Abhishek Chaubey's latest offering is a fine, fab tribute to Chambal, 25 years since Bandit Queen, arguably India's 'faadu-est' film!
A still from the film Sonchiriya
There's a casual moment in Abhishek Chaubey's Sonchiriya (that releases this Friday), where cops, on the lookout for dacoits in Chambal, intercept a possible accomplice while patrolling late at night. If I'm not mistaken, the young fellow mentions the lack of horses around, to allay cops' suspicions that dacoits would be! It's got to be an inside joke.
The first thing, I'm told, locals of Chambal asked the cast-crew of Shekhar Kapur's Phoolan Devi biopic Bandit Queen (1994), when they learnt that some 'daku picture' was being shot in their area was, well: "Where are the horses?"
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None of the dacoits that these men, from the beehad (ravines) of north-central India, had personally known, over years, had ever mounted a horse. But it's in the movies! And, for lack of a better description, Sonchiriya, with the same time-place setting as the dark, disturbingly real, Bandit Queen (or Paan Singh Tomar, for a fair portion), is a Western.
Which, regardless of its multiple sub-genres, with names often derived from food items—Spaghetti (both Italian and Mexican), termed Macaroni, in Japan, Sauerkraut (in Germany), etc—ought to tick a few boxes, given guns galore, in an old-world/pre-modern story, about outdoor valour, and male glory, of course. God knows we've all grown up on the simple, semi-rural, desi, revenge dacoit-dramas.
Or what got officially termed the 'Curry' Western, with Ramesh Sippy's Sholay (1975)—'The Greatest Story Ever Told'—a genre that later descended into B/C-grade 'Daku Ramkali' type pictures, to keep masses enthralled, nonetheless.
My (lesser-known) favourite might well be Joshilaay (1989; partly directed by Shekhar Kapur, since he walked out of the film mid-way). The creaking sound of a rotating, village toy, and the villain Yogi Thakur's (Rajesh Vivek) thick twang used to freak the shit out of me as a kid. While the heyday of the bandits in Sonchiriya is basically left to the audience's imagination—we don't quite see it, to be able to fully appreciate the contrast—the film deliberately subverts the genre to totally humanise its protagonists, instead—in a way that all good art attempts to.
Why should a plot chiefly centred on three dacoits (Sushant Singh Rajput, Ranvir Shorey, Manoj Bajpayee), wallowing in a state of pathetic decay, be any different? Yeah, they look slightly down and out, although hardly low on energy, when the moment demands it.
The fact that you can't tell these best-suited actors from their stellar characters (across the board), is a surest sign of fine writing (something we don't appreciate enough, while going gaga over new-age stars on screen). Sure, there are cops in the movie. And, there are dacoits, and people, of various shades (or castes)—Gujjars, Thakurs, Malhar, Brahmin—the only lens to truly view these parts (or indeed most of India), traditionally obsessed with binaries of honour, and revenge. But among all of them there are baaghis (rebels), within baaghis, within baaghis, making this an 'Inception' of sorts!
Solidly competent, supremely confident director Chaubey (disclaimer: friend), employs all of this material to gently play with form (unfortunately, not humour), in what's supposed to be a high-octane action film first, and a somewhat over-written/over-cooked plot, thereafter—with a series of 'back-and-forths', and delayed reveals. So you notice a soft song drowning out a maddening combat sequence—a trope/motif he used just as effectively with the song Ik Kudi in Udta Punjab. Or you observe key, adrenaline heavy moments unexpectedly frozen on screen—whether it's to do with cops who have holed up dacoits, or a bunch of dacoits with guns against each other's heads (Chaubey's Dedh Ishqiya had a funny version of the latter).
Chaubey's debut, Ishqiya, also set in northern badlands, was a lot more adorably fruity, compared to this manic grittiness. And so it's a lot more to intriguing to follow a woman (Bhumi Pednekar) through this cycle of bloodshed—that the state finds impossible to control, given that it has partially lost its monopoly over violence.
The setting is real: the 'beehad' (ravines) of Madhya Pradesh. The language, Bundelkhandi, is authentic enough for you to absorb very little, without (English) subtitles. And that's possibly the reason this film has been made in the first place— to retrace the rugged terrain, that still look the same, and once produced a series of deadly dakus, who are dead, while their mythologies very much live on.
Beyond the folklore, the film zeroes in on what individually/personally drove these dacoits (or did not), rather than digging deeper into the social/political sub-text of Indira Gandhi's India, or the 1975 Emergency—the official radio announcement/declaration of which sets Sonchiriya in motion.
The legend of Phulya (Phoolan Devi; alive and kicking ass back then) still runs deeps in these ravines. As a movie buff, back in my teens, nothing could've prepared me for the chilling after-effect of Kapur's Bandit Queen (1994), and a sleepless night—having stepped out of a screening, that was obviously meant for adults.
Almost exactly 25 years since arguably the 'faadu-est' Indian film ever, Chaubey's Sonchiriya, comes across as an equally fine, fabulously crafted tribute to Chambal, itself. And, the Curry Western—with/without the curry; or the Western. Yeah, ought to catch it again!
Mayank Shekhar attempts to make sense of mass culture. He tweets @mayankw14 Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
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