Brahmastra: Part One—Shiva opens with a scientist, played by Shah Rukh Khan, being paid a visit by a trio of supernatural assassins. Turns out the scientist has special powers too, and there’s an extended fight sequence, ending in his capture. We later find out his name: Mohan Bhargav. Khan had played a Mohan Bhargav in Swades (2004), also a space scientist, also driven by a sense of duty. The similarities between the two characters end there—but it’s enough, a wisp of a suggestion that nestled comfortably in my brain.
I mention this also because Ayan Mukerji’s film is hardly this understated
in its other borrowings. Early on, there’s a quick shout-out to Mr. India (1987),
a rare homegrown superhero film. From there on, it’s
spot-the-Hollywood-blockbuster, with narrative devices and structures nicked
from a variety of franchises. At the film’s heart is the idea of a divine
Brahmastra, whose pieces, when reattached, will be an all-powerful weapon in
the hands of the long-dormant Deva. Infinity Stones, you say, scattered across
the realm, capable of granting their wearer unimaginable powers when combined?
Never heard of 'em.
Deva is a giant statue in this, the first ‘Astraverse’ film, though sentient
enough to send the witch-like Junoon (Mouni Roy) to do his bidding. It’s Junoon
who subdues Mohan Bhargav and his vaanarastra at the start of the film,
extracting from him the identity of another member of the secret society called
the Brahmansh. This torture appears in a violent vision—not the only time the
film reminded me of Harry Potter—to Shiva (Ranbir Kapoor) at just the wrong
time, when the carefree DJ is showing curious rich girl Isha (Alia Bhatt) his
nifty-looking loft in a chawl. The dream knocks him out. When he comes to, he
decides to go to Varanasi to warn the man whose name was given up (Nagarjuna),
and who has a fragment of the Brahmastra. Isha, already smitten, tags along
(there’s no indication she has a job or people who are worried she’s taken off
with a broke DJ she just met).
After a series of close shaves with Junoon and her two burly assassins, Isha
and Shiva are cornered at the gate of an ashram in the Himalaya they’ve been
told to seek out. Shiva—who's impervious to fire—produces a blast of flaming
energy, blowing away the advancing henchman. They’re taken in by the ashram’s
leader, Guruji (Amitabh Bachchan), who runs the place much like Professor X
(guru is ‘teacher’ in Hindi) and the school for mutants in the X-Men movies,
with young astra-wielders taught to harness their skills. Guruji is also head
of the Brahmansh, and encourages Shiva to realize his destiny as the powerful
agniastra.
Hindi cinema has been building to a film like this for some time. Hollywood
superhero films routinely open big across the country now. Kids actually want
to see them; no one’s calling for their boycott. At the same time, Hindu
religious and mythological iconography has become increasingly central in Hindi
films. Brahmastra merges these worlds: the framework and splashy effects
of a Hollywood movie retrofitted onto a story populated with Hindu gods and
goddesses. Tsui Hark tried something similar when he made Zu: Warriors from
Magic Mountain (1983), combining wuxia and Chinese folk tales with
Hollywood effects. But that film was unlike anything Hollywood was doing at the
time, whereas Indian and foreign viewers alike will recognize the familiar
foundations of Brahmastra, even if the construction on top is new.
The CGI work in Brahmastra is shaky in places but better than what
the trailers led me to expect. When in doubt, Mukerji fills the screen with
pretty lights. I wonder how Indian audiences, fed on the hard-edged sagas of
Rajamouli and the bloodfests of the southern cinemas, will react to this
softer, kinder spectacle (I knew it was a matter of time before someone said
“love is the greatest astra”). Good-vibe stories aren't exactly killing at the
box-office lately, and Brahmastra is all soft edges and encouragement.
Bhatt and Kapoor have a warm rapport, if not exactly chemistry. Their love goes
straight from tiny flame to conflagration—she barely knows him at all when she
declares, “Tum zindagi se shikayat nahi, mohabbat karte ho” (You don’t
complain about life, you love it). Even Junoon has the comforting hamminess of
a TV soap antagonist yelling at the bahu for letting the milk boil
over.
It’s ironic that right-wing trolls have been trying to ban a film that works
harder than anything in recent memory to make Hinduism look cool. Both Shiva
and Isha are enthusiastic temple-goers. Her explanation for why he should let
her come along to Varanasi is that her name also means Parvati, the god Shiva’s
wife. One dance number has a chorus of “Om deva deva, namah namho namah”.
The various astras take the shape of Shiva, Brahma, Nandi, Hanuman. Every now
and then, one of the five cinematographers (what’s up with that?) gives us a
loving closeup of a heavenly idol, as if this were Jai Santoshi Maa.
Come to think of it, that’s a decent rhyme for love storiyaan.
This review was published in Mint Lounge.
No comments:
Post a Comment