The first post here at the Gorilla’s Lament was made on April 18,
2004, making this our one-year anniversary, and I cannot think of a
better way to celebrate than to spend the day with Amrish Puri. Our
associates over at Army of Monkeys have recently reviewed Taarzan - the Wonder Car, spotlighting Puri’s softer, more avuncular side. Our entry in the Amrish Puri tribute, though, is Nayak (2001), featuring Puri at his villainous best.
Puri plays Balraj Chauhan, Chief Minister of Maharashtra and a very, very bad man; we get an early glimpse of his badness when he very casually cripples an overenthusiastic fan. Still, you need more than evil to become Chief Minister, and Chauhan gets a chance to display his impressive political skills when simple village belle Manjari ( Rani Mukherjee) criticizes him at a publicity stop in her village. She’s perfectly correct, and he’s clearly in the wrong, but he manages to turn the situation around completely; he’s even got the chutzpah to publicly honor Manjari for bringing the matter to his attention.
Q-TV cameraman Shivaji Rao (Anil Kapoor) is present at the same publicity stop, and immediately falls for Manjari. She vanishes into the crowd, though, and Shivaji returns to the city, where he and his trusty assistant Topi (Johny Lever) get caught up in a riot. Shivaji gets some great footage of the riot, including footage of the police Commissioner being ordered (via radio) by the C.M. to stand down since both factions in the riot are political supporters. When he discovers a young college student bleeding to death on the pavement, though, he puts down the camera and carries him to the hospital, racing across the tops of buses as Topi films him from the ground.
Thanks to his actions during the riot, Shivaji is promoted to senior reporter and given his own interview show (though it’s clear the network did not use the footage of the Commissioner). He returns to the village in search of the girl from before, and wins her heart by secretly following her around and filming her (and since this is Bollywood, this is Romantic and Not At All Creepy). When he approaches her father (Shivaji Satham), though, he’s refused out of hand; Dad wants her to marry someone with a government job, figuring that that is the only way to ensure she has real security. Shivaji returns home and starts looking for a government job.
New job aside, though, Shivaji has a show to do. His first scheduled interview is with Chief Minister Balraj Chauhan; Chauhan arrives expecting a glossy puff piece, but Shivaji immediately attacks his record. When Balraj tries to dismiss the charges, Shivaji produces copious documentation, including the footage of the Police Commissioner being ordered to do nothing. Finally, frustrated, Balraj declares that no one can know the pressures of being C.M. until they’ve actually become Chief Minister. He challenges Shivaji to take on the job for one day, and Shivaji, while very reluctant, finally agrees, much to Balraj’s shock.
Cut to Balraj’s cronies trying to find a legal reason to call off the challenge. Balraj, though, isn’t worried, figuring that by the time Shivaji starts to figure out how things work, the day will already be over. However, Shivaji has done his homework yet again; the first thing he does as C.M. is open every pending court case against a government official on charges of corruption, and suspend the officials involved. (This is a populist fantasy, so the notion that someone might be innocent never really comes up.) It’s only the beginning, though; Shivaji has a guy with a typewriter following him around as he tours every level of Maharashtra’s government, and as soon as the merest hint of corruption is discovered, the offender is handed a letter of suspension on the spot. Shivaji takes a quick kung fu break, chasing a local gunda across the top of several busses before beating him into submission, then it’s back to the suspensions. Consulting with Balraj’s honorable assistant Bansal (Paresh Rawal), he traces the corruption back to twelve government Ministers, so he has them arrested and then, with five minutes to spare in his term of office, has Balraj locked up as well.
Now, no character played by Amrish Puri will ever put up with that kind of treatment. Late at night, Shivaji is attacked, doused in gasoline, and set on fire; he breaks away, submerges himself in mud, and then drives off the attackers, stumbling into the street the next day only to be bathed in milk by sympathetic townsfolk. The entire sequence is clearly a symbolic cleansing and rebirth; the mud-covered Shivaji seems to have mystical powers, and at one point throws a truck at his tormentors.
