I was afraid this would happen, and it did. “Gangubhai Kathiawadi” failed to impress as a movie I can cherish. It was good while it lasted, which is a solid two hours and forty-five minutes of screen time, but did it linger on as a fantastic cinematic experience, the answer is unfortunately No? I wish it had, but it didn’t, at least for me. I know that everyone who has seen the movie has had nothing but praises for it, and some of my friends were puzzled a little, as to why I hadn’t yet seen the movie or written about it. So, folks here is the reason: I was afraid I would be disappointed, and if that is too harsh a word to describe this movie, at least I knew the movie would not strike me as anything but a commercial entertainer and nothing deeper for my taste. And this has been happening with Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s (SLB) films of the last decade or so. The hype is there, the promise is there, and there is definitely great material for the screen, but despite all this, I have always come out of the recent SLB movies disappointed; disappointed not because there is anything intrinsically flawed in the work, or the intent, but rather a sense of betrayal that a filmmaker like SLB with such an abundance of genius and commitment, who lit the screens with the splendor and the tragedy in Devdas and re-created Helen Keller’s immortal story of sensory enlightenment for the Indian screen, has, in recent times, somehow fallen short of exercising his full capacity as a filmmaker, and is falling a victim to the grandeur and weight of his productions. I have always considered SLB as the Cecil De Mille of Indian cinema. Like the Hollywood master, SLB likes to fill the screen, and his cinematography enthralls the senses as a Vermeer’s landscape painting would. The subjects he chooses to film are also worthy of the screen, but in the last few attempts, SLB seems to have lost his way as a storyteller The richness of his art is intact even today, but the substance within isn’t shining forth as it used to.
Don’t get me wrong! The story of Gangubhai kothewali or Kathiawadi is a tale that needs to be forcefully told. SLB, once again, has picked the right subject. In those initial years of India’s independence, the 1960s, when the basic arc of Indian society hadn’t yet changed, and women hardly had any rights or freedoms to speak of, Gangubhai singlehandedly represented the community of women, who were considered the dregs of society, with no standing or say in anything at all. It was, and remains, a terrible condition, utterly demeaning and debasing, and the women lost to prostitution are stripped of every ounce of humanity one can possibly conceive of. It was through the audacity of Gangubhai’s hope, the courage of her convictions, and the power she wielded through the mafia network that operated in Bombay, she was able to scaffold, protect and provide a modicum of dignity to the lives of hundreds of women in kamathipura (a zone that is still considered a taboo in Mumbai) who were otherwise destitute, ostracized and completely at the mercy of a society that was rude and uncaring. The women who enter prostitution rarely do so voluntarily, they are there because social and economic reasons force them to. And it is a kind of life from which there is usually no turning back, at least not easy to do so in developing countries. Gangubhai was perhaps the first woman in India from the sex-worker community to raise a significant voice against the established conventions of the time, loud enough to be heard at the highest echelons of Indian bureaucracy. She asserted the rights of those who served their bodies on demand, and sought respect for her profession from a society that only needed their services, but choose to keep them socially incarcerated and deprived of civil rights. It is true she met Jawaharlal Nehru to speak to him about legitimizing prostitution, and it could be equally true our charming Prime minister offered a rose to the lady before she left his chambers. After all, Nehru was not a stranger to the charms of the opposite sex. Gangubhai Kathiawadi forced a tabooed subject to be discussed in public forums as a social issue, and her rebellion reverberates even today, half a century or more later.
