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| DEVDAS A Critical Analysis by Kabir Ahamed (c) (p) 2002 |
| To call 'Devdas' a 'modern masterpiece' would be an understatement. I prefer the term 'a future classic'. Whether a film of such grandeur will stand the test of time is something viewers will have to decide twenty years from now. For the next few years though, 'Devdas' will safely secure its' place in history as certainly the most visually ravishing film that the Indian film industry has put out in the last thirty years, and I predict that it will eventually be held up as a reference piece in film schools the world over, alongwith 'Pakeezah', 'Mughal-E-Azam' and 'Umrao Jaan'. However, waxing eloquent over a film's place in the record books does not neccessarily mean that the film is without its flaws. How can a film that unabashedly uses up all of the typical Hindi movie cliches, makes a criminal use of color, and fronts itself with a star cast that looks as if they've walked off a modelling ramp, expect to be taken seriously? Certainly director Sanjay Leela Bhansali wasn't making this film for idiots or tasteless front-benchers. That said, it doesn't seem as if this film was indicated for a serious art-film audience either. I assume that the director wanted to strike a middle ground with his audience-base. To that extent, "Devdas" effortlessly climbs into that special realm where movies don't need to have a specific target audience to succeed. There is both shamelessly commercial saccharine, and high-brow avant garde dialogue, usually one after the other; very frequently in the same frame. To call this 'genius' on part of the director is something that bears debating, but Bhansali demonstrates that hes no fool with the camera, nor with the seamless screenplay, especially during the interaction between the three principal characters. "Devdas" is often called India's most celebrated love story. In a land where cinema these days has been reduced to a farcical experience where everyone is guaranteed a happy ending, a tale such as this can spell immediate doom for both the makers of the film, and the industry as a whole, where creating the illusion of happiness and joy is a job they take very seriously. Cinema in India has cumulatively been transformed into an arena where the sole aim is to 'uplift' the viewer and transport them to worlds where there is no perennial sorrow or poverty. In a land that where a majority of the population lives beneath their means, such an aim on the part of the movie industry is commendable, to say the least. But of late, the sugary, sappy love tales that have been emerging from Bollywood indicate that the public domain's taste had changed dramatically. To an audience that once lauded such deep and spiritual fare such as Raj Kapoor's 'Shree 420', mainstream cinema is now nothing but stories of huge corporate conglomerates that live abroad and wear Western brands. Recent mega-hits of the last few years, especially 'Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham' and 'Kuch Kuch Hota Hai' were merciless in their endorsements of Western apparel and culture, and it seemed that real Indian values and movie-making had all but disappeared. Which is why the new version of "Devdas" is both timely and a necessity. In a land that is increasingly facing an identity crisis, the retelling of a classic Indian tale could have a ripple effect that could bring about new tidings in the way films are made in India, and more importantly, the stories that are told. Unlike fellow film-makers Karan Johar and Aditya Chopra, the director Sanjay Leela Bhansali has a critically rich body of work under his belt. His first film, a poetic piece entitled 'Khamoshi' ('Silence') was an immediate failure in India, where people weren't too interested in the tale of a young girl who sings her way to the hearts of her deaf-mute parents (literally). Yet there were sparks of genius that were apparent in this first film as well, where he coaxed out a glorious performance from Nepali actress Manisha Koirala, and made some use of the lesser gifted Salman Khan. However, his second film, 'Hum Dil de Chuke Sanam' was one that critics either loved or hated. Indeed, there was much to hate. Though it marked the ascent of model Aishwarya Rai as Hindi Filmdom's reigning queen, it also managed to pile in the worst of cheesy Indian movie-making into three insufferable hours. There is also much to like - no one can debate the director's use of color or musical score in this film, but the fact that he took for granted that his audience were chronically retarded, didn't help matters. His attempts at passing off Hungary as Italy is what I remember the movie most for (this was done due to budgetary constraints, I presume), even though everyone who is supposedly 'Italian' in the movie speak with heavy Magyar accents. We were also treated to monuments in Budapest, and the lead couple even joined a Hungarian dance troupe to do a traditional folk dance, but the director kept insisting that we were in Italy. 