4- 22- 16 Om Shanti Om

Om Shanti Om (OSO) was perhaps the most wild ride of a film thus far and particularly interesting because of its self-reflexivity as Om Prakash and OK are constantly parodying the most common tropes in the biggest Bollywood films as well as various Western tropes and as Sudha Shastri notes the “nostalgic recall of 1970s Bollywood is fond, but its implied comment on the genre of films that seem to qualify for awards is definitely sardonic.” While parodying these tropes, the film is being highly critical of these very elements, particularly with male-star favoritism and the mostly progression of further lack of originality and creation of, as Patrick says, “vapid movie stars.”

OSO has two distinct halves to the story of the film and with those two halves there is a particularly commentary assigned to each in that the beginning half of the film we have the character Om Prakash, the “junior artiste”as he calls himself but is a character that lives and breathes acting, accepting any role he can seem to get his hands on. On top of this, his character is one of the most redeeming qualities when compared with latter half of the film's embodiment into Om Kapoor (OK). The vast majority of intertexual examples are during the first half of the film, which is during the 70s, arguing for a time when film was varying and interesting without using sexuality and senseless action as a crutch like we see when OK attends the award ceremony and are subjected to watch a snippet from an Ali-G-esque (hilarious) monstrosity of a movie depicting a dime-a-dozen “badass” who literally catches his opponents' bullets, turns them into a grenade and chucks it behind him, exploding, followed by his ridiculous handgun-in-his-pants-pelvic-thrusting method of killing his enemies. The scene features virtually no dialogue and the means by which the protagonist vanquishes his enemies is via a deadly, sexual motion and his “weapon”.

During these awards, the winner of course being OK, the viewers are then shown scenes from his two award winning films in which they are the EXACT same only with different titles. This is a heavy-handed criticism of the integrity of modern Bollywood film in comparison with film of the past. This said, the film still takes time to knock these massive oldie-blockbusters down a notch when we have the privelege of watching Om take on the role of a hero in a god awful, hokey Western featuring a plush tiger and terrible special effects and overacting which is lauded by spectators, which I can't decide if it was sarcastic within the universe or sarcastic in its self-reflexivity. We can see how far film has come and how much interests are changing.

The film uses a lot of shots that focus intensely on Om and OK ranging from closeups to full-body shots almost all featuring him centered in the screen, particularly in most of the musical numbers. This serves to enhance the absurd level of OK's self-centered and borderline narcissism but could also be read into the fact that there is an obvious male-star favoritism in Bollywood as well as commenting on the simplistic way in which films create and emphasize main characters without any subtlety.

Overall, OSO is extremely successful in creating both a cohesive Bollywood film whilst criticizing the film itself and cinematic artistry in general as time progresses and the integrity of plot, storytelling, characterization, and cinematic practices all change, and as the film suggests, for the worst. But again, we're still reminded that we had bad movies during the ages where we find ourselves praising for being part of the best era of film and storytelling. 

Monsoon Wedding 4 -13 -16

Mira Nair's Monsoon Wedding, successfully tackles the difficult task of creating a film that is globally accessible (excluding the obvious limitations of representing every language and culture) and with the lofty decision to do so, Nair's movie takes on sexuality in different ways through its bevvy of differentiated characters. The expression of various elements of sexuality is in some way a boon directly tied to the decision to create a film aimed, in part, at the Western audiences as well as Indian audiences.

With characters coming from Australia, Southwest Asia, America, and India for a wedding, almost ironically, the first important character and scene we see them in is, what we learn in retrospect, of an affair between to-be-wed Aditi and her ex-boyfriend. Aditi, being one of the characters living in India. The irony of her characters actions is that it goes against the traditionally conservative and normative (arguably more female) Indian relationship. But when we reach the few shots regarding Tej and his young niece, there comes such an effective instillation of concern over the their relationship together using a shot that deliberately blocks out Tej from view as he bends over Aliya to feed her, slowly revealing Tej as Ria gets closer to the door. This development, as Jenny Sharpe writes in her book “Gender, Nation, And Globalization,” is “the disturbing topic of sexual molestation—a subject too controversial for popular Indian cinema,” and is one that is able to be included due to Nair making the movie under their New York-based company, Mirabai Films (Sharpe 61).

Having a New York-based company to produce the film through is not exactly enough to avoid alienating too large a population of viewers and so Nair specifically maintains multiple story arcs which buttress the film as a whole but also soften the serious, and in the case of Tej, sinister alternate plots. Of these various plots, we also see Varun's troubling relationship with his parents as they struggle (mostly the father) to understand/accept their son's very likely homosexuality and actually plan to send him to boarding school in an attempt to somehow squelch the homosexuality out of him by surrounding him with more boys (logic). Varun's arc within the movie is received globally by the west and in India in likely a similar way as in the early 2000s, when narratives surrounding homosexuality were making slow integrations into popular culture and cinema in positive and less stereotypical ways. Nair blends Varun's sexuality into the milieu of the film without ham-fistedly expressing it through characterization. By presenting this film with the globalized scope that is has, Varun stands as a character that is able to be accepted by merely depicting the realistic struggles that he faces with his parents.

We also have the young, lust-driven romance between Rahul and Ayesha, the two frequently stealing glances at each other as well as show Ayesha sneaking off into the night, scantily clothed, to meet Rahul, who is just in his underwear. Before this scene, we see Ayesha practicing their dance routine together when Rahul enters the room and Ayesha immediately runs up to him to flaunt in front of him, the camera hastily following along and zooming in to position itself at Rahul's eye-level, keeping Ayesha's lower half of her body as the centerpiece for as much as the shot as possible to further suggest her sexual nature and Rahul's willing sexual appetite.

And then there is the earnest romance between Dubey and Alice who exhibit more of a traditional Bollywood style flirtation with their innocent looks and youthful, uncomfortable and quiet amour shared with each other throughout the movie.

Rahul and Ayesha represent the non-traditional while Dubey and Alice represent the traditional. Both romances project a certain notion of egalitarianism by Dubey marrying beneath his caste and by Ayesha willing exploring her own sexual self without the guidance or restriction of a patriarchal presence. As Jamila mentions in her presentation, the women in the film, like Aditi, are able to choose “to be a sexual being.” The same freedom is given to Ria (as well as Aliya), not sexually, but as a character that had specifically been taken advantage of by a patriarchal figure as a young girl and was later in the film released from this power dynamic with the help of Lalit in his public demonstration to remove Tej from the party, and likely from the family in a larger sense.

Overall, the film takes many liberties with the blending of western and Indian cultural norms, traditions, and other commentaries in order to create a globally inviting film with content accessible to all while also pushing a sexually progressive and feminist narrative with virtually all of its characters like Aditi, Varun, Ayesha, Ria and Alice. The success with these narratives also comes with the territory of the globalized approach in that it is able to take pieces of culture from the west and India and the complications of each and provide commentary on both which suggests a certain message of trans-nationality with the events that unfold throughout the film as though these experiences are not necessarily indigenous to only one place.

Side notes: Rahul is an impregnable wall when it comes to insults slung at him from Lalit. It was hilarious at first because Rahul seems like such a burnout and can't seem to be responsible for anything even his own safety (injured hand) but by the end I couldn't help but start to feel sort of sorry for him because that literally just was the way he was addressed each time by Lalit, as an idiot.

