So, this year’s most awaited bilingual film has opened to mixed reviews leaning heavily towards the negative. Coming from a director who broke away from the fetters of commercial cinema to making “telling it as it is” an art from, this one comes as a bit of a shocker.
Mani Ratnam, arguably Indian cinema’s original maverick filmmaker, got people to sit up and take notice with his directorial debut Pallavi Anu Pallavi in 1983, which was in Kannada. The story might be credited with setting off a “younger man loves older woman” formula in all the woods we inhabit – Sandalwood, Tollywood, Kollywood, Bollywood, what have you. This also was the debut of Anil Kapoor and is remembered more for its soundtrack by the incomparable Ilaiyaraaja, who to me is the one and only Mozart of Madras, if such an epithet can be allowed. But more on that later. (On an aside, S Janaki’s Nagu Endhidhe is the lesser-celebrated but far more superior song from this soundtrack, when compared to the eminently hummable and more remembered Naguva Nayana.)
His next hugely hailed (correct me if I’m wrong) film was in Tamil, Mouna Raagam, which Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam is loosely adapted from. The critically acclaimed and hugely successful Nayagan came next, a cinematic homage to Mumbai underworld don, Varadaraja Mudaliar, earning Kamal Haasan, who plays the protagonist, an award and overnight stardom for its maker. This set off another trend in the woods that I mention – gangster movies. Till date, not one has come close to the original, and let’s be honest, no movie, made or imagined, can aspire to. (Our desi so-called Clint Eastwood *shudder* Feroz Khan remade it in Hindi, called Dayavan – with disastrous results.)
The world sat up and took notice. Here was a man who did not mince words or sugarcoat certain home truths in his movies. Here was a man who toed the line that separated commercial cinema from its artsy sibling – and by jove, did he own it. Next came Agni Natchatiram, another hard-hitting movie about rebellious half-brothers (Kane and Abel?), followed by a romance, Geetanjali, in Telugu. (I strongly suspect Nicholas Sparks was inspired by this to write ‘A Walk to Remember‘.)
Then came Anjali, the story of a mentally disabled child, and the performance he’d managed to elicit from young Baby Shamili became the talk of tinsel town. (Another parallel: Kim Edwards’ The Memory Keeper’s Daughter – just saying.) Thalapathi, his next offering, the retelling of the story of Karna and Duryodhana in a current day rural scenario, followed by Roja, his most successful so far, sealed his fate in Indian cinema and earned him recognition in film-making circles all over the world. (This is also A R Rahman’s highest-selling film score of all time, but performance, music and locales aside, this movie has to be seen for Pankaj Kapur. Enough said.)
All the way from Thalapathi to now, his ventures have been epic in terms of budget, star power, storytelling, locales, music and don’t really need much hype pre-release other than the announcement of their release dates. However, of late, he’s been criticised for relying heavily on star power and formulaic storytelling to propel his movies at the box office. Where is the auteur who took chances? Where is the mad streak that was the trademark of his earlier films? Where is the filmmaker who threw caution to the winds to tell his stories HIS way? Where is the Mani Ratnam of afore-mentioned movies’ fame?
This seems to be the collective sentiment among the Indian critics about Raavan; so much so that even Vikram, whose performance was touted to be the one to look out for, has received very lukewarm accolades. This “demonised” version of the Ramayan, with role reversals of Ram and Raavan, has so far not managed to impress those who review movies for a living, for the pleasure of it or both.
Raja Sen of Rediff (who in my opinion usually hits bulls-eye in his reviews, i.e., whose ‘views’ usually mirror mine after the movie has been viewed) has this to say about the lead performances:
There is one scene when Bachchan, speaking of burning with envy, transcends this poor picture and shines on his own, but outside of that this is a squandered vanity project for the actor. Aishwarya Rai — her alabaster skin muddied and bruised, her eye makeup crucially immaculate — screeches her way through the proceedings, contorting her face as if to convince us it has something to do with histrionics. As for Vikram, the National Award-winning actor we all expected great things from, he gets the rawest deal of the lot, a cardboard cop who scowls, runs in slow-mo, and models Aviator sunglasses.
Sanjukta Sharma of LiveMint weighs in on the script/screenplay:
The screenplay and performances, the two pillars of a good film, are poor and confused. The scenes have none of the gravitas and magic that define the best of director Mani Ratnam’s work. Here, he is too caught up in the spectacle. The idea, that of the myriad, contradictory qualities of the archetypal villain of Hindu mythology, Raavan, never really takes off in the film. Ratnam was concerned with who Raavan is and why he is what he is. In execution, the villain is a caricature.
Rajeev Masand of IBN is not pleased with the romance angle between Beera (playing Raavan) and Ragini:
But what might have truly turned this film into a brave, daring effort is a less ‘darpok’ handling of Ragini’s change-of-heart towards Beera. While she does soften considerably when she understands his provocation for revenge, Ratnam never quite turns it into a Stockholm-syndrome situation that might have made for a far stronger central conflict. As it currently stands, “Raavan” is a predictable revenge drama that stays too safe to ever surprise you.
So much for the coming together of the three most ‘bankable’ factors in Indian films – the stars, the director and the music composer. In fact, A R Rahman’s score for Raavan is said to be a rehash of Guru‘s score – almost like a twin that was an afterthought. It’s been described to be lacklustre at best. I haven’t heard it – A R Rahman, in my opinion, needs to get out of this ‘Jai Ho’ phase.
Have you seen the movie – either the Hindi or the Tamil version? What is your take on it? Will this start another spate of “Stop tarnishing Lord Ram’s character” debates online? Share your thoughts with me in the comments.
In related links, here are Abhi-Ash’s top 5 songs (one of them has only Ash in it, and maybe, the green monster that sits on Abhishek’s shoulders). Here’s also a look at the Bachchans’ boycott of the IIFA.
Read our meta review of Raajneeti here.
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