'Hum dil de chuke sanam' also marked the return (of sorts) to traditional Indian values, when the lead character is forced to decide between her husband and her lover. Its no mystery that she does the 'right thing' but there could have been no possible outcome considering the social climate in the subcontinent at the moment. Such dubious credentials apart, I am quite ready to redeem Sanjay now that I've seen his third film. "Devdas" tells the story of Devdas Mukherjee (Shah Rukh Khan) who returns to his Calcutta home from London. The story, which was written early last century, didn't mention London at all, but I suppose this was inserted into this storyline to give the lead actor more sophistication, and also to somehow brand him an 'outsider' without explicitly stating it. The original story itself was rather simple - Devdas wants to marry his childhood sweetheart, and even though his girlfriend's family has no apparent problem with this, his own family clearly does. The quiet, seemingly mellow soul that he is, Devdas watches as his only true love is wed to someone else, and the rest of the story stands back and lets Devdas drink his way to his death. The premise here is that both Devdas and Parvati were soulmates, yet couldn't be together in their lifetime. Needless to say, this is a clear rip-off on the legendary Indian tale of Krishna and Radha to begin with (both Lord Krishna and Radha were married to other people, yet remained in love with each other until their deaths), but tragic love stories always work if told properly, and its no wonder that this tale has oft been told both on film and stage. And while it clearly is a very Indian Romeo and Juliet, it is somehow even more heartbreaking and effective than the Shakespearian saga. Watching "Devdas" for the first few minutes, I was doubtful that it would grow into the grand epic that it eventually did. Bhansali is a master storyteller, but his over-the-top renditions of certain characters is appalling. The movie starts off with Kaushala (Smita Jaykar), who is Devdas' mother, revelling in the news that her son is returning from London. Probably the most ill-conceived five minutes in the entire film, its difficult to ascertain if the director is making fun of the kitschy personas of the mothers involved, or if hes actually being serious. Kaushalya is a devoted mother, and her best friend is her next door neighbour Sumitra (Kiron Kher) who is also the mother of Devdas' childhood sweetheart Paro (the exquisite Aishwarya Rai). Both mothers celebrate the son's return with 'shondesh', and Sumitra runs back to her home to inform Paro that Devdas is returning. We are also introduced to the mandatory 'evil daughter-in-law' character, played by Ananya, who has nothing more to do than stand aside and raise eyebrows and utter vengeful one-liners.Thankfully, the 'bad' portion of the movie ends right here. What follows is cinematic poetry, bringing back the era of the 1960s when Madhubala and Meena Kumari held centerstage with their awe-inspiring performances. Paro (Aishwarya Rai) is shown standing by her window when her mother approaches her with the good news. She cannot believe it, but when she does she is delirious with happiness. The centerpiece of this entire segment is a 'diya' ('lamp) that Paro has kept burning ever since Devdas left Indian shores. Shes been guarding it all the while, never letting it die out, and the news of his return prompts her to break into song. Being the first song in the film, the track, called 'Silsila ye chaahat ka' is important as it serves as an introduction to the rest of the film's musical score. Paro gets the news at night, and the burning lamps set the mood for the opening lilts that are sung by Paro's maids. We are introduced to Aishwarya Rai's face through the light of the lamp, and from the moment she steps onscreen, 'Devdas' is entirely hers'. Anyone who has had doubts about Aishwarya's screen presence will be left speechless through the course of the song, as Paro and her dancers flit down stairs, and run through the corridors of her beautiful and grand old-world Calcutta mansion. The theme of the song is that Paro has kept the light burning 'all these years', both figuratively and technically, and the song requires that the lamp be burning throughout the course of it, even when subject to the most trying of circumstances. So we find Paro running through the wind, getting drenched in the rain, and twirling in highly choreographed routines, yet the lamp never goes out. While the idea may seem a little too literal for some people, its all executed splendidly. By the time its over, we're left wanting more. This follows the actual meeting between the two leads, and theres the usual amount of coy interaction one would expect from such an encounter. Paro and Devdas have the most beautiful lines here, and one's attention is directed to the weakly translated English language subtitles that dominate the bottom half of the screen. The screenplay is a mergence of Hindi, Urdu and Bengali colloquialisms and nuances, and the rich texture of the script is a result of this interplay. However, it seems that Bhansali is forcing himself to acknowledge the origins of this tale. Its a Bengali story, no doubt, but when the movie is in Hindi, one does not expect the cast to suddenly break out into Bengali just to