I also absolutely loved how Nair presented the situations surrounding Varun, Ria, Aliya and Tej. Neither were told to the audience or deliberately shown, they were relatively subtle and arguably your suspicions are then later reaffirmed near the end of the film but the shots that lead up to those resolutions/explanations kept the viewer in suspense to know more about the character developments.

Satya 4-8-16

Gang membership and their family extension is very much at the heart of poverty and gang presence in virtually any urban area. Satya is a film that does this element of gang mentality and existence justice as the main character, Satya, befriends Bhiku in prison and later becomes enrolled in a gang which is as much akin to a family as possible for someone like Satya. The gangster genre of film as a whole, however, does not always represent this underworld with much accuracy and instead draws “on the mythology of the underworld” (Mazumdar 149). Most often these films shy away from genuine realism or focusing on true aspects of the humanity involved in the underworld, but Satya is one of few films that became popular by depicting a gritty, honest image of what the “underworld” looks like and how the people involved get to where they are. As Susan quotes from the director of Satya in an interview, the film is meant to address the human side of the underworld and “why a man picks up the gun.”

The genre itself doesn't seem to contest with the typical trends of popular Hindi cinema so much as exemplify them. Even the most light-hearted Bollywood films we have seen have still tackled serious societal discourse though presenting it often surrounded by other story arcs and scenes that make these criticisms or commentaries more digestible. Satya and others of the same ilk do without any liquids and demands the pill be taken as is. What the genre, if following in the same vein as Satya, does complicate and interrogate is, no pun intended, the truth.

The interest in what people involved in the underworld do in between their hits and other gang related activities that the director projects into the film does exactly what Susan notes in her presentation: it creates a grey area immediately as these otherwise “bad guys” are humanized and are ultimately a product of their environment like Commissioner Amod suggests. And the juxtaposition between communion scenes around the dinner table at police officer's homes to members of the chawl and then with the gang meeting, the film creates an ambiguity around the actions taken by each character to some extent. It is not black and white as Susan mentions. There is no one verifiable bad guy or good guy. Instead, we just have people trying to navigate an unfortunately corrupt and impoverished cityscape from different angles with the network and skills that they know.

When it comes to humanizing the underworld characters, the main character of the film's romance and familial bond with his gang are what represents the ambiguous and realistic depiction of life in poverty within a gang. Firstly, Satya is a person seemingly devoid of emotion or care when we first meet him, admitting to Bhiku that he does not fear death, which we, the viewers, can safely believe is true given that the first 30 minutes of the film involve Satya either beating or getting beaten by someone, going as far as having a gun pointed at him. The first thing to put a smile on this hardened characters face is the friendship between him and Bhiku who then takes Satya under his wing and adopts him into his gang which stands in as his family. From there, we are shown numerous invitations by Bhiku for Satya to come to his home and meet his wife and kids, or the other several occassions of communion between Satya and the rest of the gang members. Professor Ghosh makes note of the scene showing the contrast of windows between Vidya and Satya, with Satya behind bars and Vidya amidst a bushel of greenery and her arms stretching wide which suggests the entrapment that Satya feels by his position later in the film after he finally meets and falls in love with Vidya. With Vidya involved, this is the first time that he has have called in to question his lifestyle either before or during his crime-life. Vidya, the innocent, hardworking neighbor in the chawl is what brings Satya down from his life and seeks a way out but through a series of unfortunate events, he is abandoned by his family and feels obligated to get revenge on the man that disrupted and ended the lives of his gang family.

These experiences that create such a conflicted character out of a previously empty person are a true testament to what poverty does to push people to these extreme positions, what gang community provides for lost or impoverished individuals, and what friendship and love can do to promote change or provide sanctuary. These elements come together and illuminate an otherwise demonized part of society without perpetuating the flashy, glamor of other gangster genre films which often completely skip over the social, human experiences that truly drive these institutions. 

As a general aside: The actor for Satya did not hold my attention well and I couldn't tell if he was just bad at acting or if he was playing a down and out character too well. I will admit that the film becomes more interesting and impressive after thinking and reading about it critically and within real life context. 

3-30-16 Indian Diaspora in DDLJ

Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (DDLJ) directed by Aditya Chopra is a film that seems to soften the edges around the ever present Westernization of the world, particularly India. As a country that has frequently created strong feelings of national and cultural identity in film, India has always felt the friction between Western culture and values against Indian culture and values and DDLJ is one film that has done well to cater to both ends of the spectrum, despite featuring two protagonists that are Non-resident Indians (NRIs).

Having two characters that are NRIs is actually an integral part to at least part of the narrative of the film which is that by having two main characters that are born in England but are still very much Hindustani, they are able to represent a blending of cultural identities and interests while maintaining their already strong Hindustani values and identities. We can see this happen when noticing early in the film Simran and Chutki are relaxing at home with some likely techno-style genre of music in their high-waisted jeans, vest and T-shirt, or British school uniform after enjoying a sugary bowl of cereal with an ad for Sonic the hedgehog on it. The scenes following this show the whole family dressed in more traditional Indian garb and the girls immediately “switch to a melancholy song from 1946 Hindi film, Shahjehan” (Ghosh). While this switch between cultures in context seems to suggest the patriarchal control that Baldev, Simran and Chutki's father, has on the family and the expectation to cater to his cultural preferences.

Baldev comes as an interesting character in this Indian diaspora which was pointed out humorously but aptly in the youtube review of DDLJ by Kanan Gill, in that Baldev left for England to accrue wealth and start a family and yet he is supposed to be the largest proponent for Hindustani culture, nostalgic to the point that he projects his nostalgia onto his family to the point that their children feel the need to appeal to him by pretending to be listening to music from traditionally Hindi films. The youtubers then point out when dealing with NRI nostalgia, the most aggravating thing to them is that if you complain and compare everything to India, then why not move back to India? The very same dynamic is played out in Baldev who ironically as the family's NRI nostalgic constant has not apparently seen his family in 20 years despite his supposed wealth and well-being in England.

This juxtaposition between the father and Simran and Raj then bolsters the effectiveness that the two have as characters that show just how safe their culture and heritage are whilst taking in Western elements as well. According to Uberoi, DDLJ was also one of the “new series of popular movies in which the NRI is positioned as hero,” which is interesting as it allows for the space to create a social trend or norm that NRIs can be characters that are not inherently corrupted by the Western world (Uberoi 325).

As a film that gives favor to NRI nostalgia particularly, the musical score and dances also strike an interesting balance in that the beginning of film where we're in Europe, the general sound, particularly the musical number during the French banquet event, gives off a sort of blend between traditional Hindi style and a sort of flamenco flare. The dances also feel more full-body-animated and free-flowing during the European section of the film. The most notable musical difference when we reach Punjab is the immediate front-runner instrument that rules over much of the traditional Hindi sound: the sitar. Previously, the most we hear the sitar is when Raj idly plucks at it save for a few times he genuinely plays some progressions. Suggesting once more the safety of the youthful NRIs traditional culture.