The movie captures everything we need to know about Gangubhai’s life, but, very superficially. It glosses over one incident after another in quick succession, leaving little room for the viewer to absorb the pain and tragedy of the lives lived under the shadow of prostitution. The daily routine of the prostitutes, their preparation, and swagger, the gestures of their trade, the camaraderie between them, the scheming iron-hearted mistress, the bad customer who violates the unwritten rules of prostitution, the underworld don who plays the good Samaritan, the tender mercies shown by strangers, the first bloom of love that tremulously hangs in balance between shame and passion, the surfeit of alcohol to numb the pain and memory, the constant yearning for a better life and thoughts about one’s family, the inner-city fight for communal power, the disdain for pretentious civilian norms and ethics—everything is there in the movie, but nothing leaves a mark. The emotions are too fleeting and saccharine in their execution to rip one’s heart apart. This is the issue with SLB’s films. He paints his canvas with all the richness and color one can conjure, and not a single thing is ever improper in any frame. But by pouring all his energies into this endeavor, he sometimes loses the trajectory of the story. As the movie progresses, one wonders what should we focus on? Is it the brilliant cinematography, the meticulously constructed sets, or the good, deep story that is sadly being sacrificed at the altar of such a rich production?
The movie is watchable because it rests on the young shoulders and the incredible talent of Alia Bhatt. Without her, there is nothing to hold one’s attention. It is indisputable that Alia is one of the finest acting talents among the modern crop of actors. Her face, like a placid pond, reflects each emotion with clarity, deftness, and ease. Though she has been in the field for two decades now, it is only in the last few years, that she has matured into a fine actor, capable of carrying an entire film on her own merit. Not a great beauty in the classical sense, but there is certainly an irresistible charm about her that is hard not to fall in love with. The actor in her blossoms into characters whose essence is a mix of acute vulnerability and towering inner strength. In Udta Punjab, Raazi, and now Gangubhai, the character she essays experience love, pain, laughter, and tears in equal measure, and Alia moves through these boutiques of emotions with the finesse and craft of a naturally gifted actor, and creativity that cannot be taught but must come surging from within. Each scene in Gangubhai is crafted and chiseled to give full rein to Alia’s acting prowess. And SLB always manages to get the best out of his leading actors. His camera captures every nuance of each expression, and it is impossible to get away with mediocre performances under the watchful directorial eyes of SLB, regardless of what star power the actors may possess. The only other actors apart from Alia, I can think of, who could have done similar justice to the role of Gangubhai are Tabu and Kareena ten to fifteen years ago. Critiques may have found the choice of Alia for this role a little misplaced because she lacks what is called the “screen presence” to be a gangster, but, in my opinion, what Alia lacks in the physicality to portray such a role, she more than makes it up with her preparation and understanding of what it takes to be lady gangster. To cast Alia as Gangubhai was a fitting decision, and only SLB could have pulled this off the way he did. This could be among the defining films of Alia’s career.
I wish the movie could have been more fulfilling than what it turned out to be for me. It just didn’t strike the right chord. Except for Alia’s brilliance, I could find any sustained credibility in the story, considering this is an adaptation of a chapter from Hussain Zaidi’s interesting book “ The mafia queens of Mumbai”. The story is rooted in a real-life personality, and therefore it is essential that the story is imbued with more realism, instead of treating it as purely commercial material. The gloss, the costumes, and the recreation of the period are all fine, but at the core of it, it turned out to be a predictable commercial storyline. I wish SLB could have delved more into the inner life of Gangubhai, spent a little more time bringing out the characters who surround Gangubhai, and lessened the commercial glorification of a life that was mostly spent in grief and pain. Gangubhai stood up for her clan, because she was pushed, and not because she wanted to. The brothels in Kamatipura even today hang a picture of Gangubhai because there is nothing else they can look up to. Their lives are as dark and dim as it was, sixty years ago, when this brave rebellious sex worker stood up against the community and fought for their rights. Gangubhai may have achieved fame for her unique position as a mafia don and a savior, but for the thousands of others like her, nothing at all has changed. The final scene in the movie, when all the sex workers and detractors of Gangubhai salute her as she is carried aloft in procession along the street, is both heroic and tragic at the same time. Heroic because gangubhai ventured to do something unprecedented in those times, and tragic because her actions did not lead to any significant change in the perceptions or the status of the community.
Hopefully, this movie may help bring about some renewed attention to the plight of sex workers in India. That could be a big victory for SLB’s Gangubhai Kathiawadi. As a film experience, for me, it falls short of the mark.
Bala