placate regional audiences or would-be critics. When one of the cast members offers another 'Shondesh' for the umpteenth time, its enough for you to hurl a bottle at the screen, but Paro's lovely face is always on hand to subdue any violent tendencies you may have. Dev and Paro certainly look like star-crossed lovers, and yes, there is definitely chemistry between both actors. While it would seem that Aishwarya is just reprising her role in 'Hum dil de chuke sanam' where she spent the entire second half looking as if she'd been clonked by a heavy two-by-four, this particular story requires more of her in terms of expression and silent eye-speak, and its here that she truly excels. Its at this stage of the film that Kiron Kher definitively steps in. As Sumitra, Paro's strong-willed mother, she plays a woman who is willing to support her daughter's dreams of marrying up into a more respected family. As a theater personality, Kher brings a special histrionic talent to the film, and of the supporting cast, it is she who holds her own the best. She too nurtures hopes of becoming Devdas' mother-in-law, but has no idea of how lowly her neighbours think her to be. Sumitra's background as a 'dancing girl' means that even though she can remain friends with the upper-class, she can never harbor dreams of actually being elevated to their status. While this storyline is developed, we are also introduced to the joyful frolic of Paro and Devdas through the song 'Bairi Piya', which plays over moonlit skies as the duo tease and flirt with each other. Things move along fairly well as the first intense scene is set up. Sumitra is invited to a party hosted by Devdas' family where she hopes she will be informed of their family's acceptance of her daughter as their future daughter-in-law. She is also invited to dance, and this is where the gorgeous song 'Morey Piya' kicks in. The picturisation of this song is remarkable for two reasons - for one, Kiron Kher dances up a storm in a richly decorated set piece that reflects the opulence of old-world Calcutta, while on the other, Paro and Devdas romance each other in a serene riverside setting by night. The theme of Radha and Krishna is reflected here again, right down to the lyrics and the costumes. Paro balances pots on her head by the river, while Devdas attempts to seduce her while she takes up the most complex tantric positions. This is sheer Vedic scripture and romanticism brought to life, and the sensuality of the scene is heightened by the chemistry the two share. However, the director is careful to understate his case. Even though Paro and Devdas are immensely physical with each other, we never see this progressing past a hug or a stilted embrace. The way the song ends, with the two lovers entwined on the banks of the river (another incredible work of cinematography here) indicates that theres more to meet the eye, or perhaps I'm reading too much into it. Nevertheless, it does paint a darker picture of events to come if Devdas and Paro did consummate their relationship at this stage, as it makes the trauma of their upcoming partition even more difficult to bear. On the other side of the river, Sumitra is finally brought to her senses when Kaushalya publicly humiliates her and tells her to get her daughter 'married off to someone else'. Paro doesn't seem unduly worried when she finds out that Devdas' parents have rejected her. She seems certain that Devdas will come to her rescue, and she talks of him as already being her 'husband'. 'How can you ask for what is already yours?' she tells her friend. The great thing about this film is that we are introduced to the characters of Paro and Devdas both believing that they are already wed to each other, in every sense except by the law. This makes us root for them even more when things go wrong (which they do) as they essay their roles with such clarity and conviction - its hard not to like or sympathize with these people. When Sumitra arranges hastily for Paro's marriage to an older aristocrat, Paro doesn't seem defiant - just confident that things will work out as she wills it to. However, when she doesn't hear back from Devdas, she steals out at night to go visit him in his room, a move that triggers a violent series of events. Devdas' father insults her when she is caught in Dev's room, and when Dev confronts his father, he realizes at the end of it that his family will never let him have her. Furious, he storms out to 'get some space'. However, Paro and her mother, now humiliated beyond redemption (as they see it) decide that Dev doesn't really love her, and Paro reluctantly agrees to get married to her mother's choice of alliance. The story here is interesting for a variety of reasons -for one, Devdas is not portrayed as the 'angry young man' (though he is rather confrontational with his father) but rather as a soft sort of wimp who has to 'get away from it all'. Shah Rukh Khan treads this line carefully. While being a full-blown wimp would have lost him the audience's support, Khan's Devdas is a softy, but a likeable one. It is also more believable and realistic when a leading man takes time to be by himself rather than go the Bollywood way and create a furor. This is also the stage in the movie where Paro matures. When Devdas comes back to her a few nights later she is very retaliatory, though she is clearly still madly in love with him. Devdas accuses her of being too vain when she says that she is finally going to have her own money when she marries into a rich family, and that she is now on 'equal footing' with him. 