Sanjay Leela Bhansali knows the meaning of the word 'epic'.
It might feel ironical that one of Bollywood's most unashamedly bombastic filmmakers would be the artist of choice when it would come to make truly larger-than-life cinema. Yet, that is what it is in 'Padmaavat', a film in which the director guns, right from scene one, for nothing less than just overwhelming us with sheer, jaw-dropping scale.
Cinematographer Sudeep Chatterjee seems to be enjoying himself to the hilt with the humungous scale of material that Bhansali presents him to and it would not be far-fetched to comment that 'Padmaavat' is an astonishingly well-shot film, bringing unexpected texture and perspective when most mammoth productions of this budget and breadth could have only blown it beyond proportion. There are fascinating, frequently awe-inspiring overhead shots that soar literally above the more dramatic and grandstanding moments and yet Chatterjee is equally keen on capturing nuance and movement, from the crescents on flags borne among the marching troops to the swirling red skirts to warriors bending down their heads in silent namaaz to lend a surprising amount of urgency to even the most staid plot proceedings.
There is the beautiful Padmavati, born and raised as a literal jungle princess in Sri Lanka, who pierces literally both her arrow and her beautiful gaze into a king’s heart and is crowned as queen of his empire. There is the said king, Raja Ratansingh, a slightly flawed poster boy for ideals and honor and finally, there is the arch villain of the piece, the repulsive and rambunctious Alauddin Khilji who loves everything ‘nayab’ and would do anything, even be unfaithful and murderous, in his pursuit of the same.
There is mendacious menace on one side and even insidious treachery inside the Rajput court. But for all the film’s 165-minute running time, Bhansali is more content to hurtle through these developments in the buildup and reach the boiling point without much delay, pausing at the meat of the plot itself and this is where the problems begin to emerge.
Khilji, spurred on by a traitor who, in a nod to the brilliant ‘Parinda’, plays the flute a lot, declares war on Chittor in the hope of stealing away the beautiful queen for his evil designs but is countered by the defiant Rajputs who do everything to keep him at bay. It is a crackling moment, seeing the two kings, the aggressor and the defender, outsmarting each other over a meal and a game of chess but the steam runs out soon once Bhansali and co-writer Prakash Kapadia swing the film into the second half.
For all its massive scope and ambitions, the film could have been a lot more crisp and tight. Even the bulkiest of epics need economy or at least a taut purpose to all their flourishes; here, the director struggles to keep the pace going and when he runs out of ideas, his only resort is to throw in scheming side-players. But while it is fine to add sub-plots and even intriguing characters in any court drama, at least make them worthwhile. Instead, what this film has peripheral and disposable sneak-thieves that are only there to have themselves killed or decapitated. And this happens fairly frequently, you know.
Speaking of decapitations, it is also worrying just how callously Padmavati, the original heroine and martyr of the ballad, gets short-changed in the deal. The narrative introduces her with enough aplomb, especially the way she can both hunt and answer tough questions unblinkingly. But after that, apart from some spirited monologues and that inevitable climax (which, in hindsight, underlines the main problem with this film but more of that later), she is given precious little to do, apart from swirling around in dance and staring, with eyes alternately mesmerised and moist, at her king. Deepika Padukone’s performance is exquisite, to say the least; the intelligence and enigma that burn in her beautiful eyes are enough to suggest the strength that the film never quite portrays but she is somewhat let down by the inconsistent, not to mention indignant, treatment that Bhansali has to offer.
It is to do, perhaps less with the script’s inherent pratfalls, and more with the film’s curious, if guiltily entertaining, decision of giving away the lion’s share of the limelight to Khilji himself. Raw, ribald and ruthless, he is also portrayed as something of a perverse poet in the garb of an invader especially how he justifies his amoral deeds and his full-blooded lust with lines that give him more incidental empathy than nailing his villainy as utterly believable. There is also precious little of the infamous invader’s much-touted penchant for strategic attack and subterfuge, except for a stray reference to him thwarting supplies of food to the castle and even that is never lingered on and its consequences are never explored.
There is, however, a lot of unbridled energy and spontaneity on display as Ranveer Singh plays Khilji with the kind of furious vigour and enthusiasm that marks even his weakest roles as an actor. Wild-eyed, loose-haired and bearded like a sexed-up Khal Drogo, he looks striking in the part and swaggers, as he best can, through the frames, assured of his natural flammability to set the stage on fire. And that he does, from writhing with desperate yearning to sizing up nearly everyone, even the ones who stick with him till the end, with sadistic glee. He is quite easily the best thing in this film. And that is not a good thing.
‘Padmaavat’ makes the gross error of focusing on him when it could have given equal importance or space to the others in the film. Jim Sarbh, playing Khilji’s slimy slave-cum-competing paramour Malik, is exciting enough in his own terms but the film wastes him away only as a slave. The worst is dealt out to Shahid Kapoor’s Ratansingh; he acts well enough and delivers even the most bombastic and laughable lines with force and flair but his arc comes off eventually as half-baked and even annoyingly selfish, not to mention unforgivably sexist.
And this is where I bring up my biggest problem with ‘Padmaavat’.
A hilarious scene from ‘Monty Python And The Holy Grail’ is one in which several villagers set out to burn a woman as a witch. The whole thing is a ridiculous sham, rendered even hopeless by how Sir Bedevere, played by a fantastic Terry Jones, eggs them to use a bewilderingly stupid method to determine the truth and this they do, with much glee. For all its entertaining ribaldry, it also, like classic Python, takes a jab at the frequent sexism and misogyny to be found in most medieval films.
This film conforms to that norm and ends up being obsessed more with its alpha-male protagonist and antagonist than the confidence that the tale’s heroine summons. The biggest letdown of the script is that Padmavati’s defiant determination and rousing courage needed more space alongside her king’s grating insistence on honor and decorum and Khilji’s blatant objectification of every single woman in his sight, except of his long-suffering wife Mehrunisa, played with ample conviction by a stunningly sad-eyed Aditi Rao Hydari.
I am not even bringing up the lost chance for the film to bring some debate to the table. The film justifies the final act of jauhar almost blithely and unashamedly, insisting, with a touch of regressive tastelessness that what Padmavati does, including asking her husband meekly for permission for the same, is not only right but also something sacred and important. So much for being a medieval epic made in the 21st century.
Granted, not everybody is Akira Kurosawa or Ridley Scott and Bhansali should be credited at least ensuring that ‘Padmaavat’, even when it misfires in small and big ways, never stops impressing us with sheer style. This is an undeniably good-looking film, even one with detail; the production design by Vishal Bhardwaj-regulars Amit Ray and Subrata Chakraborty is both surreal and meticulous, from a Buddha carved in stone to the majestically carved courtyard of the Rajput palace to the ragged tents of Khilji’s troops to the animal fur that shrouds his throne. It also has a few subversively clever bits, like warriors disguised as an entourage of women clad in red ghunghats and Malik wishing wistfully if he could replace Padmavati as his master’s object of affection. But it falls short of what it could have been. The director’s last film ‘Bajirao Mastani’ was by no means perfect, itself (I still cringe at those illogical battle sequences) but it had a solid plot, told very well with confident restraint and doled out enough meat given to each actor and character. This film, even by being bigger and more breathtaking, only gives us a burning pyre when it could have given us fire.
My Rating: 3 Stars Out Of 5
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