'Good artists copy. Great artists steal'.
Like many great things in this world, that quote has a notorious reputation when it comes to the person who actually said it. Steve Jobs, when talking about the need to see the best things around and bring them in your own work, quoted it as one from Pablo Picasso. But that is not the end of it. T.S Eliot used a similar one about 'immature' and 'mature' poets and Igor Stravinsky even made a point of calling copycats as 'lesser artists' and master thieves as 'great' ones. And so the debate rages. These were all great artists in their own unforgettable ways and nobody knows for sure just who stole this aphorism from the other. That is what you call pure art.
Vikram, the protagonist of Sriram Raghavan's 'Johnny Gaddar', might not be in the league as any of these legends but he is something of an artist himself. He does not just copy a trick that a Bollywood anti-hero, played by his favourite (and our favourite as well) leading man, uses in a film that only seasoned movie-watchers will know about. He steals it to pull off a heist and he does that, not with obvious panache, but rather with the cocky, albeit clumsy, zeal of a pure impostor. He is no great thief to begin with but by just the way he pretends to be a suspect-hunting cop when he is merely scooting his lady love off a bus, he is already a great traitor in the history of cinema, worthy of his name (or at least the name that he steals from cinema) to be that one of a true classic.
It has been nearly a decade since 'Johnny Gaddar' was first released to swooning and spell-bound audiences in the autumn of 2007 and today, I regret for being so wet behind the ears that I missed it while my fellow classmates and cousins watched it and even ended up buying DVD sets. Today, I feel compelled to hail it as a film worthy of essential watching by every film lover in this nation or the other. If we can go bonkers over 'The Godfather' turning 45 years old, why not over 'Johnny Gaddar'?
I promise this to the virgins: there will be no spoilers on the plot. So, apologies for that bit of revelation about just what Vikram does in the film. For a moment, you can consider the whole thing about Vikram's plans as secondary to the other incredible pleasures of 'Johnny Gaddar'. Criminals and corrupt cops with hearts of both gold and steel. Bags of cash that hide unexpected surprises. A valuable shipment of contraband code-named as 'French furniture'. Kohl-eyed femme fatales with more than just broken hearts. The city of Bombay, with its cramped-up card clubs and glitzy discotheques. And, of course, cinema.
I would hate to reveal any of them in detail except for the fact that Raghavan brews such a dazzling and delicious cocktail of these ingredients, including the MacGuffins, that it is impossible to stop yourself from downing it in one shot. 'Johnny Gaddar' is more than just a highly original thriller (yes, even with that grand larceny of the main heist); it is also an utterly gorgeous and intoxicating film. Instead of being just a sizzling cocktail, this one is something closer to vintage wine, something to be gulped down with heady appreciation that just adds to the great first taste of it.
The detailing and writing are simply exquisite. And this is not just about the main strokes of the plot, the whole thing set in motion by clandestine adultery (in which the woman must assume a mundane name to be anonymous) and a sum figure written in smudged red lipstick on a mirror or the grimly hilarious consequences that follow. It is also about the things that you did not expect to matter, the tiniest details and nuances that flesh out the story and its characters so well.
For instance, just find yourself laughing and grinning with bemused wonder at that snappy dialogue. A rookie card player is called 'Diesel', not because it sounds cool but simply because he wears a T-shirt bearing that name. A wizened and convalescing woman asks a visitor if he wants sweet limes before asking the same casually to peel them for her. A cop declares, with indulgent pride, that he is 'pure non-vegetarian' and a colourfully smarmy club-owner lays down the rule for his wife: either share a drink with him or be the quintessential dutiful wife as in any Rajshri Productions film. Wow.
And such effortless, nearly split-second repartee is to be found also in the way these cinema-guzzling crooks make their references. There is something endearingly wonderful about a husband who tries to coax his wife for a deal by referencing how the same Bollywood legend did the right thing at the right time. The leader of a gang punctures an important thing by reminding himself and others of a similar scene in his favourite gangster film. And Vikram's choice of identity is just perfect, as proven not just by a memorable Vijay Anand classic that Raghavan worships here but also by a Christopher Nolan classic. It is like Tarantino re-writing the whole of 'The Killing' and yet it is more than just cheek or cinephile fantasy.