In the end, with all the service DDLJ does for the Indian diaspora, the film is still able to become as much a commercial success abroad as it does at home, even being dubbed by many as being a film that “inaugurated the new type of Hindi cinema known as Bollywood” (Dwyer). The success of the film is handily explained in one short quote from chapter six of Virdi's book The Cinematic ImagiNation, “In Hindi cinema the figure of the diasporic Indian is metonymic of this anxiety of the invasion of the west and disappearance of an “Indian identity,” which it cleverly manipulates to reimagine the nation in response to changing conditions” (Virdi 197). The film is able to create a norm of acceptance and integration of Western culture with Indian culture without a sense of invasion or loss of identity.

3-16-16 Bombay

The film Bombay handles the often rocky relationship between two religions and how volatile traditional values are while using Shekhar and Shaila as a microcosm, as Professor Ghosh notes in the blog for this week, for modern Indians and how they are beginning to feel in regards to religion and humanity but also for how Indians are greatly damaged by the fires of conflict that burn on between Muslim and Hindu faiths.

Early on the viewer is shown how uninterested in the religious traditions both Shaila and Shekhar are when we see Shaila constantly becoming unveiled from her niqab either by the wind or of her own design which suggests that it's natural and also willful how Shaila is not particularly constrained by the traditions of her religion. Shaila loses her niqab not long after becoming openly intimate with Shekhar which is one of many indicators for the willingness to relax traditional religious effects and requirements.

Shekhar has a more direct relationship with this natural and willfulness to treat his religion as he feels makes sense to him, namely for the sake of love. He goes as far as wearing a niqab to disguise himself as a classmate of Shaila's in order to get close to her on a rowboat. The act seems to be arguably sacrilegious to which Shekhar's friend tells him "they'll cut off your hand if you're caught!" (Raynam 19:10). Both characters openly deny the standard boundaries set up by their respective religious affiliations so that they may find love and peace within one another. This then becomes the narrative as the two marry and begin living with each other in the city of Bombay, the only place that the two can be together as their families outwardly refuse the prospect of marriage between the two due to religious purposes. The actions of the couple are constantly poking holes at the inane logic behind those that oppose their relationship.

When Shekhar tells his father that he plans to marry Shaila, his father gets upset with what seems to him to be a selfish and irrational decision. Shekhar retorts by asking if Muslim people are the enemy to which his father neglects to address altogether. The fact that during this scene it is raining is important for the character Shekhar and by extension Shaila as it symbolizes the birth of life into a new generation of social acceptance between two major religions. There is even mention at the beginning of the film how crops are doing so well and were saved by the rain. The rain has literally brought life to the village and beyond, through the union between Shekhar and Shaila. Typically with heavy rain, old sediment will be washed away for new soils and earth to take its place, much like how this union will usher in new thought regarding religious and cultural unification and acceptance.

The score also reflects a similar revitalization as the musical numbers harken back to traditional sounds and also to Guru Dutt's camera shots that move up close to our main characters and afar frequently as though "the gaze of the camera, for the most part, presents" different points of view (Ghosh). At the same time, the songs also offer up a more modern element like in "Tu Hi Re" as the singing is paired with various synthesizer effects and a steady bouncy drum beat that repeats steadily, all things that seem to be different from typical musical numbers in films thus far (before the 1990s) which do not feature synthesizers, of course, and also are seldom as simplistic with few instruments incorporated at any given time. 

In the song "Tu Hi Re," we see an important reflection of our microcosmic couple and the village in the castle that is constantly being battered by the choppy waters. Despite the tumultuous ocean waves that crash against the coast and the castle, the fortress still stands as a symbol of the stalwart love Shekhar and Shaila have for each other but also the strength that the youth that will succeed their parents. Their passions, interests, and desire for change are ironclad and strong against the weathering from the traditional values of their elders that wish to maintain the status quo rather than find a middle ground that promotes happiness, love, and peace like what Shekhar and Shaila are able to represent. 

The other point of the film that then suggests the rapid and powerful force of progression is after Shekhar and Shaila have their children and as Ghosh mentions, the children occupy a hybrid territory between two previously seemingly incompatible religions. Their confusion over the importance of being either Hindu or Muslim serves as a soft reminder of what Shekhar hints at with his father and the question over whether Muslims are to be enemies. The two boys who grew up accepting both Hindu and Muslim ideals and practices don't understand the divisive nature that instigated the riots let alone that the two were supposedly mutually exclusive. 
As a side note, the NYTimes article suggests that during the religious riots in Bombay at the time, there were supposedly more deaths of Muslims than Hindus and yet the director depicts the film with more of a shared damage on both sides. This decisions serves to strengthen the narrative of taking neither religious affiliation and instead suggesting that one can simply be Indian, first and foremost, and also that religion can be open to all and should not, and typically do not, preach the exclusion of others anyway.

In the end, the film is able to create a strong call for equality and acceptance as societal norms, particularly in the criticism and interest in the removal of "feudal religious and caste identities" that only seem to cause pain and anguish among the average Indian and instead people should focus on being Indian, accepting and appreciating one another first and foremost (Ghosh). Shekhar and Shaila's children act as living testaments to the possibility of becoming inter-religious and inter-cultural.

On a personal note, I thoroughly enjoyed this movie from the music to the characterizations and the cute humor despite the ultimately solemn historical violent background of the true events of the riots which was also dramatic and suspenseful, making for a wonderful film altogether. I feel as though I am partial to this film because the pacing and music more closely matches with what I grew up and am used to and find it easier to resonate with. 

Also, the actress that plays Shaila is almost obnoxiously cute in the film and I absolutely love it and for the first 20 minutes I thought Shekhar looked like the biggest dork of all but by the end of the film I came to love his character as well, mustache and all.  

Mr. India/ Half-Truth - Review and Response

 Given that not many classmates watched Half Truth, my responses to other students' reviews on my own presentation and film choice will be quite short and supplemented by discussing the similarities and contrasts between Half- Truth and Mr. India.

First, with Patrick's review, the cyclical nature of violence is certainly seems apparent within Velankar's life as his youth begins with witnessing and being subjective to violence in variations and then with being in a society that is corrupt and oppressive while being in a job that demands personal intervention with the most corrupt and oppressive people on a daily basis, Velankar is in a negative feedback loop in part because he is ill-equipped. Violence has been a method of resolution in his life and when confronted with issues, especially violent ones, then more violence is the rational response for Velankar because of the seeming lack of any other coping or problem solving mechanisms. And so, exactly as Patrick says, “He tries to forge a path as a righteous cop in an unrighteous system, but he doesn't know how to accomplish such a task without violence.”

Then, with Shelby's comment, I feel as though there must have been a conscious decision on behalf of either the author of the short story from which this movie was based or the director for the film itself, to send such conflicting messages with Anant. The character is the protagonist, still, and is explicitly seen doing what could be considered outstanding police-work as he puts away bad guys but at the same time the viewer is being hammered with watching Anant brutally attack people that have certainly done things wrong but the near savage punishment he gives to these people is disproportional to the crimes as Shelby mentions. Shelby's other contribution about the allowance for Jyotsna primarily wearing the pure white sari as an ironic sense of purity is a fascinating point to make and one that I battled with myself to understand but the concept of Jyotsna being passive to changing society due to the paralyzing nature of the patriarchy over women makes a lot of sense. If Jyotsna was a character that decides to refute the sexism that she personally endures daily then she would no longer be able to wear the all-white sari because that, in a patriarchy is not what purity is about. It is a direct challenge which cannot possibly be pure within this paradigm.