Balraj is quickly released, but the ensuing scandal topples his government. (Say what you will about parliamentary democracy, but it makes for some great plotlines.) We see a series of interviews with the man (and woman) on the street about who they’d like as the next C.M., and the will of the people is clear: “Shivaji Rao.” “Shivaji Rao.” “Amitabh Bachchan.” “Shivaji Rao.” Since Amitabh isn’t in the film, Shivaji soon has a huge crowd camped out in front of his house, asking him to run. He doesn’t want to enter politics, though, especially when Manjari and her father show up as well, asking him not to run (with an implied “So that you two kids can get married in peace.") Still, when Bansal takes him out to see the hope on the faces of the common people gathered around, he can’t help but be moved. He runs.
And wins, rather handily, and off screen. The election itself isn’t really important, it’s what comes after. While Shivaji’s “real” term in office is just as revolutionary as the day-long term was, he has less and less time to spend with Manjari, leading to the worst disguise in the history of film; a character played by Anil Kapoor puts on a fake moustache in order to sneak out and see his girlfriend. More seriously, though, being out of office just means that Balraj doesn’t have to worry about negative publicity when plotting his evil schemes.
Nayak is, essentially, populist fantasy. It’s about one honest man, untainted by politics, cleaning up the entire system from within. By the end, though, the film becomes much more nuanced; Shivaji is ultimately tainted by his struggle with Balraj, but still makes the world a much better place. Some interesting ethical questions are raised, but the film doesn’t presume to answer them.
Amrish Puri is at his best here. Balraj isn’t exactly charming, but he’s a consummate politician who takes an obvious joy in playing the game. he’s not an anti-hero or misunderstood or remotely sympathetic, but he is very, very interesting, and he dominates every scene he appears in. It’s the kind of over-the-top yet completely sincere villain that Puri specialized in, and I cannot think of a single actor who could have played the part better.
Anil Kapoor takes a similar approach; Shivaji Rao is an honest, heroic man, and Kapoor plays him with complete sincerity. Because Shivaji is so wonderful, he is necessarily less interesting than Balraj is. As for Rani . . . the DVD cover calls Manjari “the simpleton in Anil’s complex world” and it’s not that far from the truth. Manjari is drawn as broadly as the others, so Rani is sweet and simple and stunningly beautiful and largely irrelevant.
Without the songs, Nayak is an entertaining and surprisingly nuanced action movie. With the songs . . . well, I wish I had a computer that could do screen captures, because the only word that comes to mind is “phantasmagoric.” Bright colors, dancing vegetables, Sushmita Sen, a cosmic game of snakes and ladders, and a stick dance that would make Sigmund Freud’s head explode. It’s a remarkable experience.
Puri plays Balraj Chauhan, Chief Minister of Maharashtra and a very, very bad man; we get an early glimpse of his badness when he very casually cripples an overenthusiastic fan. Still, you need more than evil to become Chief Minister, and Chauhan gets a chance to display his impressive political skills when simple village belle Manjari ( Rani Mukherjee) criticizes him at a publicity stop in her village. She’s perfectly correct, and he’s clearly in the wrong, but he manages to turn the situation around completely; he’s even got the chutzpah to publicly honor Manjari for bringing the matter to his attention.
Q-TV cameraman Shivaji Rao (Anil Kapoor) is present at the same publicity stop, and immediately falls for Manjari. She vanishes into the crowd, though, and Shivaji returns to the city, where he and his trusty assistant Topi (Johny Lever) get caught up in a riot. Shivaji gets some great footage of the riot, including footage of the police Commissioner being ordered (via radio) by the C.M. to stand down since both factions in the riot are political supporters. When he discovers a young college student bleeding to death on the pavement, though, he puts down the camera and carries him to the hospital, racing across the tops of buses as Topi films him from the ground.
Thanks to his actions during the riot, Shivaji is promoted to senior reporter and given his own interview show (though it’s clear the network did not use the footage of the Commissioner). He returns to the village in search of the girl from before, and wins her heart by secretly following her around and filming her (and since this is Bollywood, this is Romantic and Not At All Creepy). When he approaches her father (Shivaji Satham), though, he’s refused out of hand; Dad wants her to marry someone with a government job, figuring that that is the only way to ensure she has real security. Shivaji returns home and starts looking for a government job.
New job aside, though, Shivaji has a show to do. His first scheduled interview is with Chief Minister Balraj Chauhan; Chauhan arrives expecting a glossy puff piece, but Shivaji immediately attacks his record. When Balraj tries to dismiss the charges, Shivaji produces copious documentation, including the footage of the Police Commissioner being ordered to do nothing. Finally, frustrated, Balraj declares that no one can know the pressures of being C.M. until they’ve actually become Chief Minister. He challenges Shivaji to take on the job for one day, and Shivaji, while very reluctant, finally agrees, much to Balraj’s shock.
