Mid-way Ali Abbas Zafar's 'Sultan'- sounding already like a heavyweight biopic rather than a solid sport drama- Randeep Hooda's disgruntled trainer- mentioned in opening credits as one in a special appearance- starts mocking all the troubles and trifles that the film's eponymous hero has gone through, eventually declaring that the said ex-wrestler is already crippled under the pressure of so many defeats and demons.
Ironically, even as Sultan himself might escape such crushing burden by acquitting himself honorably inside the enclosed ring of Mixed Martial Arts, Zafar's film itself never quite slips out of its shaggy, bulky skin and the result is a film which, while slickly harmless and fairly sincerely acted, is overlong, bulky and, despite some competently mounted bits, quite unexciting.
To begin with, the weighty intentions are themselves suicidal. 'Sultan' could have worked perfectly fine as an old-fashioned underdog sport drama- about a local hero and amateur talent transforming into a sporting sensation and bolstered by some excellent training and some pithy inspirational quotes. Sure, Zafar packs in all that in bits and parts but then, instead of going for the vibe of 'Rocky' or anyone of its sequels, tries to tack on a stretched bit of a marriage-gone-awry and self-destruction angle from the brilliant 'Raging Bull' and then makes an utterly predictable return back to the same underdog formula, to ridiculously contrived effect.
Sure, the problem is never with the hefty running time of nearly 3 hours slotted to tell this tale- neither with the myth-creating aspirations, the film's lofty intentions to make its hero appear more of an icon rather than just a cinematic hero. Rather, the trouble is that little of this film actually excites, intrigues or even inspires.
It begins well enough- with genuinely flummoxed sports organizers, headed by a smart aleck youngster, deciding to rope in a son-of-the-soil to take on the imported contenders. The said local sensation, Sultan Ali Khan, is a former hero of the wrestling pits, now content with a mundane, even mild-mannered existence (ocassionally flexing his muscles a bit to lift a tractor stuck in sand) and is eventually egged to slog it off to gain redemption and even win back the love of his life, in typical cinematic fashion.
And as with every passably slick Salman Khan vehicle, the comparatively better second half is contrasted with a mostly predictable and glossy first but while Zafar indulges the backstory a tad too much, there is a pleasantly surprising lack of tomfoolery in the proceedings. Sure, there is the staple collection of requisite glossy dance numbers and music composers Vishal-Shekhar try damn hard to sound like Sajid-Wajid (having Mika Singh in for one song helps, naturally). But there is also some admittedly wonderful local flavour to look forward to; the excited crowds at the dusty wrestling matches, for instance, comprise ghunghat-clad women cheering and giggling at the sight of the muscled men duking it out in the sand and the sun while the trophies for the same include tractors and even ghee. There is also a 'The Kite Runner'-style ritual of the local youngsters to chase down fallen kites in the hustle and bustle of streets. For once, instead of handing us a typical mainstream version of a mofussil town, 'Sultan' hands us a Rewari that at least feels lived-in and believable, thanks a ton to Artur Zurawski's earthy cinematography that brings rustic texture even to some of the more relentless slow-motion shots.
Yet, for every little quirk or nuance that delights- a grandmother wearing dark glasses after a cataract operation, a grizzly old-timer who asks a cable guy if he can watch Fashion TV or Sultan's comeback on the MMA stage sponsored by a maker of pressure cookers-there is also a lot of ham-fisted storytelling around. The Haryanvi accent is laid on too thickly to be actually natural and all the sports bosses and commentators seem to be only saying the obvious- that Sultan will be a hero. Talk about needless exposition.
The narrative wobbles a lot especially when Sultan is pitted with Aarfa, a spunky wrestler in her own right, and the two bond inevitably for romance and marriage that starts well but then goes awry in a most uninteresting way. The conflict explored here is one that a more masterful storyteller would have dwelt on with insight but 'Sultan' rarely mulls over these potentially intriguing developments, as if sparing most of the screen-time for the narrative's hero to squeeze his chance to redeem himself.
Still, Anushka Sharma brings some fiery charm as Aarfa and often makes the Haryanvi lines work quite well but her character suffers from the problem of being all firecracker initially and eventually turning into yet another typical heroine of any Salman Khan outing. She is ultimately reduced to cheering and lauding as her loverboy takes down his opponents inside the ring and, expectedly, wins back her heart.
And even those affairs of the ring are nothing quite to talk about. Sure, the second half has some steam in the requisite training scenes; Zafar lets his hero to do all sorts of things, from hammering junk cars in derelict garages to lifting loads of bricks. But when it is time to lose the silky robe and take it on the vicious muscled contenders in front of crowds, the film becomes all too-convenient and a simplistic, half-baked win for Sultan against all odds. The fight scenes, while admittedly entertaining, are just little trifles that this man can easily take care of.
The actors are all fine enough but they are strangely essaying parts that they have already done before. Parikshit Sahani, as an old-timer who has witnessed Sultan in peak form, laments again about the 'new generation' the same way as he did in Zafar's earlier 'Mere Brother Ki Dulhan' while Kumud Mishra, playing Aarfa's stern father, chastises the hero the same way he did to a rebellious rockstar a few years ago. Hooda, as always, is impressive and holds his own confidently against the mammoth-like star facing him. He nails the film's best lines amazingly and wolfs down many a bowl of kheer but even his character is made more of a sentimental Shifu rather than a brutally effective Pai Mei in his methods. Maybe, this is because we always need to view Sultan as a hero, even with the flab.
It does not help that Salman Khan himself feels so much out of depth throughout the film. In a bid to be taken more seriously as an actor, the mega-star does try valiantly, especially when spouting that seriously thick rugged accent but falls short of being genuinely rousing. Even the weakest of films centering on boxing and fighting sports are made thrilling by their male leads bringing both manly charisma and muscle and both are in short supply here, though he does sparkle at times- shifting uncomfortably in view of CCTV cameras or in the film's finest scene.
It is a brutally honest moment, when Sultan bares it all and then, in a fit of furious despair, tries to slip into his shirt, tripping over his own sleeve. A more deft filmmaker would have used that to fascinating effect. I just wonder with joy what the pair of Shimit Amin and Jaideep Sahni could have done with material like this. But nah, subtleties are not in Zafar's scheme of things and while 'Sultan' is fairly breezy and well-packaged (and occasionally manipulatively thrilling, thanks to the chanting anthem in the background score), it takes more than just a predictable, rambling narrative and a dull muscled man to make a film about fighting and wrestling really enthralling. As Hooda's Fateh Singh would say, much of the film is a 'saand' and full of bullpucky.
My Rating- 2 and a half stars out of 5
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