The most notable contrast between the film from what I can tell would be the ways in which characters handle issues of masculinity and femininity; one of the films showcases the destructive nature of these socially constructed identities, whereas the other film deliberately makes challenges to these identities by putting characters in different unexpected roles as well as different outfits entirely. Seema seems to be a character that utilizes both the unintelligible body for the sake of humor and also for demonstrating how fluid gender can be (not to be confused with the identity 'Gender Fluid').

The other difference between the films is that they highlight different capabilities or incapabilities as Mr. India shows that with the acceptance of constant changing gender identifications and socially acceptable roles ascribed to genders and sexes, it opens up a much larger playing field for everyone involved. Spaces which were typically off-limits to certain sexes and or genders are opened up to the masses. Whereas with Half-Truth, gender roles and identities are seen as cages and an unfortunate cycle of distress that either pacify members of society from acting out of line or by forcing others to act in ways that directly abuse or repress others.

Whichever stances the films take, both are progressive as they outline the problem with the normative behaviors and identities that influence India but in rather different ways. An interesting way in which the two films are similar is in their portrayal of hyper-masculinity as Arun assumes the role of a superhero, talks with a “deeper and more resonant” voice as Susan mentions in her post and with how Anant only has violence to answer problems with as a last resort, and sometimes as a first resort. The films tackle masculinity in different ways but the effects of utilizing masculinity are still different.

Arun, when assuming the role of superhero, despite trying to sound more “manly” is still invisible and while he tries to exude this hyper-masculine through his voice alone, the character still knows what he looks like and how he sounds and it comes off as comical rather than genuine, mocking the masculine requirement to the role of hero. Conversely, Anant's “manliness” is just a destructive mechanism for him as it ruins his relationships, career, and possibly his life as a whole.

With Mr. India and Half-Truth, both films make great strides for social progression by critically holding ideas of gender conventions under a magnifying glass to point out their detriments either in dramatic fashion or humorously. Either method of criticism functions well and are effective within a commonly consumed medium like that of film. These two films perform their messages effectively, precisely because they are so accessible to the masses without forcing any highfalutin scripts down the throats of its viewers.

3- 8 -16 Ardh Satya (1983)

My Presentation is over the extra credit option Half-Truth and so I imagine many of you did not watch the film so here is the wiki that does a relatively good job of summarizing the story:

My Presentation Link: https://youtu.be/sGwVcGc8Ms0

 The film opens at a party where Anant Welankar (Om Puri), a police officer, meets Jyotsna Gokhale (Smita Patil), a lecturer in literature at a local college. Anant is a sub-inspector with Bombay police. They seem to hit it off despite some initial skirmishing about ideology, and the friendship blossoms into a relationship.

 Anant brings diligence, enthusiasm and a definite idealism to his job. But the job is harsh. There is a deep nexus between the local mafia, the cops and the (corrupt) politicians. Honest himself, Anant falls among the lower rungs of the police hierarchy and has very limited scope of authority on the state of affairs in his area.

When Anant arrests three common thugs, he is asked to meet with their boss, Rama Shetty (Sadashiv Amrapurkar), a don in the local mafia. Anant refuses all of Rama Shetty's attempts to get his men out or to entice Anant to join him. Shetty decides to watch over Anant.

Some time thereafter, a meek fellow from a local slum lodges a complaint about some ruffians who harass his wife. Anant finds them, locks them up, and administers a severe beating. As a fallout, the local MLA asks for Anant to be suspended.

 Anant's boss, inspector Haider Ali, explains to a mystified Anant that the ruffians were the MLA's henchmen, providers of muscle during elections and political rallies. Anant is defiant with a clear conscience (he did nothing wrong) and ready to face a tribunal. Haider Ali explains that it will hardly get that far. Tribunals are either delayed indefinitely or are rigged (by corrupt politicians), and suspension during that time is a permanent black mark on one's record (for no other politician will be willing to deal with such a troublemaker).

 Anant is initially baffled but goes along with Haider's plan to bring in Desai, a mediator or middle-man with connections in New Delhi, the "Centre" or national seat of power. Desai invokes higher powers to quietly cover up the matter. Anant's morals are shaken by this incident: He had to use means barely legal to uphold his righteous actions upon criminals.

 Anant reflects upon his childhood. His father (Amrish Puri) retired as a Faujdar (constable) in the village police force. His father was a hard and violent man, quick to slap or beat his wife on the slightest pretext. Anant recalls looking on and being powerless to intervene. When Anant graduates college, he expresses his desire to pursue higher education but is forced into joining the police force.

Things get interesting when Anant finds one of Rama Shetty's goons, badly beaten, burnt and left to die. Anant brings the man into the hospital and takes his statement where he names Rama Shetty and others who inflicted this assault. Anant storms into Rama Shetty's rooms to arrest him. But Shetty is unfazed. He makes a simple phone call to a high ranking cop who immediately asks Anant to back off. Anant cites the context and the overwhelming evidence but is still ordered to step away. A consternated, resentful and hapless Anant leaves, feeling intensely humiliated.

Haider Ali explains yet again: Rama Shetty plans to run for city council in the upcoming municipal elections and simply cannot afford to let a petty matter distract his ambitions. Anant is horrified and enraged, and takes to drinking. His relationship with Jyotsna suffers. He is distraught when he is sent to provide security cover for Rama Shetty's campaign rallies.

 He suffers another career setback when he leads an assault team to capture a dangerous daku (armed bandit) in the hills outside Mumbai, and the credit for the arrest is ultimately handed to another officer. His relationship deteriorates further and he takes to drinking fairly heavily. When Jyotsna confronts him, he confides in her.

 Jyotsna tries to be supportive and suggests he consider another career. (She is motivated by recent news stories about police brutality and has decided that she will not marry a police officer.) He has always tried to do the right thing, but his well-intentioned actions always seem to be thwarted by the tentacles of corruption in the police force or the political strata. In the alcoholic trans a prisoner is killed by Anant in the jail when he uses 'third degree' and now Anant is not only likely to be arrested and jailed, but also has to lose his entire career. Finally he surrenders to Rama Shetty for political protection. Now, in the clutches of Rama Shetty, Anant has to obey his every order and humiliation. The dirty conditions put by Rama Shetty angers Anant and he kills Rama Shetty and then surrenders voluntarily to the Police for any punishment.

3-02-16 Katha (Story 1983) - Binary

Sai Paranjpye's film, Katha, has a handful of unique characters that no matter the time on screen, the characterization of many of these characters is well done as each character stands out in one way or another. The lead character, Rajaram is one such unique character that, despite his honesty and genuine goodness, viewers are still filled with mix emotions about him similar to his foil Bashu. Both characters exhibit traits that we either find endearing, funny, interesting, clever or irritating, despicable, and so on. Rajaram seems to represent a particular role in the film's satirical universe that is much to the same design of what Thabith presented on and that is how Rajaram;s character is an extreme like Bashu with which other characters find themselves between like Thabith mentions. These characters present the parameters to which other people operate within typically. 

