Of Men and Man-Children

We've talked about action heroes recently around here, so as the natural progression (or regression?) dictates, the time has come to talk about lovers. Ok, so it's really not the progression, it's more the fact that I've been thinking about this post for over a year now, and well, it's high time. And reading the beginning of this excellent post about the evolution of love stories over the decades reminded me of it.

Rockstar - my favourite love story lately

It's hard to ignore the fact that for the past 10 years of Indian cinema a new prototype of hero/lover has evolved, and it's more or less adequately summarized in one word: the man-child, defined as an immature grown man who still has no direction in life, nor much emotional maturity. Without getting into how generation Y is probably the biological father of this character, while globalization is its mother, we'll have to accept the fact that for the past decade it's been the back-bone of most love stories. And some non-love-stories too!

Wake Up Sid! - the title says it all

Gone are the days when fate or a fortuitous chain of events would finally unite the lovers who had agreed to call it quits for the sake of their families. Gone are the days when the crushed lover was willing to let the girl he loved walk away with the other man, and if we still see that man, he is no longer the hero, he has become the other man, pushed somewhere in the background while the main couple holds the sympathy of the audience firmly away from him. Sure we get all kinds of excuses for it: he was abusive (City of God), he was cheating (Kismat Konnection), he was too boring (I Hate Luv Storys), he was not really in love with her (Mere Brother Ki Dulhan), and sometimes no excuse is even needed (Rockstar), but the general rule is that it's the hero's right to get the girl. He certainly seems to think so. And it's this sense of entitlement that is, I feel, the first and most important trait of the man-child.

Sure, there's something to be said for his immaturity, as well as for his self-centered-ness, or for his fear of commitment. These are admittedly all important for his characterization, but unlike the sense of entitlement, they're nothing new. And this is also something that puzzles me personally, because there are few things I hate more in this world than entitlement. And yet... and yet, I am always on the side of the man-child, no matter how spoiled and obnoxious he is.

Dil Chahta Hai - the movie that started it all!

Thinking back about the lover prototype of the 90s/early 2000, one thing seemed to consistently annoy me in all the movies that I couldn't avoid from that decade (though for the most part I did well with avoiding them): the hero's helplessness. Devdas and his eternal self-pity, Raj willing to give up his Simran because the parents said so, Sameer's departure for similar reasons, even Ram giving up Sita for the sake of his people and his honour. All examples of the kind of man I would despise. What use do I have, as a woman, for a man who will not fight for me? How is this coward the ideal husband? Maybe that's why despite their extreme OTT-ness, I found Aamir Khan's old movies more palatable: he never did play the hero that just gives up. For all the ridiculousness of the chair-marriage in Dil, the man at least had the balls to stick to his guns. Don't get me wrong, I avoid those as well (sorry Aamirou), but when I do watch them, I appreciate that at least I don't have to yell at my TV screen: GROW A BACKBONE ALREADY!!

Devdas - It doesn't get much more pathetic than this

I don't know if it's my generation, my upbringing, my star sign or something altogether different, but giving up is not something I would ever have sympathy for. And my real life aversion for weak people seems to translate to my filmi preferences as well. So for all his alleged cuteness (I suppose that's a matter of taste with actors like SRK and Salman), I cannot cheer for a hero who puts his hands up and goes to mope in a corner. Unless of course, she's the one pushing him away, in which case insisting would turn into stalking and we all know how much I hate that.

So I guess when I think about it this way, I'm not really admiring the new hero's sense of entitlement, but rather his willingness to stay and fight once he finds the one thing he cares about. Whether it's through ridiculous and completely implausible plot twists, a la Break Ke Baad, or through hilariously complicated plans a la Mere Brother Ki Dulhan, or with the wild determination of a jungle predator a la Ghajini, or just by speaking up a la Dil Chahta Hai, I find myself always attracted to this hero who doesn't know what quitting means. Obviously all this goes for the heroine too, though sometimes I can understand her weakness where I would have zero tolerance for his. Still, it's much nicer if she is as determined as him.

Mere Brother Ki Dulhan - a most tenacious pair!

On the other side of the coin, it occurs to me that this is most likely why I hated Mausam. But let's not digress.

Yes, he's a man-child, and yes, he needs to do some growing up, and yes, he will probably do at least 2 or 3 offensive things in the course of the movie, but when it's all said and done I am guaranteed to not see him feeling sorry for himself until the girl decides to call it off. And even then, in most cases, that's the catalyst for his growth (whether it's growing up, growing stronger, or growing famous), so you never get that sense of self-inflicted helplessness from him.

I don't mind spoiled brats. Of course, we'd never work out in real life, but they do rather amuse me on screen. I do however get an irresistible urge to slap them when they turn out to be quitters too, on top of being brats. And this seems to be the difference between me hating Devdas and loving Dev D. Between unabashedly despising Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam and embracing Jab We Met. Between thinking Dil To Pagal Hai's ending is a lame cop-out and finding the ending of Dil Chahta Hai exhilarating. And let's not even try to pit Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge versus Rockstar. Talk about going for it!

