Bollywood plots are often very, very complicated; even without the
unrelated comic subplots, you still have to unravel a tangled web of
wicked aunties and mistaken identity and overheard confessions and very
nice but unsuitable love interests just to figure out what the central
conflict is. The plot of Raincoat (2004), on the other hand, can be summed up in a sentence: “Manoj and Niru sit in a dark room and talk for two hours.”
But perhaps a little more detail might be helpful. Manoj (Ajay Devgan) has lost his job. He’s traveled to Calcutta in order to track down some old college classmates and ask for a loan so he can start a small business. While in Calcutta, he’s staying with Alok (Sameer Dharmadhikari), his old college roommate. Alok is supportive, but it’s Alok’s wife Sheela (Mouli Ganguly) who notices when Manoj, overcome by the humiliation of his situation, breaks down and cries in the bathroom.
Finally, Manoj sets out into the rain to ask near strangers for money. We don’t see the actual meetings, and I am personally grateful, since just the sight of Manoj in a succession of waiting rooms is painful enough. He meets with some success, but before he can return to Alok’s place, he has to see Niru.
Niru (Aishwarya Rai) was Manoj’s childhood sweetheart, but six years ago she broke his heart by marrying another man. They haven’t seen one another for the six years since her marriage, but he wants to see her again. Just once.
He finds the house, and Niru herself meets him at the door, unkempt but draped in an expensive silk sari. And she’s . . . odd. She refuses to turn on a light, and leads Manoj into a living room filled with unused furniture, and they talk. She tells Manoj about how wealthy and successful her husband is, and he tells her about his fabulous career as a TV executive.
And that’s the movie in a nutshell. Manoj and Niru sit in a darkened room and lie to one another. The story is told almost entirely through subtext, and what the characters are actually saying is generally the least important thing in a scene. There are exceptions; Annu Kapoor shows up late in the film to deliver some key exposition, for instance. Still, the love story in Raincoat is expressed through silences and small gestures, rather than declarations of love. It’s very much an actor’s film, and both Devgan and Rai do a wonderful job of filling in the spaces of their respective characters. Mouli Ganguly (who has one of my favorite names ever) makes an impressive debut in a small but key role.
The film isn’t perfect. The editor seems a little too fond of fading to black, and while the numerous flashbacks do a good job of illustrating who these people were before they became broken, they’re not really necessary, and ultimately I found them distracting. These are technical issues, though, and don’t really detract from the impact of the film. This isn’t a masala movie by any stretch of the imagination, but the emotions are just as huge as you’d find in any blockbuster Hindi musical; the difference is that they’re never expressed openly. If Manoj and Niru could just burst into song now and then, they’d probably both be a lot happier.
But perhaps a little more detail might be helpful. Manoj (Ajay Devgan) has lost his job. He’s traveled to Calcutta in order to track down some old college classmates and ask for a loan so he can start a small business. While in Calcutta, he’s staying with Alok (Sameer Dharmadhikari), his old college roommate. Alok is supportive, but it’s Alok’s wife Sheela (Mouli Ganguly) who notices when Manoj, overcome by the humiliation of his situation, breaks down and cries in the bathroom.
Finally, Manoj sets out into the rain to ask near strangers for money. We don’t see the actual meetings, and I am personally grateful, since just the sight of Manoj in a succession of waiting rooms is painful enough. He meets with some success, but before he can return to Alok’s place, he has to see Niru.
Niru (Aishwarya Rai) was Manoj’s childhood sweetheart, but six years ago she broke his heart by marrying another man. They haven’t seen one another for the six years since her marriage, but he wants to see her again. Just once.
He finds the house, and Niru herself meets him at the door, unkempt but draped in an expensive silk sari. And she’s . . . odd. She refuses to turn on a light, and leads Manoj into a living room filled with unused furniture, and they talk. She tells Manoj about how wealthy and successful her husband is, and he tells her about his fabulous career as a TV executive.
And that’s the movie in a nutshell. Manoj and Niru sit in a darkened room and lie to one another. The story is told almost entirely through subtext, and what the characters are actually saying is generally the least important thing in a scene. There are exceptions; Annu Kapoor shows up late in the film to deliver some key exposition, for instance. Still, the love story in Raincoat is expressed through silences and small gestures, rather than declarations of love. It’s very much an actor’s film, and both Devgan and Rai do a wonderful job of filling in the spaces of their respective characters. Mouli Ganguly (who has one of my favorite names ever) makes an impressive debut in a small but key role.
The film isn’t perfect. The editor seems a little too fond of fading to black, and while the numerous flashbacks do a good job of illustrating who these people were before they became broken, they’re not really necessary, and ultimately I found them distracting. These are technical issues, though, and don’t really detract from the impact of the film. This isn’t a masala movie by any stretch of the imagination, but the emotions are just as huge as you’d find in any blockbuster Hindi musical; the difference is that they’re never expressed openly. If Manoj and Niru could just burst into song now and then, they’d probably both be a lot happier.
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