Monday May 21, 2012
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There’s always been a general reluctance amongst female leads in mainstream Bollywood to depart fully from their pedestals as “beautiful women”. Sure, Kareena Kapoor might deign to play a bai at some point, but costume changes aside, she’ll still be the Kareena Kapoor of magazine covers and shampoo adverts. Besides aesthetics, virtue is a big part of the female star myth, as proven by the constant controversies surrounding the (shock! horror!) “onscreen kiss”. Sexuality is either downplayed with camera tricks or conveniently relegated to the Item Girls and vamps, allowing our heroine to maintain a comparative moral purity. Things are changing, with younger actors seemingly more inclined to take risks, but there are still very few who could do what Vidya Balan has done with The Dirty Picture. Unrestrained, unapologetic and incredibly brazen, this is, without a doubt, Balan’s best performance to date.
The film, directed by Milan Luthria (the man behind 2010’s retro-cool Once Upon A Time In Mumbaai), is the unofficial biopic of Southern screen icon and 80s sex symbol Silk Smitha. Although the extent to which the story adheres to reality is debated, it doesn’t matter; Balan has taken the role and made it her own—crass speech, heaving bosom, jiggling waistline and all.
Silk starts out as Reshma, a feisty young girl from a village who wants to be in films. She throws herself into making that dream come true, running away to Madras and offering sexual favours to agents in exchange for bit roles until one day, she manages to wrangle herself a spot in a song. Reshma has never been subtle about her body; she is well-aware of the effect it has on men, and well-willing to use that to her advantage. But while the crew and male audiences are dazzled by her raw, sexual energy, director Abraham (Emraan Hashmi)—who sees himself as a savior of sorts for a film industry falling into commercial sludge—despises her from the get-go.
Reshma, now dubbed ‘Silk’ by producer/makeshift mentor Selva Ganesh (Rajesh Sharma), is then cast in a song opposite wildly-popular superstar Suryakanth (Naseeruddin Shah). Right away, she makes up her mind to sleep with the ageing (and married) actor, a decision that propels her to instant fame. Notoriety soon follows, and she earns the condemnation of both the media and women’s rights groups for her provocative and lewd scenes, and what they see as an immoral lifestyle—accusations that amuse more than concern our flighty heroine.
The first half of the film is a riotous joy of a ride, pitch-perfect in its combination of campy 80s humour and rampant mockery of the sleaze that fuelled the Southern film industry. It’s ironic, though, that in chewing out Bollywood tradition, the film descends eventually into conformity itself in the second half, regressing to a soppy, predictable romantic plotline about a woman out of control and the strong man come to rescue her. When things end with Suryakanth—who is increasingly threatened by her popularity—Silk heads into a prolonged downward spiral, first indulging in a ruinous affair with Ramakanth (Tusshar Kapoor), Suryakanth’s brother, then losing all her money in a doomed film project, and finally falling alcohol-wrecked into Abraham’s now-welcoming arms, albeit a bit too late, as we find out. Melodrama abounds, with philosophy-ridden dialogue and thudding sound effects that render silly many of the somber scenes. And the zero-impact climax leaves one confused about whether Silk is being portrayed as a non-conformist who saw no reason to pander to social expectations, or as a weak little girl who lamented not following the conventional route to the point where she could no longer bear the loneliness.
Disregarding the abominable final hour and half, what is so engrossing about The Dirty Picture is the delicious severity with which it initially attacks the conventions and tropes of an era of excess in Bollywood, not just capturing the gaudy costumes, raunchy
songs and corny dialogue that dominated films in the 80s, but also what
went on off-screen. There is a lovely, strategic self-referential humour at play, where in making fun of films that use sex in a blatant bid to sell more tickets, The Dirty Picture could very well be talking about itself.
Besides the flawless production design, the film is held up by stellar performances. While Tusshar is something of a weak link, Hashmi is credible as the proud, belligerent Abraham and Mr Shah is nothing short of brilliant, doing a hilarious caricature of the kind of egoistic male superstars that are hailed as demi-gods in India. But it is Balan’s film through and through, and she is a revelation. Reported to have put on some 12 kilos for the role so as to stay true to the kind of curvy, buxom aesthetics popular in the South, Balan parades around her jutting belly and cleavage with an admirable lack of modesty, something few could have done. It is an empowering act; in an industry where men have long held the reins and where one would think nothing of having the hero portray a lusty player, here comes a woman who admits unabashedly to having a sexual appetite, and revels in her wanton ways.
The Dirty Picture represents progress for Bollywood; one can imagine the layers of chastity and foliage-camouflaged kisses being peeled off, much like Silk’s clothing. Balan’s performance sets a standard for the rest, not just in terms of her flagrant sensuality, but her willingness to go so far to do justice to a character. While not perfect by any means, and often unbearably crass (prepare to blush), it’s a film you won’t soon forget. Sexual liberation, in all its heaving, sweaty, grimy glory: one small step for Vidya Balan, one giant leap for Bollywood.
The Dirty Picture is currently showing in cinemas around the city.
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