congratulations in the endeavour. Satyajit Ray had once confessed that when he made the exceptionally beautiful Charulata he was trying to be a young progressive artiste who understood the sensitivities of a lonely wife.
I saw not an iota of self-consciousness in the way the Telugu star Nani rescues the doomed Devdasi, Sai Pallavi in the hugely engaging costume drama Shyam Singha Roy. This is as flawless and passionate a love epic as I have witnessed since Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas. Please note I say, ‘witnessed’ not ‘seen’. This is the film that incites ornate poetic descriptions of simple human activities such as eating, sleeping and courtship…Everything is done with a captivating old-world charm that’s rare to find in cinema today.
Cinema today, reminds me of how lamely the film starts. When we first meet the film’s hero Vasudev, he is a struggling filmmaker who shamelessly uses a stranger as his short film’s leading lady, That whole epilogue with Keerthy (Krithi Shetty) falling for the struggling filmmaker is an aberration…
But wait. Don’t go away. If you do, you will miss an epic love story told in such a gloriously florid and visually rich language that you will miss the big-screen more than ever before.
I did. I have not felt so strongly about cinema exclusion since the lockdown. Writer-director Rahul Sankrityan seems to have designed the entire film for the sake of posterity: look what you missed out on the big screen when Covid crept into your lives! Suffer, all ye locked-down souls!
This is a larger-than-life melodrama with the writing so clearly defined and packaged, it’s like watching a romance unfold in a familiar yet exciting language. As soon as Shyam Singha Roy moves into another lifetime—yes, this is a tale of reincarnation and a convincing one for a change—a kind of dramatic deliverance and a storytelling celerity kick in. You are hooked, mesmerised by the visual and emotional velocity of this unapologetic melodrama.
You wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off the sparks and flames of mutual passion between Shyam Singha Roy and the lovely Devdasi Maithrayee, played by the bewitching Sai Pallavi(more on her later). The romance unravels in Kolkata (which means we see a painting of the Howrah Bridge in the backdrop of almost every frame) in the early 1970s.
The visual imaging of the Devdasi temple is stunning, and the sexual exploitation of the young girls, devastating. They remind us of the colour of choler and rebellion in Bhansali’s cinema, which is not to say that Sankrityan copies Bhansali. There is violence at the heart of this passionate romance that Bhansali would never dare venture into.
I wish there was more time given to the central romance between the non-show-offy social reformist Shyam Singha Roy (obviously inspired by Rajaram Mohan Roy) and Maithrayee rechristened Rosie…perhaps after Waheeda Rehman in Guide? Sai Pallavi as Maithrayee/Rosie echoes the vulnerable yet strong personality of Waheeda Rehman. Watching Sai dance, I am sure even Ms Rahman would smile in approval.
Why is the film in such a hurry? Why the insecurity of losing the audiences’ interest when the brilliant writing has us by the balls right to the impassioned end? The romantic reunion at the finale is stunning in its impact. Not only because Nani and Sai Pallavi make such a fetching pair, but also because they are shot by the brilliant cinematographer Sanu John Varghese with a poetic flourish.
The second film where a woman takes centre stage, and that too a woman in her 50s, is the amazing Revathi in the new Malayalam shiver giver Bhoothakalam. To be honest, it’s not the horror element that impressed me the most in Bhoothakalam, it is the way the young director constructs the mother-son relationship as rapidly spiralling, out of control, spinning into a swirl that threats to swallow all mutual affection between Asha (Revathi) and her truant jobless son Vinu (Shane Nigam, who also co-produces this lean sinewy film).
There are subtle digs at the “family” making things worse between mother and son by constantly declaring Vinu mentally unstable or trying to play the mediator. Asha’s appointments with a psychiatrist don’t help much. A social worker (Saiju Kurup) is brought in. He doesn’t help Asha to get over her problems with her son, and adds nothing to the plot.
Sadsivan’s film works the best when indoors. Shehnad Jalal’s camera envelopes the mother and son in reams of doom. You sense there is something awfully amiss. But the aura of terror is never properly explained. I don’t know if that is good or bad. On the one hand, the less the mystery is explained the more it embeds itself in the audiences’ innermost insecurities.