Cut to Balraj’s cronies trying to find a legal reason to call off the challenge. Balraj, though, isn’t worried, figuring that by the time Shivaji starts to figure out how things work, the day will already be over. However, Shivaji has done his homework yet again; the first thing he does as C.M. is open every pending court case against a government official on charges of corruption, and suspend the officials involved. (This is a populist fantasy, so the notion that someone might be innocent never really comes up.) It’s only the beginning, though; Shivaji has a guy with a typewriter following him around as he tours every level of Maharashtra’s government, and as soon as the merest hint of corruption is discovered, the offender is handed a letter of suspension on the spot. Shivaji takes a quick kung fu break, chasing a local gunda across the top of several busses before beating him into submission, then it’s back to the suspensions. Consulting with Balraj’s honorable assistant Bansal (Paresh Rawal), he traces the corruption back to twelve government Ministers, so he has them arrested and then, with five minutes to spare in his term of office, has Balraj locked up as well.
Now, no character played by Amrish Puri will ever put up with that kind of treatment. Late at night, Shivaji is attacked, doused in gasoline, and set on fire; he breaks away, submerges himself in mud, and then drives off the attackers, stumbling into the street the next day only to be bathed in milk by sympathetic townsfolk. The entire sequence is clearly a symbolic cleansing and rebirth; the mud-covered Shivaji seems to have mystical powers, and at one point throws a truck at his tormentors.
Balraj is quickly released, but the ensuing scandal topples his government. (Say what you will about parliamentary democracy, but it makes for some great plotlines.) We see a series of interviews with the man (and woman) on the street about who they’d like as the next C.M., and the will of the people is clear: “Shivaji Rao.” “Shivaji Rao.” “Amitabh Bachchan.” “Shivaji Rao.” Since Amitabh isn’t in the film, Shivaji soon has a huge crowd camped out in front of his house, asking him to run. He doesn’t want to enter politics, though, especially when Manjari and her father show up as well, asking him not to run (with an implied “So that you two kids can get married in peace.") Still, when Bansal takes him out to see the hope on the faces of the common people gathered around, he can’t help but be moved. He runs.
And wins, rather handily, and off screen. The election itself isn’t really important, it’s what comes after. While Shivaji’s “real” term in office is just as revolutionary as the day-long term was, he has less and less time to spend with Manjari, leading to the worst disguise in the history of film; a character played by Anil Kapoor puts on a fake moustache in order to sneak out and see his girlfriend. More seriously, though, being out of office just means that Balraj doesn’t have to worry about negative publicity when plotting his evil schemes.
Nayak is, essentially, populist fantasy. It’s about one honest man, untainted by politics, cleaning up the entire system from within. By the end, though, the film becomes much more nuanced; Shivaji is ultimately tainted by his struggle with Balraj, but still makes the world a much better place. Some interesting ethical questions are raised, but the film doesn’t presume to answer them.
Amrish Puri is at his best here. Balraj isn’t exactly charming, but he’s a consummate politician who takes an obvious joy in playing the game. he’s not an anti-hero or misunderstood or remotely sympathetic, but he is very, very interesting, and he dominates every scene he appears in. It’s the kind of over-the-top yet completely sincere villain that Puri specialized in, and I cannot think of a single actor who could have played the part better.
Anil Kapoor takes a similar approach; Shivaji Rao is an honest, heroic man, and Kapoor plays him with complete sincerity. Because Shivaji is so wonderful, he is necessarily less interesting than Balraj is. As for Rani . . . the DVD cover calls Manjari “the simpleton in Anil’s complex world” and it’s not that far from the truth. Manjari is drawn as broadly as the others, so Rani is sweet and simple and stunningly beautiful and largely irrelevant.
Without the songs, Nayak is an entertaining and surprisingly nuanced action movie. With the songs . . . well, I wish I had a computer that could do screen captures, because the only word that comes to mind is “phantasmagoric.” Bright colors, dancing vegetables, Sushmita Sen, a cosmic game of snakes and ladders, and a stick dance that would make Sigmund Freud’s head explode. It’s a remarkable experience.
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