'Even the moon cannot be as vain as you" he tells her, to which she responds 'Ah yes, but the moon is scarred, how could it dare have vanity?' (she refers, of course to the moon's markedly dissimilar surface). Devdas here displays his only real act of violence here when he physically 'harms' Paro, which results in her forehead getting wounded. 'You will be vain no more' he tells her, though he is overly apologetic for his actions. It seems Devdas wants Paro to always be 'touched by him', and if this is really the explanation for what he did, it certainly explains many domestic abuse cases, I would imagine. Such sado-masochistic strains apart, this scene works well, especially as it leads to the haunting ballad 'Hamesha Tumko Chaaha' ('I have always desired you'), a poignant tale during which Paro is married off to her older suitor, and Devdas plays an active part in 'giving her away'. In the theater where I saw the film, men and women were heard sniveling - some openly sobbing - during this sequence. Its one of many masterfully executed sequences in the movie, and it also proves that in 'Devdas', the songs are never a disjointed add-on unlike in so many other Hindi movies. Every song here is vital to the storyline, and I cannot imagine a film of this sort without the kind of soundtrack that it possesses. Once Paro is married off, Devdas takes a turn for the worse. He immediately looks more drawn and gaunt, and even a tad thinner. When he locks himself up in his room and starts setting things on fire, the family comes to the horrific realization that by denying him Paro, they have set him on a course of self-destruction. Devdas' family never comes across as the sort of family that truly loves their son. Everything here, as it certainly still is in most joint Indian families, is about position, prestige and the 'family name'. Considering that the year is 1917, this apparently mattered more than it does today. Devdas, however, is no fool, though he is rather a fair-weather lover. He meets up with Chunnilal (Jackie Shroff), an aristocrat who bides his time in the show-mansions of the beautiful courtesans and entertainers of the red-light district of Calcutta. Chunnilal admittedly loves two things most in life : women and alcohol, and he wastes no time in introducing Devdas to both. This is where 'Devdas' really starts developing into a magnum opus of epic proportions. If you thought that Madhubala's dances in the stained-glass halls of old India in 'Mughal E Azam' were breathtaking, be prepared for the sumptuous lair of Chandramukhi (Madhuri Dixit), a courtesan known by name and reputation as one of the most beautiful and intelligent charmers in the city. Her lavish mansion, decorated with authentic mirrored jewellery from the last century, and filled with the most expensive-looking baubles and beads, is certainly Bollywood's most visually stunning set-piece to date. Chandramukhi plays the third angle in this romantic saga - a woman who by choice of profession must renounce dreams of love and marriage, and whose sole occupation in the world is to dance for the merriment of men who pay for her services. However, it is in her that we find the most spiritual and challenging character in the entire film. While Madhuri Dixit may have the lesser role in terms of screentime, she is a one-woman powerhouse, literally saturating each frame shes in with class and sophistication. She is introduced to us as shes drying her hair after a bath - and she is introduced to Devdas, who is openly embarrassed at being in the house of a courtesan. We see Devdas' many insecurities come forth in this scene. He has rather staid and Victorian ideas about morality (he is, after all, a product of a British law school), and is quick to dismiss Chandramukhi and her profession as 'Vile and evil'. Yet he has no problem sitting through her performance that evening, as like everyone gathered in the hall, he too is mesmerized by her beauty and grace. The following song - 'Kaahe Chhed Mohe' - is decidedly the most classical song on the soundtrack, and also the most choreographed. It also marks a new age for Bollywood, for if ever anyone in the future attempts to depict a Hindustani classical piece on screen, they would always have to use this piece as a touch-stone, for it will be many years before we find anything that can be called its' equal. Pandit Birju Maharaj, who wrote and choreographed the track puts his all into making Madhuri Dixit an instant icon (not that she wasn't one already). Madhuri's dress here weighed almost thirty kilograms, one is told, and the heavy zari and patternwork on it far surpasses any other costume in the film. The dress may be the centerpiece of the song, but it's the highly stylized dance-form that is captivating and awe-inducing. At one point, the group of dancers gather together in