 "Salman does a superbhakt in Bajrangi Bhaijaan")
Last week, Aamir Khan told tabloids that he can’t wait to watch Kabir Khan’s Bajrangi Bhaijaan. It all makes sense now, as the film looks set to be this year’s PK. Except the Hindu-Muslim bhai-bhai trope has been extrapolated to an India-Pakistan comedy-drama love story.
As the film begins, the camera pans over lush verdant valleys of Kashmir. Somewhere in the mountains of the Sultanpur district in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir, a heavily pregnant woman cheers to Shahid Afridi’s sixes and declares that her yet-to-be-born son would be called Shahid.
Fast-forward six years: Shahida, the girl, on board the Delhi-Lahore Samjhauta Express, loses her way back to Pakistan after a mannat in an Indian dargah. She lands up in Kurukshetra and runs into Pavan Kumar Chaturvedi aka Bajrangi, a faithful devotee of Lord Hanuman.
After a teenage Aishwarya Rai in Sneha Ullal, Salman Khan seems to have found a prepubescent Katrina Kaif in Harshaali Malhotra. Pavan christens the mute girl as Munni and takes her to Delhi, where he has moved to from his native Pratapgarh in search of a job. (Though even after the entire film is over, we have no idea what this job is, apart from Being Salman Khan.)
The biggest shock to the super-bhakt is when Munni digs into chicken biryani with fervour and runs into a mosque to pray. After several predictable twists and turns, Pavan realises that Munni is a “Momden” and is from Pakistan. Behenji girlfriend is quite progressive and teaches Bajrangi not to judge little children by his “paraya dharm” yardsticks.
A couple of songs later, including a mandatory action scene where Salman beats up multiple guys to a Hanuman Chalisa rock rendition, it is finally time for Bajrangi to become Bhaijaan. Pavan takes a vow to cross streams and borders, literal and metaphorical, to reunite the child with her family in Pakistan. He embarks upon an arduous and meandering journey filled with blockbuster-style drama, heartbreak, and syrupy sentiment.
Enter Nawazuddin Siddiqui, who as Chand Nawab, does another Peepli Live as the dogged good-hearted journalist. So luminous he is in every scene, he manages to steal the show even from Salman. His perfect comic timing makes for some truly hilarious scenes, and their witty banter make them a solid team. Along with a fine ensemble cast, Harshaali too plays her part well, and her naive innocence is the soul of the film.
Salman, on the other hand, has attempted to act more as Dr. Jekyll than his popular off and on screen Mr. Hyde. Pavan folds his hand for every monkey he sees and refuses to lie at any cost, leaving people to think that his mind is as clear as his heart. He has tears running down his cheeks, and makes sincere efforts to emote with his expressions. (Kabir and Salman must be lauded for this grand PR exercise that has successfully milked the softie in Bhai’s tough guy image.)
The topography is cliched but gorgeous, with Old Delhi’s cross-wired monument-ridden skyline, camels and deserts in Pakistan, through to the pristine valleys and crystal-clear streams of Kashmir. A strikingly skinny Adnan Sami does a cameo in a lovely dargah qawalli song, and Pritam’s music is a medley of mostly forgettable tracks ranging from peppy to soulful numbers.
The climax is very Tahrir Square-meets-Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani and uses every hyperbole in the book. The film is suffused with warmth but quite make-believe, and I’m sure I would have enjoyed it immensely as a child. Sadly, the burden of knowledge rests heavy, and towards the end of the nearly three-hour film, I start to get restless for Munni to get home, because that is the only way I can get home. (But as I was expecting an expletive-ridden, mindlessly action-packed, crass joke-filled ‘Bhai’ film, I came out only counting my blessings.)
However, this totally simplistic story with a simpleton character and an unlikely cross-border tragicomedy of a love story — does seem to work, at least in parts. Because unlike PK, it stops just short of being overtly preachy. All in all, I’d say Bhai fans do have something (relatively) new to cheer about.
As the film begins, the camera pans over lush verdant valleys of Kashmir. Somewhere in the mountains of the Sultanpur district in Pakistan-occupied Kashmir, a heavily pregnant woman cheers to Shahid Afridi’s sixes and declares that her yet-to-be-born son would be called Shahid.
Fast-forward six years: Shahida, the girl, on board the Delhi-Lahore Samjhauta Express, loses her way back to Pakistan after a mannat in an Indian dargah. She lands up in Kurukshetra and runs into Pavan Kumar Chaturvedi aka Bajrangi, a faithful devotee of Lord Hanuman.
After a teenage Aishwarya Rai in Sneha Ullal, Salman Khan seems to have found a prepubescent Katrina Kaif in Harshaali Malhotra. Pavan christens the mute girl as Munni and takes her to Delhi, where he has moved to from his native Pratapgarh in search of a job. (Though even after the entire film is over, we have no idea what this job is, apart from Being Salman Khan.)
The biggest shock to the super-bhakt is when Munni digs into chicken biryani with fervour and runs into a mosque to pray. After several predictable twists and turns, Pavan realises that Munni is a “Momden” and is from Pakistan. Behenji girlfriend is quite progressive and teaches Bajrangi not to judge little children by his “paraya dharm” yardsticks.
A couple of songs later, including a mandatory action scene where Salman beats up multiple guys to a Hanuman Chalisa rock rendition, it is finally time for Bajrangi to become Bhaijaan. Pavan takes a vow to cross streams and borders, literal and metaphorical, to reunite the child with her family in Pakistan. He embarks upon an arduous and meandering journey filled with blockbuster-style drama, heartbreak, and syrupy sentiment.
Enter Nawazuddin Siddiqui, who as Chand Nawab, does another Peepli Live as the dogged good-hearted journalist. So luminous he is in every scene, he manages to steal the show even from Salman. His perfect comic timing makes for some truly hilarious scenes, and their witty banter make them a solid team. Along with a fine ensemble cast, Harshaali too plays her part well, and her naive innocence is the soul of the film.
Salman, on the other hand, has attempted to act more as Dr. Jekyll than his popular off and on screen Mr. Hyde. Pavan folds his hand for every monkey he sees and refuses to lie at any cost, leaving people to think that his mind is as clear as his heart. He has tears running down his cheeks, and makes sincere efforts to emote with his expressions. (Kabir and Salman must be lauded for this grand PR exercise that has successfully milked the softie in Bhai’s tough guy image.)
The topography is cliched but gorgeous, with Old Delhi’s cross-wired monument-ridden skyline, camels and deserts in Pakistan, through to the pristine valleys and crystal-clear streams of Kashmir. A strikingly skinny Adnan Sami does a cameo in a lovely dargah qawalli song, and Pritam’s music is a medley of mostly forgettable tracks ranging from peppy to soulful numbers.
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The climax is very Tahrir Square-meets-Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani and uses every hyperbole in the book. The film is suffused with warmth but quite make-believe, and I’m sure I would have enjoyed it immensely as a child. Sadly, the burden of knowledge rests heavy, and towards the end of the nearly three-hour film, I start to get restless for Munni to get home, because that is the only way I can get home. (But as I was expecting an expletive-ridden, mindlessly action-packed, crass joke-filled ‘Bhai’ film, I came out only counting my blessings.)
However, this totally simplistic story with a simpleton character and an unlikely cross-border tragicomedy of a love story — does seem to work, at least in parts. Because unlike PK, it stops just short of being overtly preachy. All in all, I’d say Bhai fans do have something (relatively) new to cheer about.