Jab We Met - selflessness done right

Now don't get me wrong, before the desis start explaining to me the importance of family, honour and "doing the right thing", let me preemptively state that I am vigorously of the opinion that no one who loves you should ever stand in the way of your happiness. Also, in terms of parenting, I firmly believe that the young ones should be allowed to make their own mistakes, though feel free to practice your "I told you so" diction in the mirror all you want in anticipation of their failure. So with that in mind, I guess it boils down to: why care about the family honour when the family couldn't care less about your happiness? And if others do and can relate to these heroes, so be it. I just don't think I will ever be persuaded to.

If I absolutely have to have a Raj, I'll take Saawariya's Raj, despite all the film's faults, because at the end of it all, he's still boxing with unhappiness.

Saawariya - so many things wrong with this one, but what a memorable Raj!

If I have to talk about a noble soul who gives up the woman he loves, I'll talk about Jab We Met's Aditya Kashyap who goes on to make something of his life as a result of his heart-break. If I am to love a quitter, I will choose Lakshya's Karan who, despite his completely unrealistic trajectory, makes a strong case for learning from one's failures. And if I am to cheer for a man who chooses the honour of his family over the happiness of the woman he loves, I'll choose Pinjar's Rashid because he more than makes up for it.

Pinjar - another favourite love story, and don't think there are that many!

While they may not all be man-children per se (unless we broaden the definition to encompass all emotional immaturity), they all go against the norm of the mopey, honourable end-of-century lover as made famous by Shah Rukh Khan, though far be it from me to lay the blame solely on him. It was definitely a trend everyone was a part of, he just happened to be the most famous, and therefore his movies are the hardest to avoid. So you know, I tend to rip on him more, but the problem extends to most movies from the 90s and early 2000s.

Taal - Oh, don't even get me started!

I find that the past decade has happily solved this problem for me! They may have brought in the slacker to replace the struggler, and the video-games player to replace the hard working college student, but hey, it's the SMS generation, isn't it? There is a short cut for everything, values and ethics have definitely changed.

Tere Bin Laden - how do you not love this slacker? And see, it doesn't even have to be a love story!

I must say I do love this generation. It's not just that I love the actors and the fact that they refuse, for the most part, to be stuck in the same role, but I also love this spirit of independence, this effervescence and yes, this streak of immaturity about it. On and off screen.

I love that they want the world and they think there's no reason why they shouldn't get it. Yup, I'll take the immature fighter over the mature, righteous quitter. Any day.

Road, Movie - what a classic!

Celebrating Magical Realism: Road Movie and Nandhanam

Magic realism--a kind of modern fiction in which fabulous and fantastical events are included in a narrative that otherwise maintains the 'reliable' tone of objective realistic report. Designating a tendency of the modern novel to reach beyond the confines of realism and draw upon the energies of fable, folk tale, and myth while maintaining a strong contemporary social relevance. (The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms)

Magical realism, now that I think about it, is hard to find in Indian movies. A bit odd considering they come from a culture brimming with superstitions and religious beliefs. But no matter.

I am always happy to see a film that uses magical realism precisely because they are so few and far between. Moreover, out of these few films that delve into it, there are even fewer I actually like (sorry, Paheli and Videsh, you failed miserably to impress me). Which is unfortunate because for example most of my favourite authors (Salman Rushdie, Jose Saramago and to a certain extent Gabriel Garcia Marquez) can sell me just about anything written in this style.

So today I want to celebrate two magical films that I love unconditionally: Road Movie (Hindi) and Nandhanam (Malayalam).

I saw Road, Movie at the Toronto Film Festival in 2009 and I never though I would be able to recreate the high that possessed all of us when we came out of the theatre. So I admit to being a little afraid to rewatch it after getting the DVD. But it turns out it's just as powerful the second time around as I remember.

Road, Movie takes us on a journey across the Rajahstani desert in an old movies truck, along with Vishnu (Abhay Deol), a mechanic (Satish Kaushik), a kid (Mohammed Faisal) and a gypsy woman (Tannishtha Chatterjee). "In the desert", as another beloved Abhay Deol movie points out, "nothing is what it seems." Elements of magical realism come up more than once in surprising ways that elevate this film from a simple road movie (pun intended) to a glorious magic carpet ride.

And before I stray away from the theme, let me introduce the other lovely piece of art that is responsible for my taking a break from Kapoor Khazana to write this post: Nandhanam.

Nandhanam is the story of the beautiful servant girl and Krishna devotee Balamani (Navya Nair) who falls in love with the very handsome and very straightforward young master of the house: (Prithviraj). Status, family honour as well as the ever powerful sense of duty towards one's parents keep them apart. But the God Krishna is there looking out for them. Of course for the purposes of this post I will pretend that the annoying comedy track does not exist in this film. In fact, I strongly suggest you do the same with the help of our ever-faithful friend: the fast-forward button.