the manner of the twirling dervishes, as the camera captures this spellbinding scene from the ceiling. This is movie-making at its' best, and Bhansali has clearly outshone Mani Ratnam in this art-form, at least during this segment. The only problem I had with the story from here on is that the characters aren't fleshed out as well as one would imagine. At points it seems as if the director is just putting book to screen without much thought. Yet on the other hand, the script at places almost outdoes itself in the way it speaks to the heart of the viewer. Chandramukhi comes across as a fiery woman who has chosen a hard profession to live by, and be judged by, but the way she falls for Devdas and seems to be instantly in love comes across as a bit contrived and forced. It could well be that for a woman who sees nothing but boring old men at her performances everyday, Devdas and his charm come as a breath of fresh air, but for whatever reason, she seems to be smitten rather easily. This minor glitch aside, we are introduced to Milind Gunaji, who plays one of Chandramukhi's admirers. He also happens to be Paro's step-daughter's husband (as Paro had unwittingly married a man whose wife had died and left him three grown children). He hates it that Chandramukhi is taken with Devdas, and when she spurs his advances with the song 'Maar Daala' ('I've been killed'), he vows to get back at her. This song is another astounding achievement in terms of grandeur and choreography. Its around this time that we are made aware of Devdas' growing addiction to alcohol. To forget Paro and drown his woes, he reluctantly takes up with Chandramukhi, though he doesn't want to have anything physical to do with her. She respects this distance, but still longs for their relationship to move to another level. Simultaneously, Paro is adjusting to her new home, and her new extended family. Aishwarya Rai's acting abilities truly come to the fore here as she plays different personas with ease and grace - she may not have been a natural, but shes certainly been working on her skills in the years since 'Hum dil de chuke sanam'. Sanjay Bhansali has in many ways given her the hardest role to play. On one hand, she is the grief-stricken girl who pines for her lover, on the other, she is the new wife of an aristocrat, and has power and money at her beck and call. On yet another, she is a new mother, with three grown children to raise. Paro's sense of duty to her family and society in general empowers her to execute her roles without the slightest of external remorse, but the audience feels her pain as she slowly starts dying within. We are also introduced to a very private aspect of Paro's life. Her husband, who has lost his first wife, is still very much in love with her memory, and he tells Paro that even though he respects her as the new mother of his children, he can, by no means, have any physical relationship with her. I suppose this suits Paro just fine, and in many ways, it's a perfect way for the storyline to portray Paro as the eternally pure virgin who is solely dedicated to the man she loves (Devdas) but can never have. In the meantime, Devdas' father passes away. His mother is distraught when Devdas arrives at the funeral drunk and when he sarcastically mumbles that the death of his father was a 'bad thing' that shouldn't have happened. The audience was most appreciative of Shah Rukh Khan's performance here, though it did seem a bit over-the-top. The problem with playing a drunk person is that you have to really pull it off without the slightest of reservations, or else it will show. Khan's scene here manages to get away with it, but he is not as successful in more dramatic sequences later on. This is where the storyline gathers steam and propels the movie into a zone that it hadn't yet visited. Paro discovers that Devdas has been living with Chandramukhi for a while and wants to get him away from her 'evil clutches'. When she learns that the upcoming Durga Pooja festival requires that a handful of soil be collected from the doorstep of a courtesan's yard, she is quick to jump on the chance to visit Chandramukhi first-hand. This sequence is one of the film's most powerful, as the confrontation between the two women quickly moves from awkwardness to spite, and ultimately to friendship. This is when Paro 'loosens up'. She is doubtful of Chandramukhi's honesty at first and uses all the usual clichés in the book while insulting a prostitute. Yet, Chandramukhi, being the most soft-spoken and dignified character in the film (Madhuri outdoes herself) is never agitated, never upset. When Paro demands that she hand over Devdas to her, Chandramukhi takes her to her room, where theres a small shrine she has retained. Devdas, isn't here physically, she says, but he is everywhere in spirit. Paro then realizes that Chandramukhi does love Devdas, and she seems to 'let go' of him. The two become instant friends, and Paro invites her to the Pooja celebrations. There is a contradiction of sorts that occurs here. For one, Paro in this sequence seems to indicate that she has 'gotten over' Devdas, when she tells Chandramukhi that shes so glad Devdas won't be alone anymore now that hes