This parameter divide then becomes more interesting when we take into consideration the behaviors of Rajaram and Bashu within a gendered binary focus wherein Bashu is a "man" and Rajaram is portrayed as effeminate or a "woman." The blogspot reading labels Rajaram as "the earnest, do-gooder" and Bashu as the "charming conman" and in the film we learn that Rajaram has a degree and worked hard to achieve it as well as he works incredibly hard. These traits in this character show off his sustainability and his work ethic but it is also important to recognize how unabashedly kind he is to everyone in the chawl and out. It could be argued that Rajaram is a representation of an almost chaotic good character but for the sake of developing the importance of this gender binary concept in the film, I won't delve into that possibility. 

The intrigue of these traits of sustainability, kindness, honesty, and genuine good-nature are then the fundamental traits of this feminized character that represents the society's idea of a "womanly" person. In Sangeeta Datta's "Shyam Benegal," She depicts how film has been able to shed light on the struggles of women being marginalized in Indian society and Katha works to show some amount of this in quite a few ways with the women in the film but also with Rajaram, whom is essentially the representation of femininity which is an interesting decision to have a male in such a position in this narrative but in a patriarchal society, being a man is more of a norm and because of this, the neutral or normal decision for a character is  a man, regardless of what the character is being used to portray. 

Despite this male representor of femininity, Rajaram is still able to operate as a character that shows the ways in which women are oppressed or viewed as too idealistic or passive, traits that are often driven into women living within patriarchies. The director seems to deliberately play with these gendered traits when Rajaram is at work and acting incredibly nervous due to the women making advances on him, going so far as to present an apple, which given the context of the situation seems more of a sexual invitation using Freudian symbolism of a fruit that is commonly associated with a woman's breasts. This scene turns the gender binary on its head as it portrays these women as being sexually forthcoming almost to the extent of harassment, which in the following dream that Rajaram has, is exactly how he felt about the situation. 

The other side of the reason for Rajaram's feminine role other than a patriarchal normative expectation is also another way in which Paranjpye plays with the gender roles and expectations. Even though we often see shots of Rajaram in the kitchen while Bashu takes advantage of his kindness, the underlying factor is that Rajaram is the "breadwinner" in the house. He has a job and makes money while the "man" lazes about and barks orders at the "woman." When watching his company's new advertisement that literally features a man stalking a woman and cat-calling her, he comments on how childish the idea is, suggesting how inappropriate it is while the women he works with glaze over Rajaram's assessment and instead proceed to flirtatiously call out to him. 

So while it may seem like men dominate the film, the traits that comprise the embodiment of femininity within Rajaram, still exhibits some gender normative traits which could be discounted by the way other women act in the film but, overall the qualities suggest the honesty, kindness, diligence, and  idealism in women that are at first overlooked by everyone in the film but in the end recognized as being the most important while the embodiment of the oppressive man leaves entirely to poison another community with his lies and conniving ways. This binary that Thabith mentions, operates on different levels as there are frequently parallels drawn in the film, notably the gender discrepancy.  

2-23-16 Bhumika (The Role) - Identity

Benegal's Bhumika makes tactful use of color of clothing choices and frequency of change, camera shots, as well as flashback throughout the film in order to create a strong sense of uncertainty surrounding Usha, the protagonist, as she struggles to find an identity that best suits how she wishes to live her life. The film bounces around at different times of Usha's life, starting when in the present day shifting for a large portion of what could be considered the first half of the movie to Usha's past as a young girl up into her late teens or early twenties approximately. The last scene before the viewer moves entirely to the present features Usha rushing to her co-star, Rajan's home after she was accosted by her husband.

The transition to present from this point is through the incessant ringing of a phone with Rajan on the other line, which serves as another strong tie between the black and white flashback and the color film current time. Benegal's decision to add in this extra tie also depicts the extent to which Usha is plagued by her past as it and those she has chosen to cohort with, are continually involved and influencing her life. This pocked delivery of flashbacks throughout Bhumika does two things, it shows the sources for the identities that Usha attempts to engage with and also how ungrounded Usha feels with never being in one place very long.

Since Usha was a child she “is drawn to the classical music, which she learns from her grandmother, but rebels against her mother’s insistence that she learns household chores and demure behavior that would make her marriage material” and this desire at odds with the cultural construction of what is expected of those in feminine roles is the beginning for Usha in her struggle with how she wants and chooses to identify herself. In part as a rebellious act, Usha becomes a successful actress and is able to frequently pass through different identities within her roles in the films she plays in and then furthermore she becomes a parent herself and attempts to navigate between being a mother, a wife, and also a free and individualized person.

Another element to display this uncertainty and lack of full, wholesome identity is with the camera shots that typically portray Usha within either mostly medium shots, showing her from the waist up, or close-up shots wherein just Usha's head is visible. The effect of this decision to constantly minimize how much we see of Usha is to push this lack of identity because of the lack of being whole.

The scene in which Usha is helping Kale's wife and then they begin talking to each other is an important turning point for Usha as she realizes after his wife says "The beds change, the kitchens change. Men's masks change, but men don't change” to Usha while being a bedridden woman. Kale is an oppressive patriarchal figure all the same as every other man Usha has been involved with and the fact that Kale's wife is bedridden may be perceived as a result of his oppression over her and in her telling Usha that no matter how many times she moves from different lives with different men, the men never change and thus neither will she (Bhumika 2:01:58).

Towards the end of the film, Usha is seen wearing four vastly different colored outfits at different instances in quick succession. From vibrant red clothes during her talk with Kale's wife, to orange and subdued green when she speaks with Kale, to then green and yellow as she speaks with Kale's young son outside, and then all variants of blue whilst she gives a leg and foot massage to the grandmother living in Kale's estate. This rapid shift between colors and clothes represents Usha's attempt to shift between multiple roles for everyone involved in her life. It isn't until the final scene where Usha speaks with her now grown daughter after having left Kale's estate that she remains in her largely more dulled color clothes and tells herself that she must get used to her loneliness which is to say she must return to how she used to live with her husband. As mentioned in professor Ghosh's blog “the clothing change may be an attempt to transition from the public to the private, domestic space” showing another example of how Usha's change in garb is a literal attempt to change her identity.

As mentioned in the Smita Patil photo tribute page, “these cinematic worlds of harsh truths, injustice, exploitation and the occasional triumph of individual rebellion” are ever present in Bhumika as Benegal shines light on the the serious societal pressures that fall on women in India and how problematic it can be to navigate one's life amidst a constant wave of hetero- and gender-normative societal expectations whilst trying to live a life for oneself. The stress of finding individual identity is amplified greatly by these pressures and expectations and Benegal's Usha is a fantastic catalyst to depict such a tumultuous life that many women were and likely still are facing in India. The unfortunate but sobering reality of this socio-cultural conundrum is materialized when Usha returns with her husband and in a medium long shot scene, she receives a phone call from Rajan who brings up the prospect of another film to her despite her making no indication to anyone other than her husband that she was returning. Usha, like so many other women, is not able to escape the roles of which she is seen in and now officially recognized.