These two stories have nothing in common other than the above mentioned elements of magical realism. But because that is so hard to find, I am celebrating them both in the same post.

Road, Movie 

Gypsyes with their transitory nature and documented restlessness are often used to make the transition between what is real and what is magical in all kinds of stories. This happens a lot in Eastern European art, one great example being Emir Kusturica's films. So it's somewhat fitting that one of the characters in Road Movie is a mysterious gypsy woman without a name and without a home.

From the moment Vishnu's truck is started and until its dismissal at the end of the film, the real world is just a backdrop. None of the characters even behave as they would in the real world: they don't ask each other questions about their background, they don't chat needlessly, they just accept each other for what they are right there and then. To enhance that sense of fable, none of the people that Vishnu meets have a name, nor are they asked for one. It's this air of surrealism, or better said of fake realism, that makes Road Movie so very special.

The scenery with its endless roads of yellow dust and pebbles also contributes to the outlandish feel. Not surprisingly it brings to mind Giorgio de Chirico's deserted, desolate landscapes, a background not uncommon with other surrealist painters such as Yves Tanguy and Salvador Dali.

Of course, as is usually the case with magical realism, the fantastical elements are well balanced by pertinent social commentary and characters well anchored in the real world: police officers, goondas, villagers. The water women that appear at key moments throughout the film somehow seem to belong to both worlds, making the transition smoother.

And because biting irony is always a sure sign of realism, we find plenty of it all along the movie, culminating with the biggest irony of them all: instead of selling the hair oil as instructed, Vishnu exchanges it for water, a commodity only precious on the rare occasions when it is lacking. But then that is the key to the whole movie, isn't it: it's the things we take for granted, like water, life, laughter, and even a good hair oil massage that end up teaching us the big lessons.

Very much connected to the magical realism theme, everyone always asks about the fair scene, as they do not find it real enough for the film. This question was asked a couple of times of Dev Benegal at the Film Festival and he shrewdly evaded the answer. I've also seen the resolution of the Waterlord conflict being judged by the same criteria. But what I always want to reply to these critics is: where do you draw the line to define realism in a movie like this? If the Fair is not real, is the Waterlord episode more real? If that is also preposterous, is the police station more real? Is the journey itself? Are the people in the story? Is that ancient truck any more real? You see how this can go on endlessly. And after all, the real question is: does it really matter?

The beauty of magical realism is that it doesn't question itself: things happen the way they are told, when they are told, and that's final. Why then question the movie when it does not doubt itself? You know it can't happen, that it's logically impossible, and yet here it is happening in front of your eyes, and guess what: it's on purpose, it's not a continuity mistake nor is it a dream sequence. In the simple words of Salman Rushdie: "It happened that way because that's how it happened." (Midnight's Children)


Nandhanam

Rushdie's words can easily be transferred to the more straight-forward Nandhanam, where (and this is hardly a spoiler because it's evident right from the beginning) the God Krishna's involvement in Balamani's life alters the elements in the story, thus recreating reality. Balamani herself seems to question it but she ends up accepting it as a fact, which is of course exactly how the story should go. A devotee of Krishna, Balamani has a very personal relationship with her most revered God, where she sees him more as her confidante than anything else. Much of the time spent in her room consists of conversations with Krishna as if he were a diary. But more than a diary, she treats him like a real person, a friend that you can get mad at, call upon in the middle of the night for help, look to for comfort and admit your deepest fears to.

It's hardly surprising then that his involvement in the story would reach beyond the frames of his icon.

Nandhanam is a classic fairy tale complete with a prince who falls in love at first sight and powerful forces of evil (in the shape of family honour and uncompromising relatives). We cannot judge the characters for being so kind it renders them weak because they are not here to teach us about rebellion, they are here to teach us about faith.

We also cannot judge the evil forces and their excuses and predicaments for the same reason: their existence validates the story.

At the same time, most of the characters, good or bad, bring about credible social commentary and the mentalities of the middle class family are captured eloquently. It's not that we've never seen a love story where the family opposes the union, but we rarely see a story that paints such an expressive picture of all the factors that influence this group decision. We also rarely see stories where folklore or gods have any kind of impact on the fate of the couple and this makes Nandanam very special.

Nandhanam, let's face it, is not a terribly complex movie, but it's a story with its heart in the right place and that little smidgen of magical realism truly makes it memorable. Because behind the very astute portrait of societal norms, the magical element brings about a very important question: can faith truly move mountains? Can wishing for something with a pure heart truly alter the course of your destiny? It's nice to be reminded to think of that every once in a while and that's exactly what Nandanam with its simple love story and simple people does.


Which brings me to the realization that perhaps that's why I love magical realism so much: it makes me wonder about all those layers beyond the visible and tangible world we live in, but at the same time it does so without demanding anything of me. I am not required to be religious, in fact I'm not even required to buy the story. I just have to... go with it. I'm certainly glad I "went with" both Nandanam and Road Movie.