Taking a cue from the ghost of implausibilities that haunt the horror genre, Bhoothakalam doesn’t tell us how the grandmother’s death at the beginning is connected with the eeriness that shrouds Shinu and Asha’s cosy-looking home, finally uniting them to fight the common enemy. More importantly, why do they live in that house when they know “something is wrong” (this is said ad nauseam)? These are questions that haunt the film far more intensely than the spirits of the dead people who mingle with the living like Manoj Shyamalan's ghostly apparitions losing their way. All of this spectral spookiness works effectively as long as the two protagonists remain indoors.
The director and cinematographer have an uncanny sense of spatial disharmony. To cite an instance of how well the fear factor works indoors…there is a shot of Revathi moving slowly towards the source of a strange noise down narrow dimly-lit corridor in their house while her son waits for her to emerge back from the darkness. The scene lasts for just a few seconds. But those moments are killingly heartstopping.
Like a good child, Bhoothakalam is at its best only when confined to the home. When Vinu takes off for a romantic song with his girlfriend (Athira Patel) or a meddlesome neighbour (Manju Pathrose) provides more information on the unexplained happenings in the house than we need, the film makes us impatient.
This is not the place for distractions. The two lead actors know it. Revathi as the grieving depressed mother never falters. Shane Nigam as her son follows right behind.
And then there is a new film from New Zealand called Juniper which puts a 70-plus actress at the forefront, and is all the richer for it. You really can’t put a good woman down; not one as dazzling as Charlotte Rampling. This British actress has regaled us with a wide variety of performances for decades: her most recent triumph being the two knock-out films Benedetta and Dune.
Juniper, a New Zealand production puts Rampling right at the centre of a plot that offers the supreme comfort of the familiar and yet succeeds in shaking us to the core by its gentle yet persuasive comment on humanism. Rampling plays Ruth a fading matriarch now confined to a wheelchair in her final days, Ruth descends on her estranged son Robert (Marton Csokas) and her grandson Sam (George Ferrier). Very conveniently, the plot packs off the father (who resents his mother for not having told him who his father is, a detail she cannot supply since she doesn’t know who the father of her son is) and leaves the coast clear for a truly moving grandmother-grandson story with scenes between the two actors that are stirring and moving.
Speaking of leaving the coast clear, the New Zealand hinterland with its mountains and oceans is captured in all their majestic glory but never at the expense of the characters. There are only four main characters in the story (not counting a party that granny Ruth hosts so that grandson Sam can lose his virginity) and two of the characters are missing for long stretches, leaving Rampling and her young co-star Ferrier to grapple with the demons that have hovered in their lives for years.
There are no major confrontation scenes. There is a captivating quietude clamping the characters in a cordon of ties that time or distance cannot take away. The best thing about Juniper can also be considered its biggest weakness: it doesn’t offer us any new insights into the domestic drama. And that’s precisely why we love what we see in this cosily searing drama of dying with a flourish and a laugh.
The film is fetchingly shot and frugally edited. There is no room here for pleasantries. For me, the stand-out interlude between Ruth and Sam is when she is picked out of her wheelchair by her grandson for a dance. As she clings tightly to the young boy her entire being can be seen absorbing the smell and feel of youth.
It is a highly erotic moment, but also very spiritual in its tragic suggestions of the twilight phase in the human life specially when the flesh is weak but the spirit is high, and why not? Since Ruth sips on gin and tonic all day long.
By the time the film ends the bonding between Ruth and Sam is so strong I could feel the weight of the impending tragedy on Sam’s shoulder. The weight gets heavier as we grow older.
Shabana Azmi who has been a constantly powerful hero in Hindi cinema since the 1970s when she began her stunning career in Shyam Benegal’s Ankur feels the time is right for female heroes. “I always say it’s about being at the right place at the right time. I have an unconventional face for a Hindi film heroine. I remember. BR Chopra suggesting that I should do only vamp’s roles and Tarachand Barjatya saying that I look lower class and so should restrict myself to playing a maid, etc. Its another matter that later both of them cast me in roles that were far removed from the moulds they had suggested!
