One side effect of the notoriously strict Indian film censors is
that Bollywood films take place in a very moral universe. While there
are trials and tribulations along the way, in the end the good are
rewarded specifically for their goodness, while the bad are punished (or
sometimes redeemed, and at times a little too casually.) Bollywood
doesn’t often fall into the designated hero trap that Hollywood is
vulnerable to, where the “hero” of the film can get away with all sorts
of bad behavior and the audience is expected to love them anyway because
they’re the hero. This doesn’t mean that Indian protagonists never do
anything wrong, but it does mean that they are confronted with the
consequences of their wrongdoing before the credits roll. It’s one of
the things I like about Bollywood, though the specific values involved
are sometimes a little jarring to my Western sensibilities.
One example of this moral universe: liar movies. This is almost a sub-genre of its own; the protagonist (usually a woman, in the examples I’ve seen) tells a little white lie near the beginning of the film, and before she can correct it, it spirals wildly out of control and by the end of the film, the only way to fix things is to make a public confession of THE TRUTH. take, for instance, Chupke Se.
The plot of Chupke Se is rather complicated, and I mean complicated for a Bollywood film. I’ll try to sum up: Varun is a lonely billionaire; he has money and a successful business, but no real social life. His eccentric father concocts a daughter of a family friend, whom he calls Sarika, and arranges for Varun to meet Sarika at a local disco, hoping that Varun will have a good time for once and maybe meet a nice girl. Varun reluctantly goes, and when he gets to the club he discovers it’s owned by his old college roommate Riz. After hearing Varun’s story, Riz tells his people to let Sarika in as soon as she shows up, and escort her to table seven.
Meanwhile, Megha, a charming young college student, is hoping to get into the club herself. When former model and fashion magnate Almira Kochchar arrives, Megha and her friend try to pass themselves off as part of Almira’s entourage. When asked for her name, Megha steals a glance at the guest list and replies “Sarika.”
Megha is led to table seven and meets Varun, who quickly falls for her girl-next-door charms. She meanwhile takes the opportunity to spin extravagant tales of her life in America and Africa before returning to India; all lies, of course. Finally, she even succeeeds in dragging the terminally shy Varun onto the dance floor.
Meanwhile, Almira and Riz are chatting up on the balcony (of evil!) overlooking the dance floor. Almira brags about her starmaking ability, and makes a bet with Riz; he can pick any girl in the club, and she’ll turn the girl into a top model. At that moment, Megha manages to cause a huge pile-up on tthe dance floor, and Riz naturally picks her; Almira sends a minion to give “Sarika” her card.
Next day - lovesick Varun thanks his father enthusiastically, only to be told that Sarika doesn’t exist. He heads to Almira’s offce to find out the truth. Megha arrives at Almira’s office, and Almira does the old Faustian bargain thing with her, telling her that she’ll give her the fame and free her from her “middle class morality” in the bargain. (Almira actually makes a poor Mephistopheles, since she never gets around to corrupting “Sarika”; Megha tells lies, but she was doing that before.) As Megha leaves, she bumps into Varun. Meanwhile, an apparently incorruptable tax inspector arrives to deal with Almira; “Sarika” is so set on avoiding the tax inspector that she climbs out the window. (Small wonder, since the tax inspector is her own father.) Varun follows her, and asks for an explanation; rather than just telling the truth, Megha claims that she’s just a different Sarika, and that the misunderstanding was just caused by a coincidence.
As this is happening, Almira fails to bribe the tax inspector. Investigation reveals that he’s actually honest, so her husband attempts to recruit Kasim Khan Qayamat, a publicity starved gangster, to solve the problem. Kasim agrees, but only if he’s introduced into Almira’s high social circles.
At this point, the stage is set for the best kind of overblown Bollywood melodrama. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell the two leads, both of whom turn in a dignified, understated performance as their elders chew the scenery. As a result, the whole film turns out curiously muted, and not nearly as fun as it should be. Perhaps not coincidentally, the two leads also display almost no chemistry, leading to a flat and uncompelling romance.