2-16-16 Sholay - Anti-hero and Interesting Storytelling

Sholay was the underdog of Bollywood films that was apparently expected to be a complete flop, only to be India's highest grossing film of all time and many factors play into the success of the film but the largest draw is without a doubt due to the antihero dynamic duo of Veeru (Dharmendra) and Jai (Amitabh Bachchan). Sholay was a vessel that carried part of a growing character archetype further cementing the anti-hero as a lovable and usable character. This style of character was quickly gaining popularity in Western film as well with characters like Max Rockatansky from Mad Max or Harry Callahan from Dirty Harry and it was no exception that India would also see and want to share similar narratives for films. 

The reason for the success of anti-hero characters is simple in that it makes for interesting story telling as characters suddenly become more accessible to viewers because anti-hero characters face challenges and react to them outside of the traditional good versus evil paradigm. It takes on a realistic approach to conflict in storytelling as characters are met with situations that are not entirely black and white but instead facilitate a large grey area much like real life consequences. Veeru and Jai are two criminals because that is how they survive. When these two are introduced, handcuffed and speaking to Thakur on the train, the audience sees these two men sporting Western fashion and arrested -- two things that are typically associated with villainy, especially in Bollywood where Western fashion usually connotes negative qualities of corruption or oppression. Despite this, the characters are exceedingly engaging, cool, and amiable. From saving the cop that has detained the two from, ironically, other bandits, to saving an entire village from genuine oppression and villainy from that of Gabbar Singh, the anti-hero character proves itself as capable of good when necessary and shows emotional investments unlike the typical antagonist roles in most films.

As mentioned in the blog postings by professor Ghosh, Amitabh Bachchan's character Jai, the moody, quiet, yet loyal character is a representation of the "growing angst and disillusionment of the Indian youth who felt let down by the government's inefficacy in combating corruption, poverty, and unemployment." This is a large component to the success of many anti-hero characters as characters like Jai are likely products of the very same concerns by the Indian youth's of the time. As a result, the character acts in ways that may seem unjust traditionally but in reality they act as one would out of genuine struggle and are not reprimanded for their actions in the film and demonized by being portrayed as characters that are evil. We see this in Sholay often as Veeru and Jai decide to be hired as mercenaries and attempt to steal from their employer but stop out of a sense of honor to the woman that catches them in the act and Thakur, saying that it will never happen again. Similarly, when Veeru and Jai hear Thakur's reason behind wanting to capture Gabbar Singh, the two willingly choose not to accept money for capturing this villain because they have sense of justice that they would still wish to defend despite being criminals themselves. They're criminals, but they're not "bad guys." 

The wonder of the anti-hero is in the complexity that the characters are allowed to have. They are allowed to be imperfect and only part-time selfless people as Jai and Veeru never once apologize for their way of life and what they believe to be just and unjust. Other than the capacity to relate to the characters as being more realistic, the anti-hero is able to do what the viewers are thinking. When we see the gnarly-toothed criminal Gabbar and see what he has done and continues to do to the villagers, we are relieved to see Veeru and Jai gunning down Gabbar's lackeys so that we might finally get to see Gabbar get what he deserves. True evil, which is what Gabbar seems to represent in the film, should be punished and the fact that Gabbar was able to get out of prison, murder Singh's entire family fuels the fire of those that doubt the efficacy of governmental institutions and their capacity for public safety, making characters like Jai and Veeru all the more necessary because stopping Gabbar with traditional means of justice do not always work and these characters are able to vent the frustrations of those that see the shortcomings of the institutes that are supposed to aim to protect and maintain justice

The film's setting also reflects the nature of the anti-hero as we see areas of bright flora to represent good amidst a very dry and barren landscape to represent the bad. Veeru and Jai are typically in a rocky, barren, or generally plant-life vacant location when they are fighting: on a train surrounded by an arid landscape and fighting off bandits or surrounded by a mountainous, rocky scene and defeating Gabbar's men and later Gabbar himself. Conversely, in times of peace and relationship building, both characters are seen relaxing under the shade of a tree at different occasions throughout the film or at Thakur's estate which is surrounded by crops and in many areas, grass. Thakur, the general proponent for justice is often surrounded by flora and fauna whereas the most evil character, Gabbar, is literally living in the rocky, barren hillside of a mountain. The two characters that are constantly navigating between these two distinct areas would be Veeru and Jai, the anti-heroes. The anti-hero harnesses both problematic traits of good and bad, which is what makes them so human, interesting and relatable.

Sholay is without a doubt, a massive success that more than likely influenced many changes in film for both Bollywood and the world at large as it pushes a budding new character archetype that is now a staple in modern Western media. The creation of the anti-heroes in Sholay is only one of many successful challenges to tradition that are seen throughout the film and the result was a record-breaking highest grossing Indian film. But the film owes much of its success still, to the unique anti-hero dynamic that shows off the exciting, intriguing and accessible characterization as well as a strong and intricate narrative. 

2-09-16 Pakeezah

Pakeezah is a rather dramatic film that tells a story about a young woman born into the life of a courtesan from a young age despite being the daughter of a wealthy nobleman, Shabbudin, and a courtesan, Nargis whose relationship was forsaken by Shabbudin's father thus compelling Nargis to slowly kill herself alone in a graveyard. The rest of the story follows the life of their daughter, now young woman, Sahibjan and her life within the kotha or brothel. Sahibjan represents an archetypal role to that of the courtesan in distress that can soon escape the confines of the kotha in which she lives and works at the aid of Salim and also his and technically her familial ties to Shabbudin. Despite what Veena Talwar Oldenburg says in her essay “Lifestyle as Resistance: The Case of the Courtesans of Lucknow.” the reputable courtesans being the “influential female elite” they were, they were still essentially property rather than employees as the birdcage given to Sahibjan symbolizes and also what the scene where Sahibjan is returned to the palace after crashing on the houseboat insinuates as her owners go searching for her not necessarily out of fear for her safety but fear for their loss in a trained and sought after financial prospect.

These courtesans are largely still trapped under the thumb of the patriarchy but the very existence of the kotha run solely by women and the presumable amount of the wealth they sustain in this field of work shows the power that these women have that combats the traditional views of women as being subservient That said, examples like these are repeatedly contested or qualified by patriarchal figures, showing how simplistic and irreverent the men are towards women in the film.

The element of these women's lives that speaks the loudest to the impinging growth of female presence to become a steadfast act against the waves of a normative patriarchal society is that these women in the koth have reached a level of notoriety and status as their own business owners, exercising their entrepreneurial spirits. The problem with this victory is that it can only be made by objectifying women further and also by perpetuating roles of dominance between men and women as men are the ones keeping these women in business because they are selling themselves. This is problematic for feminist struggles toward independence and equality to men as they are still set back in a place with limited power. In the very beginning of the film, Shabbudin's father denounces Nargis, a courtesan of high caliber simply because of her job title. Her death is then a literal representation of the patriarchy's squelching of this feminine transgressivity in society.