I am amazed at the success I got in mainstream Hindi cinema and often think these films Fakira, Parvarish, Amar Akbar Anthony etc were successful in spite of me not because of me! But subconsciously something very important was happening. I was playing some very substantial roles in Parallel cinema that won me critical acclaim and several national awards so I developed a status that was equivalent to the most successful stars of those times such as Hema Malini and Zeenat Aman because I was not competing on their home ground- had I done that I'm sure I would have been on the bottom rung of the ladder but parallel cinema gave me and Smita and Naseer and Om a unique position and I will always feel indebted to the various directors and writers who cast me in strong meaningful roles.”
Shabana feels there’s a wide variety of roles that are available to all kinds of actors. “I’d like to be a part of films that either offer me a substantial role, or are trying to do or say something beyond the ordinary. I find myself more and more at the right place at the right time. The kind of parts that have come my way recently were unimaginable earlier for an actress my age…Look at Morning Raga, Saaz, Godmother, Fire, Tehzeeb, Neerja and the web series The Empire….These are well-structured nuanced characters. Did anyone think ten years ago that actresses in our films would get such roles? Ten years ago it was pack-up time for heroines at 30. All you could do was hold a thali in a white saree. Today I can play my age. I abhor the thought of playing a younger woman. The camera doesn’t lie. And any attempt to not look your age is pathetic on screen. We don’t have proper facilities to look older either. Thank God, we’re playing our age. Whether it’s Amitabh Bachchan or any of us, we are not made to play younger people. Look at poor Nirupa Roy. She got substantial roles. But at the age of 30 they made her put grey in her hair. And Achala Sachdev was all of 16 when she played 60. She quit because she got nightmares about dropping a thali and screaming, ‘Nahin !’. You know an actor or any other human being needs to be comfortable in her space at whatever age she is .”
The key to Shabana’s longevity is her refusal to conform. “I don’t see why I have to wear the colours that are politically correct. Who says saffron is identified with one religion and green with another? I’ll wear both colours together. And let me see who can stop me.”
However one of Shabana’s favourite actresses Waheeda Rehman doesn’t share Shabana’s optimism. The beautiful and elegant Waheeda who played strong assertive women in Pyaasa, Guide, Khamoshi and Teesri Kasam has all but retired. The iconic Waheeda Rehman whose fans in the film industry range from Amitabh to Abhishek Bachchan has finally decided to call it quits. Waheedaji sighed, “Where are the roles? It’s getting tiresome to play mother and grandmother’s roles. I don’t enjoy it anymore. It’s unlikely that I’d accept anything else now. Bas, ab bahut ho gaya”
The screen-legend who began her career in 1955 was last seen in Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra’s Rang De Basanti and Delhi Belly and a cameo in Skater Girl.
Reminiscing about her premature switchover to mother’s roles Waheedaji said, “I got the role of a lifetime in Rajinder Singh Bedi’s Phagun in 1973. I had to play Jaya Bhaduri’s mother. That did it for me. I was suddenly flooded with mother’s roles. And I found myself playing Rajesh Khanna’s mother just 9 years after I played his leading lady in Khamoshi.”
Waheedaji blames the male-dominated film industry for the premature matriarchal status accorded to leading ladies. “The heroines for our established heroes are getting younger and younger. So the heroines who started their career with these established heroes are quickly promoted to senior roles.”
Ask her if she doesn’t find this unfair and Waheedaji says practically, “It’s the norm in cinema everywhere. Look at Meryl Streep. She contemplates quitting every year when Hollywood quickly offers her another role. Sadly in our industry, there’s no such remedial procedure. Once a heroine is beyond an age she has to graduate to mother’s roles or quit.”
Sadly for her fans, Waheedaji who sold off her farm in Bangalore a few years ago to settle permanently in Mumbai where she lives with her son and daughter has opted to quit.“I’m happy to be doing other things. My days are full and I’ve no regrets. Please don’t expect to see me playing stereotypical roles.”
by Subhash K Jha
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