There are some nice moments in the film, usually involving the supporting cast. Kasim Khan Qayamat in particular is a well drawn character, searching for fame while quoting bad poetry. And the songs are very good, in particular an early number where a daydreaming Megha is sucked into a virtual reality world. But as a whole, the film is oddly lifeless.
One example of this moral universe: liar movies. This is almost a sub-genre of its own; the protagonist (usually a woman, in the examples I’ve seen) tells a little white lie near the beginning of the film, and before she can correct it, it spirals wildly out of control and by the end of the film, the only way to fix things is to make a public confession of THE TRUTH. take, for instance, Chupke Se.
The plot of Chupke Se is rather complicated, and I mean complicated for a Bollywood film. I’ll try to sum up: Varun is a lonely billionaire; he has money and a successful business, but no real social life. His eccentric father concocts a daughter of a family friend, whom he calls Sarika, and arranges for Varun to meet Sarika at a local disco, hoping that Varun will have a good time for once and maybe meet a nice girl. Varun reluctantly goes, and when he gets to the club he discovers it’s owned by his old college roommate Riz. After hearing Varun’s story, Riz tells his people to let Sarika in as soon as she shows up, and escort her to table seven.
Meanwhile, Megha, a charming young college student, is hoping to get into the club herself. When former model and fashion magnate Almira Kochchar arrives, Megha and her friend try to pass themselves off as part of Almira’s entourage. When asked for her name, Megha steals a glance at the guest list and replies “Sarika.”
Megha is led to table seven and meets Varun, who quickly falls for her girl-next-door charms. She meanwhile takes the opportunity to spin extravagant tales of her life in America and Africa before returning to India; all lies, of course. Finally, she even succeeeds in dragging the terminally shy Varun onto the dance floor.
Meanwhile, Almira and Riz are chatting up on the balcony (of evil!) overlooking the dance floor. Almira brags about her starmaking ability, and makes a bet with Riz; he can pick any girl in the club, and she’ll turn the girl into a top model. At that moment, Megha manages to cause a huge pile-up on tthe dance floor, and Riz naturally picks her; Almira sends a minion to give “Sarika” her card.
Next day - lovesick Varun thanks his father enthusiastically, only to be told that Sarika doesn’t exist. He heads to Almira’s offce to find out the truth. Megha arrives at Almira’s office, and Almira does the old Faustian bargain thing with her, telling her that she’ll give her the fame and free her from her “middle class morality” in the bargain. (Almira actually makes a poor Mephistopheles, since she never gets around to corrupting “Sarika”; Megha tells lies, but she was doing that before.) As Megha leaves, she bumps into Varun. Meanwhile, an apparently incorruptable tax inspector arrives to deal with Almira; “Sarika” is so set on avoiding the tax inspector that she climbs out the window. (Small wonder, since the tax inspector is her own father.) Varun follows her, and asks for an explanation; rather than just telling the truth, Megha claims that she’s just a different Sarika, and that the misunderstanding was just caused by a coincidence.
As this is happening, Almira fails to bribe the tax inspector. Investigation reveals that he’s actually honest, so her husband attempts to recruit Kasim Khan Qayamat, a publicity starved gangster, to solve the problem. Kasim agrees, but only if he’s introduced into Almira’s high social circles.
At this point, the stage is set for the best kind of overblown Bollywood melodrama. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell the two leads, both of whom turn in a dignified, understated performance as their elders chew the scenery. As a result, the whole film turns out curiously muted, and not nearly as fun as it should be. Perhaps not coincidentally, the two leads also display almost no chemistry, leading to a flat and uncompelling romance.
There are some nice moments in the film, usually involving the supporting cast. Kasim Khan Qayamat in particular is a well drawn character, searching for fame while quoting bad poetry. And the songs are very good, in particular an early number where a daydreaming Megha is sucked into a virtual reality world. But as a whole, the film is oddly lifeless.
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