Oldenburg states that these women “celebrate womanhood in the privacy of their apartments by resisting and inverting the rules of gender of the larger society of which they are part” and this is a genuine resistance to patriarchal values but this traditional patriarchy demands such control over women that the only way in which women can express themselves as they see fit and not as the normative societal values mandate is to do so within their own microcosm of women.

Again, within this microcosm Oldenburg suggests in her essay, “Lifestyle as Resistance: The Case of the Courtesans of Lucknow,” “female sexuality has the chance of being more fairly and fearlessly constructed by women.”

A strong critique against the traditional patriarchy is also the character Salim as well and the existence of color symbolism. Salim is seen numerous times in mostly colorful clothing or the black that we seem him initially in the train car. Conversely, the vast majority of male oppressors or people that are seen shouting “whore” to Sahibjan towards the end of the movie, wear white clothes to symbolize their “purity” ironically. The only time that Salim is seen wearing all or mostly white clothing is when he is with Sahibjan and simultaneously Sahibjan is then also seen wearing white rather than her usual colorful and embroidered garb. This is a critique against men as they traditionally view themselves as being pure and ultimately the ideal sex, whereas the male protagonist Salim, one of the few men with any redeeming qualities, wears these many colors from time to time and courts Sahibjan. His existence in this regard is a critique of traditional patriarchy.

The last two scenes that show this critique begins where Salim brings Sahibjan atop a large plateau to get married and where Sahibjan can run away from her complicated yet oppressive life within the koth to be viewed as an object for sexual entertainment. Sahibjan panics and runs away from the marriage back to the koth where she at first expresses her acceptance of her position but performs one last miraculous dance to purify herself because she knows that Salim can't do that for her just through marriage. She must save herself in this way. Wearing all white, Sahibjan dances over broken glass, her feet bleeding. This scene shows, as professor Ghosh mentions in her blogpost, that “her feet are cleansed if you will by her own blood that replaces the alta.”

By the end of the film, we're then left with a woman free from this objectifying and oppressive profession, again wearing white, standing along side a pillar looking outward on her old home with the narrator referring to her, saying “only then comes the one, truly worthy of praise” one last testament against the looming influence of patriarchy as we hear that Sahibjan, a woman, is the only one worthy of any praise. 

2-4-16 Mother India

Mother India the epic drama film that it is, showcases a plethora of social commentaries about India as the nation makes waves of societal upheaval in a post-colonial world wherein the lead role, Radha, a woman raising two children in a rural Indian village which is to act as a microcosm for India as a whole in the events that take place. The scope that I will choose to focus on is based off of the sub-heading with insights and claims from a Rosie Thomas on the normative and transgressive representations of femininity in the film.

Radha is the largest component to the message of evolving ideals regarding femininity and the social expectations put on women in the post-colonial Indian culture as she undergoes many changes to her character at different milestones that separates the film into three stages of evolution as a woman: from youth and ascribed gender roles, to emerging female empowerment through struggle, to actualized woman willing to combat patriarchy directly.
Allowing first for the first few minutes from the film's present day Radha wherein she is an older woman to be grouped with the final stage, we first start with Radha as a young woman, recently married and working with her husband on the land where they live and trying to feed their family of five including their grandmother. The characters struggle underneath the corrupt and greedy Sukhilal, the landowner, who represents the general oppression of the lower classes as well as part of patriarchy. In one of the songs the lyrics express how hard they toil on the land and that "the fruit of our hardwork is swindled away" signifying that these people recognize the oppression put on them by Sukhilal and yet because it is the status quo it is accepted, though not without proper complaint. Radha in this section of her growth may or may not exactly recognize the way in which Sukhilal has his grips on the people but regardless, she, like the others in the village, accept this fact and try to live their life the best way they can and live content with the social dynamics at play. Only Radha begins to question this.

The beginning moment for Radha's ascension to becoming a the strong and empowered woman that she is at the end of the film and her life is when she convinces her husband to work some neighboring land -- land that is riddled with boulders and hard soil -- making it near impossible the effectively clear the land for use. And yet, Radha and her husband work the lands. They sweat profusely, day in and out, the camera shots show their toiling faces covered in sweat underneath heavy farming equipment for tilling and moving the large boulders, showing Radha and her husband as equal. For once, a woman's appearance here is not their only merit. Women can be strong and work hard in all the same ways a man can. Then begins a long and arduous test of both Radha's faith and mettle after her husband loses his arms whilst they were working the land together. Radha, without so much as a thought, full-heartedly intends to care for her husband in his state and it isn't until Sukhilal makes another appearance to convince Radha's husband that he is shameful and should not need a woman to look after him as though it were somehow a sign that he was a weak man (despite having no arms). As a result, he runs away from his family, the musical score switching to a shrill and somber tune to reflect his exact emotions about himself and the situation he was left in. Unable to face his wife or children and accept any further pity, he runs towards what viewers can only presume was his death. His running away at the jest and mockery from Sukhilal could be viewed as an example of just how fragile masculinity can be. The very thought of having to live a life wherein a man must rely on a woman is so threatening that he would sooner run away and die. Whereas Radha stays, pregnant, with two toddlers and her grandmother. But she soon faces even strong forms of adversity than she could have ever expected. Her grandmother passes away, she sells back her oxen to Sukhilal, and begins to work the land on her own. Trudging with this large plough, she assumes both typical male and female roles.

To make matters worse for her, a massive flood takes over the entire village and the agricultural land. She then loses her newborn baby in the flood as it passes away, her son Birju nearly dies of starvation, and in a moment of weakness out of necessity for hers and her son's survival, she sees Sukhilal to receive aid. Sukhilal, being the idol of patriarchy that he is, makes attempts to sexually coerce her only to fail as, Professor Ghosh mentions in her counter argument to Thomas' point, Radha recognizes through her concept of marriage and that loyalty allows her to muster the courage to refute his advances and maintain her integrity and avoid being degraded further by this man.

Years pass by and we're shown a sunny, vibrant Radha with her healthy two boys, now men, Birju and Ramu amidst scenes of Radha standing proudly with a hoe over her shoulder looking outward while the camera looks up at her. We're witnessing the strength of a woman as well as the strength of India itself when we see Radha like this. She was determined to not be held back by the weight of societal nor patriarchal pressures. In the shot where Radha is standing with the hoe draped over one of her shoulders, the angle also makes sure to leave only a backdrop of sky to create the illusion of Radha's intensity and size. She is big, strong, and hardworking. Three particular traits that would typically not be representative of a woman in India for the time let alone most of the world. Radha begins changing what it means to be feminine without necessarily incorporating masculinity. The testament to this is how Birju, her son becomes the embodiment of masculinity and the ways in which he makes attempts to remedy the plight of the village under the hands of Sukhilal. Birju resorts to violence in nearly every way whereas Radha still maintains a non-violent approach to conflict mediation. Birju fighting for the well-being of himself, his mother, and everyone in the village resorts to the necessity of a gun to solve his problems. A gun becoming the only method of removing the oppressive patriarchal figure that presides over the village. The gun then becomes a symbol of male aggression in a sense and Radha knows this and takes the weapon from Birju with the help from Ramu he other son and begins to break the gun. This scene where Radha is smashing the gun against the well while her son tries to break his way inside the home shows a symbolic attempt to break this aggressive and problematic masculinity that causes people nothing but trouble. Her attempts to stop this warpath that Birju is on were in vein. It isn't until Birju returns to the village with a small militia to take down Sukhilal and subsequently his daughter Rupa that Radha takes up a gun herself and shoots her son Birju for the sake of saving Rupa. The camera looks again up at the disgruntled and powerful domineering Radha amidst a bright background thus making her even darker looking as she wields the gun we are left with a person that has broken the gender binary after she utilizes this symbol for masculine aggression to kill a proponent for masculine aggression while saving someone that is an example of typical femininity. Radha evolves in this moment into an actualized character that is multidimensional as a person. She is merely Radha a woman that has all the capabilities that a man has and has exhibited them throughout the film.