The finest films about goons, like 'Goodfellas', 'Reservoir Dogs' or even Edgar Wright's ravishing 'Baby Driver, are ones that show us their unmistakable seams of brutality and nihilism but also their tender, throbbing hearts of unexpected emotions and Raghavan understands that perfectly. 'Johnny Gaddar' is not just about Vikram or his fundamentally flawed plans driven by greed and young lust. It is also about the charmingly crooked players who fill up the ragtag crew he is a part of. And the director etches them out credibly and completely, his intimacy to them complimented by the splendidly distinctive touches and the stunning performances.
There is Vinay Pathak's Prakash, a lovably goofy gambler whose grit is all on the surface and who finds himself frequently on the losing side. There is Zakir Hussain's Shardul, a floridly rich scoundrel with half a mind on Prakash' club and other on having a good laugh. There is Daya Shetty's brawny Shiva, whose idea of relieving some stress is to watch 'Eyes Wide Shut'. There is Govind Namdev's lethally quick-witted Kalyan, a policeman with both an amazing sense of humour and hidden secrets. And finally, there is good old Dharmendra, playing the effortlessly charismatic Sheshadri, an ageing stud still capable of being both physically and psychologically fierce yet also one who loves to listen to his late wife's taped conversations and grins winsomely at every other soul in love around him. Simply wonderful.
Pitted against them is the rookie Vikram, played by Neil Nitin Mukesh with a sexy, slithery charm that is impossible to resist. His character is far from a man with a plan with every step orchestrated with flawless precision but his amateur bravado is crucial in how it serves as a foil to the ruthless decisions that he has to take to stay alive. We side with him inevitably in the effortlessly dashing way he saunters around (especially the way he lets loose and grooves to a song), wholly assured of his suave style and yet we also glare at his missteps and mistakes because, in a film which celebrates the artistry of its traitor, we would end up siding with him naturally.
But 'Johnny Gaddar' is more than just a ride of guilty pleasures and fantasies; never for once does Raghavan glorify his hero or portray his people as merely caricatures. And in case anybody thinks that this is just a film about men and for men, watch out Ashwini Kalsekar's gaudy and harried Varsha, a wife who loves the way her husband slobbers at her every word. Even Rimi Sen seems to be concentrating hard on her damsel in distress act.
As said before, I have made up for having missed it in my boyhood by watching it time and again whenever I felt like revisiting it on sheer impulse. The first time I was bowled over by the genius of the climax; in the second watch, I was seduced by those performances. Later on, I and my fellow cinephile cousin brother would rave about the film references and then, I was stunned by just how well-shot a film it is, with cinematographer C.K Muraleedharan splashing blue and blood red into the frames and zooming to dentures bobbing in water, Scotch whisky being poured into glasses, club dancers lip-syncing to numbers performed by Helen in the 70s and even a cat borrowed from 'To Catch A Thief'. This time, I have to talk about the music.
Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy deserve a hearty round of applause for crafting not only one of the most thrilling soundtracks amidst a melee of mostly conventional easy listening stuff but also what should be called a perfect retro-soundtrack. Most composers end up remixing lazily vintage classics but the trio bring to life, with cocksure relish, the swirling psychedelic colour of those brassy horns and guitar riffs and the music fills up the frames only when needed and then it makes you on the edge of your seats and even whistling to the score along. I love the way Raghavan lets their fabulous instrumental piece 'The Caper Begins' to be the only distinct sound to be heard when Vikram is making his moves. And oh boy, will we ever have a title song as sinfully thrilling as the one that this film has?
Yet, all that is ultimately just the surface. The best part about 'Johnny Gaddar' is how organic, how intuitive its surprises are. Most films of its genre will depend on some contrivance or grand concept to succeed. But in this film, everything is unexpected and when those startlingly tragi-comic twists start unravelling, you are astounded by just how simple yet ingenious they feel. A lot of them are based purely on coincidence but even then, you cannot help but feel just how well done they are. This is a film that you should watch with your friend so that both of you can just high-five each other from time to time, as I did to my brother-in-law this time.
Sriram Raghavan is one of our most gifted cinematic stylists and most probing storytellers as well and his subsequent films have evidence for both. 'Agent Vinod' was an extremely underrated yet exceptionally tongue-in-cheek and thrilling spy film while 'Badlapur' was a brilliant and barnstorming meditation on the nature of crime and guilt and the toll of vengeance on morality. But 'Johnny Gaddar' endures with both its sleazy pulp and searing characterisation to be a film that is a genuine classic in every sense. It is the finest thriller that has come from Bollywood since Vidhu Vinod Chopra's 'Khamosh' which itself was as much about the workings of the heart as about the wonderful surprises of cinema itself.
As Sheshadri would like to say, 'Go get a drink'.
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