found her. I take this as her endorsement of their relationship (or lack of one). On the other hand, there is a very emotional sequence between Devdas and Chandramukhi where she reveals to him her love, and he actually reciprocates. I took this as a clear indication that he loved her, even though she may not have been his 'one true love'. Yet, as the film progresses, we realize that Paro and Devdas just get more and more obsessed with each other, and instead of moving on with their lives, they simply crumble under pressure. While the characters do drift away from each other momentarily, they are perpetually and chronically obsessed with one another, and this pushes the film toward its' inexorable climax. Chandramukhi does visit Paro at her Calcutta home, where the two break out into song and dance for the Durga Pooje celebrations - 'Dola re Dola', the most commercial song on the soundtrack. As the film's last big song, Bhansali spares no expense in hurling the choicest of sets and costumes toward our eyes. Not that we're complaining. Such opulence can only exist in the mythical realm of Bollywood dreams, and 'Dola re Dola' is everything a big-budget Bollywood song should be. As with every Hindi movie song though, no questions are to be asked. For example, how do the dancers and the lead actresses jump in step and perform elaborately choreographed dance-moves within minutes of meeting each other? Were there secret practice sessions that went on unbeknowest to the audience? Such mindless questioning is pointless though. As a overly elaborate, and stunningly (almost unbearably) decked dance sequence, this song works. At the end of the song, Milind Gunaji steps out of the shadows and prepares to exact his revenge. He insults Chandramukhi in the presence of over a hundred people, and she gives him a brilliant comeback, and defends her profession. If there is a scene that entirely belongs to Madhuri, other than her dances, this is it. When she storms out of the mansion, she is faced with Devdas' ever-worsening condition, and attempts to nurse him back to health. When the physicians determine that the slightest overdose of alcohol could kill him, she pours herself into being his guardian. However, Devdas is adamant, and armed with the knowledge that he is near death's door, he informs Chandramukhi of his decision to leave. She asks him no questions, and is entirely supportive of him. This final glimpse that we catch of Chandramukhi, standing at the door of her beautifully lit haveli, as Devdas leaves her forever, is one of many haunting images that this film is strewn with. On the train back home, Devdas is seen going from bad to worse. When his compartment-mate turns out to be Chunnilal (one of the film's convenient twists on the old tale), Devdas wastes no time in sharing a glass of alcohol as both friends drink to each other's health. Chunnilal is oblivious of Devdas' condition, and when the train reaches its' destination, Devdas climbs out and hires a horse-driven carriage and driver to take him to Paro's house. Here begins the most mesmerizing portion of the movie. Paro is endlessly plagued by her instincts - something tells her that theres a lot amiss - and she is uneasy and nervous, though shes not sure why. When Devdas does reach her house, he falls outside her gate, lacking the energy to even crawl his way in. Bhansali's attention to detail here is astounding. The direction here is of the kind Bollywood has not yet produced - it draws from both the genius of old Raj Kapoor films, as well as the stark imagery of a Bernardo Bertolucci production. Paro, from her terrace, notices a group of people hovered around a man outside and upon asking her maids who the person is, she is told that its someone who is possibly drunk and wasted. Paro doesn't find this to be reason enough to think its Devdas, and she spends the night tossing and turning. In the morning, she arises and notices that the crowd is still gathered around the drunkard. When the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall in place for Paro, is when 'Devdas' gets on its final wheels and hurls us towards its uncompromising destination. Paro is delirious when her servants inform her that the man outside has her name tattooed on his arm, and that letters in his pocket reveal that his name is Devdas Mukherjee. Aishwarya Rai literally makes 'Devdas' all her own from this point on. Clad in a flowing white Bengali sari and looking every inch the damsel in distress, she brings all her talent and energy to the part of Paro. In a fit of almost insane proportions, Paro rushes down the stairs and attempts to run to the gate of the mansion. However, her strict husband, who has had enough screenplay to prove that hes as cold-hearted as the rest of Devdas' family, orders that all the doors be locked and that the gate be shut. This remarkable sequence forms the climax of 'Devdas'. It is one of those rare instances where movie-making transcends time and space, and when classics are truly born. Paro manages to dodge the servants who have been summoned to hold her down, and she flees towards the gate of the haveli. There is a scene here where the camera looks down from above, showing us