We're then left with the final scene with Radha hugging a piece of earth from the land she's lived on for years and it isn't until everyone has her consent to work the land through more modernized means. Despite being a woman, at the end she becomes the one in power as the mother of the land or the Mother of India in a broader sense. Radha has evolved over time from the normative example of an Indian woman the lives to serve her husband and care for their children to a woman capable of anything, working through many of the hardest toils, and assuming a role of authority over a previous male domination. These motions that Radha goes through are reflective of what India was navigating in terms of where women stand in a modernizing and adjusting post-colonial nation and how they will over time no longer be bound by the restrictive gender normative values and traditions of an old and oppressive patriarchy and instead work together to forge a strong nation for themselves.

1-26-16 Viewing Bollywood's Pyaasa

A movie shrouded in darkness, the viewer is presented with Guru Dutt's misfortunate, educated poet Vijay that endlessly struggles to be recognized for the talents of his craft that he went to school for.The general theme of sorrow and misfortune permeate the story as the vast majority of the scenes before Vijay wakes up from his coma. The same can generally be said of the score the audience hears. Vijay is featured in a majority of slow and somber musical scores and the only moments that ever become upbeat or positive are when Vijay is day-dreaming or when he runs into Gulab as she is reciting his poetry. The film attempts to capture the importance of artistry and poetry despite society not allotting any value or credence to such a craft and in many ways it does a good job of making this depiction but what caught my attention was the ways in which the romantic interests, Meena and Gulab are represented, the roles they play and what Dutt does to progress the narrative of these two characters and how Vijay is perhaps not a character to be whole-heartedly lauded or empathized with.

Vijay is nothing like Kapoor’s tramp character from Shree 420 in that he is not exactly a good protagonist. The earliest invitation to the character we learn that he is a struggling poet that, while indisputably talented, refuses to compromise his poetry by writing run-of-the-mill sentimental poems. As a result, he struggles. Vijay can’t get published, often can’t afford to eat, has no permanent home and often relies on others. One of the few isolated instances of Vijay attempting to help himself was when he acted as a coolie to (presumably) a taxi drive for some money to pay for that nights meal. Unfortunately, his efforts were fruitless in the sense that his payment turned out to be fake tender which nearly cost him his shirt only that he had his meal paid for him by Gulab which Vijay took as a form of pity for him. Gulab being a sex worker that has her own struggles to deal with, still offers to help someone in need despite her own situation in life.

Afterwards Vijay is left feeling as dejected as he was before. Even his friend and his friend’s female companion call Vijay a child. albeit jokingly, but the sentiment is true. Vijay clings to maintaining the integrity of his art and his pride as a poet but refuses to make any attempts at helping himself out in any way other than through his art. He is borderline narcissistic especially when early in the film, Vijay is shown haplessly trailing after a seductive singing Gulab wherein this scene it is interpreted a romantic gesture between Gulab and Vijay, following the many zoomed in shots of Gulab giving off sultry looks to Vijay, but also as a representation of Vijay chasing after his own art, his poetry, that Gulab happens to be singing. But then we have Gulab.

Gulab is an extremely hard-working mother that works as a sex-worker whom still is able to appreciate the arts by going out of her way to purchase some of Vijay’s works. She seems to be a common trope character for bollywood films who embodies all the Indian nationalistic values and morals as she is a very spirited, hard-working, open-hearted, selfless individual. She’s depicted as wearing what appears to be more traditional Indian clothing similar to the romantic interest in Shree 420, often the only illuminated element in most scenes, especially with Vijay as he is usually off-center or shadowed in some way. Gulab also exhibits a strong passion for Vijay though, wishing for him to succeed as she supports him even in his “death” which according to the one of the viewpoints from viewingbollywood.blogspot.com is part of what traditional Indian femininity looks like. This character being the powerful visage of what it means to be Indian comes as an impressively progressive one, particularly for the time, as among all of her outstanding qualities Gulab is in fact a sex-worker which typically is viewed with intense disdain and pity but Dutt makes a strong effort to remind the viewer of just how great she is through her actions that we forget she is a sex-worker until we’re faced with the jarring scene that features her performing for a client where her child is crying in the background.

It comes as no surprise then that the cover art for the film has Gulab front and center, taking up over half of the image next to Vijay. Gulab is the character that deserves to be appraised. Vijay is without a doubt talented, intelligent, and makes considerably apt and poignant commentary about society of the day in his poems, but he falls short in the other aforementioned ways whereas Gulab is the character that is a single mother, works a job and still has the kindness in her to aid the floundering yet talented artist that is Vijay. Gulab goes as far as using all her assets available to her just to have Vijay’s works published. Actions of a true protagonist to which has a foil meant to enhance her image -- through Meena.

Meena, however is a misjudged character in this series because we’re given a lot of reason as viewers to dislike her for her “materialism” and lack of morals when it comes to selling her love for wealth as Vijay puts it. Her interaction with Vijay at Mr. Ghosh’s party shows both the absurdity of Vijay’s expectations he put on Meena in the past and also how strong-willed Meena actually is. Dutt makes it quite apparent during Vijay’s song at the party that there was still residual love between Vijay and Meena as multiple times the camera fixates and zooms past party-goers to an isolated Meena standing in an empty hallway, or where we see Meena leaning against a doorway looking almost longingly at a singing Vijay, holding her hand over her mouth to mask her true emotions for Vijay.

After Vijay finishes reciting his poetry, he meets with Meena and they argue about why Meena left him. Vijay poises his argument in a fashion that shows Meena as being selfish for leaving him to marry into wealth with Mr. Ghosh when she apparently should have stayed with him and support him in his artistic endeavours. In an attempt to reinforce Vijay’s importance, he is depicted in his all white robes against a generally darker backdrop where he is often in direct lighting to set him apart from everything and everyone else, Meena included in her dark garb. Meena barely defends herself from Vijay’s accusations of abandonment and selfishness but in her saying she no longer wanted to be poor with Vijay, a stubborn man that refuses to work to support neither himself nor her, she doesn’t truly need to defend her decision to leave him. Whether or not Meena believed that Vijay’s artistic talents would ever amount to anything is not important -- symbolically, it may be -- but realistically, to the character, her well-being is arguably more paramount.

In the end, Guru Dutt produces a film that does wonders to bring to light the hypocrisy and corruption in society through a relatively dark and somber visual and musical experience as well as create what may be hailed as two strong female roles to contrast one another and yet show both ways that they thrive in the environment they find themselves in.