Much more than mere tamasha
Tamasha
Director: Imtiaz Ali
Actors: Ranbir Kapoor, Deepika Padukone
Rating: ***1/2
I don’t even know how seriously you should take an opinion when the reviewer is so bowled over by a performance that while watching the film he keeps wondering in his head, “No, really man; what are these expressions?” I’m talking about Deepika Padukone in this picture. Although as you would know, this is very much a film centred almost entirely on Ranbir Kapoor—and rightly so as well. He’s in fine form too.
The point of his character being that he grew up being forced to become an engineer, or take up corporate life—missing out on things that he essentially loved as a child. Now the number of Bollywood movies (3 Idiots, Rock On, Wake Up Sid etc. onwards) that lay supreme emphasis on following a “passion”, while at the same time unwittingly denounce very important professions like engineering, business management or medicine, tempts me to believe there must be a kid out there who’s really good at math and physics, and wants to pursue engineering. But his parents force him to become an artiste instead!
But hey, let’s be fair. That “passion” (or its gradual absence) alone isn’t the point of this pic. It starts out with a man and a woman bumping into each other on a holiday. They share instant chemistry. They choose to share nothing about their life, lest they make this encounter the boring, usual—where the guy incessantly charms the girl, and the girl eventually gives in. A vacation romance, as it were. These two spend huge amounts of time soaking in the moment, rather than raking up a past or imagining a future.
Somehow the premise reminded me of Bernardo Bertolucci’s brilliant Last Tango In Paris, where the lead couple (Marlon Brando, Maria Schneider), who’ve just met, limit their interactions to their organs, rather than even caring to know each other’s names: “What’s that,” asks Schneider; “That’s a man’s penis. And a woman’s happiness,” says Brando. Festival audiences in Delhi had viewed that film as pure porn, I remember. The Censor Board isn’t likely to look at it any differently. So the analogy is rather misplaced in this context.
Though the girl and the boy here—both equally carefree and fun-loving—don’t know each other’s names. They keep their relationship strictly platonic. There is however much sexual tension in the air. They separate; choosing to never meet again. The girl returns, hoping to find that same man. But she finds what we would classify as a complete corporate bore!
How’s that possible? Look around you, especially at men in their mid 20s to late 30s, and you’ll know so many guys who are comfortable in the duality of being humans at heart, but machines in their head. They loosen up once in a while. But even that has a designated purpose—Holi, New Years, the annual office party… Or the odd vacation, when they finally free themselves of making a living, and begin living for a change.
The mirror that Ranbir’s character looks into and often talks to is fine metaphor for two versions of his own self. This is something one notices in regular relationships as well. You start out impressing the partner with a fake, fun description of yourself. The reality inevitably turns out to be something far more real and far less cool.
Tamasha is a romantic fable. Like pretty much all of Imtiaz Ali’s films (Socha Na Tha, Jab We Met, Love Aaj Kal, Rockstar, Highway). So the genre is known to you in advance. The tag-line on the poster, as if the director was mocking himself asks, “Why always the same story?”
Well, in Imtiaz’s case, it’s always roughly the same story (or at least the same genre) because he just knows how to tell it so well. All love stories are of course about the tautological “ishq wala love”. The connections between two individuals are meant to be cosmic, no doubt.
But he supplies to this fantasy an extra layer or two, a slightly fresher conflict, foot-tapping and warm music (AR Rahman), great lyrics (Irshad Kamil), snappy dialogues, lovely locations (Corsica and Delhi), and outstanding performances. While on the face of it we’re being treated to immersive Bollywood entertainment, the film itself you realise is more than mere tamasha alone—even if for the same reasons, there is much self-indulgence and the film lasts longer than most attention spans.
There is much depth. Speaking of which, and coming back to Deepika, that scene in the second half, set at Social in Hauz Khas in Delhi, where she breaks down pining for her love ranks as the best few minutes in this film, or any other that I’ve seen lately. It’s a moment every man who’s been hurt, and every woman who’s hurt him, even if briefly, will watch with a sense of recognition. I don’t wish to elaborate more, because as you can tell, I’d rather that you watched this over-publicised pic, than read any further about it.