just how far Paro is from Devdas, and capturing the fortress-like quality of the house she lives in. The last few minutes show Paro running toward Devdas, who is only semi-conscious, while the staff attempt to close the two large gate-doors shut. As she runs down the pathway, the camera cuts to Devdas, the gates, and the anguish on her face as she realizes she may not make it on time. Devdas sees her, only through blurred vision, as a figure in white moving toward him rapidly. When Paro is almost near the gates, it slams shut, and Devdas at this point is so shock-ridden that he has a heart attack. The acting here is of the highest caliber, and nothing is overdone or over-stated. The theater I saw in was silent during this whole episode, and women instantly broke into tears once it had passed. Devdas dies outside Paro's gate, while she slumps, in shock against the gates that have closed upon her. The camera pans away, and the scene fades. 'Devdas' ends. Call it willful and deliberate toying of audience's emotions, but this climax will ensure that 'Devdas' will become India's 'Titanic', a film for all time, all ages, and one that will be remembered by generations to come. Personally, I am proud of Bollywood for creating such a visual masterpiece, and for not giving into all of the book's sometimes ludicrous demands. For example, the original has Paro dying right after Devdas (or so I'm told), and that Chandramukhi sees to it that the two are buried next to one another. Nothing of the sort is stated here. When Devdas dies, it is the only death that is portrayed on screen. We are left to assume that Paro dies as well, but this is not implied. I found this a very refreshing and classy way of preserving the original, yet transforming it into a completely new and vibrant tale. Full marks all around. If at all there is something wrong with Devdas, its in the casting of Jackie Shroff, who does nothing for himself or the audience via the role of Chunnilal. It is the most weakly written and executed role in the entire film. And while Madhuri Dixit is a beautiful woman, her recent issues with weight come to the fore in the film, especially during her commendable dance performance with Aishwarya Rai, where the latter steals the show with her cat-like prancing. And though every song is a gem, there is an ode to alcohol at the end that is particularly disconcerting as it ruins the continuity of the film and looks sorely out of place. 'Devdas' also suffers from the same issues that plagued 'Hum dil de chuke sanam'. Though the first half had engrossing scenes between the leads and their parents, the second half doesn't take the time to feature any of the parents at all. Its as if once Paro is married off, both families ceased existing. Not that we're complaining - Devdas' mother is played by an actress whom I personally do not rank very highly, and the 'evil relatives' theme is something this movie was better off without. Unfortunately, the aspect of unnecessary relatives does not apply to Devdas' family. When Paro is married off, she is introduced to her 'elders' - one woman in particular has a feisty yet composed conversation with Paro, and we are led to believe that all of this would eventually lead somewhere. Unfortunately, it doesn't. These people, including Paro's step-daughter, simply fall off the face of the film right after they are introduced, and are never to be seen again. The theater I saw this movie in displayed English subtitles on the bottom half of the screen. While this certainly helped many a non-Hindi speaker appreciate the film, they were also markedly bad in places. They were especially patchy during the songs. While the almost impossible-to-translate 'Kaahe Chhed Mohe' was deciphered without a single mistake, the relatively trite 'Chalak Chalak' was abound with glitches and embarrassing oversights. Also, almost every set seems to have been constructed. There are no scenes of nature or the city - which gives the film a very sound-stage feel that is difficult to initially get past. On the bright side, the costumes, sets, and almost surreal look of the film saves it from any harsh criticism, and after you sit through the climax, its almost impossible to criticize 'Devdas' little faults. As a regular Bollywood flick, 'Devdas' is far and away the greatest thing that Bollywood has produced in ages. As a work of art, its credentials and execution are unparalleled in the current world of Hindi cinema - you only have to watch 'Asoka' or 'Dil to Pagal Hai' to understand how 'Devdas' has managed to cut through the glossy exteriors that mask every Hindi movie these days. In the end, I think 'Devdas' is more of a cinematic tribute to the classics of the 1960s than anything else. The director has clearly been a student of both 'Mughal E Azam' and 'Pakeezah' and has managed to transfer their spirits into his new creation, without coming across as a copycat. As a trendsetter and reference-point for future Hindi film-making, we could not ask for a better model than 'Devdas'. Every upcoming epic will have to answer to this one. And that's a task I am not sure Bollywood can accomplish this decade. |
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