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Directed by Shoojit Sircar and written by Juhi Chaturvedi, Piku is a featherlight, uplifting film about the reversal in roles as parents age and children grow up.
This is Sircar’s fourth venture and while entirely different from his previous films, going by its warmth and tickles, Piku is more akin to Vicky Donor than Yahaan or Madras Café.
Half of the film is about a road trip and as it must follow, the characters are thrown together in a journey unexpectedly. And while it seems unlikely they will get along given their wildly different personalities, the confined space of a car without doubt brings them closer.
While on the road, the film also acts as a travel show, offering postcard glimpses of old mansions and houses, puny lanes, grand colonial buildings, places of worship and copious food. It is all very beautiful.
Piku Banerji (Deepika Padukone) is a young partner in an architecture firm who struggles to maintain any love life as she cares for her father Bhaskar Banerji (Amitabh Bachchan), a hypochondriac with constipation and verbal diarrhoea.
At 70 years, Bhaskar is at an age when one typically stops apologising for anything, including a sudden child-like urge to travel from Delhi to his hometown Kolkata and to do so by road. Their companion on this trip is Rana Chaudhary (Irrfan), the smooth owner of a taxi service, who reluctantly drives the duo after his employee fails to show up.
This is Sircar’s fourth venture and while entirely different from his previous films, going by its warmth and tickles, Piku is more akin to Vicky Donor than Yahaan or Madras Café.
Half of the film is about a road trip and as it must follow, the characters are thrown together in a journey unexpectedly. And while it seems unlikely they will get along given their wildly different personalities, the confined space of a car without doubt brings them closer.
While on the road, the film also acts as a travel show, offering postcard glimpses of old mansions and houses, puny lanes, grand colonial buildings, places of worship and copious food. It is all very beautiful.
Piku Banerji (Deepika Padukone) is a young partner in an architecture firm who struggles to maintain any love life as she cares for her father Bhaskar Banerji (Amitabh Bachchan), a hypochondriac with constipation and verbal diarrhoea.
At 70 years, Bhaskar is at an age when one typically stops apologising for anything, including a sudden child-like urge to travel from Delhi to his hometown Kolkata and to do so by road. Their companion on this trip is Rana Chaudhary (Irrfan), the smooth owner of a taxi service, who reluctantly drives the duo after his employee fails to show up.
At 70 years, Bhaskar (played by Bachchan) is at an age when one typically stops apologising for anything
The portion of the film not on the road is split between Delhi and Kolkata, where characters such as Piku’s party-loving aunt, played by Moushumi Chatterjee, and Bhaskar’s doctor and perpetual home guest, played by Raghubir Yadav, are introduced.
Much of the story is predictable but that does not necessarily dilute its quality. Credit for that must go to writer Chaturvedi who has previously composed dialogue for Sircar’s films. The routine tiffs are marvellously scripted, infused with wry humour. Notable in the abundant repartee is the line “Death aur shit, yeh do cheez hai jo kabhi bhi aa sakti hai (death and shit are two things that can happen at any time.)” And even better, “Aadmiyon ko bhi meno-pause hota hai (men go through menopause too).”
The human body is complex, intricate and often comical. Sircar and Chaturvedi use this last attribute to their advantage, playing the toilet humour card (Bhaskar is obsessed with bowel performance) until it very nearly grows old but just about doesn’t.
The film stays funny and relatable for the most part, and likely doubly so for Bengalis. Aside from father-daughter ties, it explores to a lesser extent themes of women’s empowerment and even heritage conservation. The film is also a lesson in subtle product placement, where brands lurk but never linger or announce their presence.
The idea that runs through the film is something that even US comedian Louis CK has been advocating for years, albeit in more explicit terms — “You can never judge parents.” It reminds you that you are in essence a version of your parents, even if they seem frustrating.
Bachchan’s Bhaskar is designed like a caricature. Loud, silver-haired, potbellied and carelessly dressed, he comes across as both annoying and endearing.
His irritable bowel has turned Piku irritable too. In the manner of most busy urban women, Piku is plain but confident. Padukone does not shed grace even when grumbling or throwing a tantrum. Irrfan is delightful as the perplexed onlooker, who goes to great lengths to please strangers out of glibly-disguised politeness.
After briefly threatening to become a tear-jerker, the film redeems itself in a sublime closing. With Piku, Sircar delicately proves that a work doesn’t have to be jarring to be entertaining or dark to be profound.
