Unmasking the cinematic charade of ‘Jawan’
The star-studded Bollywood movie Jawan had the local cinemas buzzing like a beehive. I vividly recall dialling the Cineplex hotline, only to be asked to join a waiting queue of three weeks, even after five weeks of sold-out shows! Once the film got released on Netflix, I finally found my chance to decipher the mad rush for an Indian film in Bangladesh. I must admit, it took me a good four or five sittings to survive the ordeal.
Now, don't get me wrong; I'm no film critic, but the movie's endorsers and I must have watched two entirely different productions. I couldn't help but ponder how Jawan comfortably shared the same streaming platform as the Spanish sensation Money Heist. Once you strip away the South Indian chaat masala dressings, the plot similarities are as conspicuous as a peacock in a penguin parade. I guess anything goes in the name of artistic inspiration.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. Jawan weaves a modern-day Robin Hood tale, generously padded with clichés that would give any avid moviegoer déjà vu moments aplenty. Think Liam Nelson's Darkman or Mel Gibson's Apocalypto, and add a sprinkle of Mentos' demag ki batti, and there you have it. The film attempts to be a pan-Indian commentary on societal ills: farmer suicides, corrupt politicians peddling faulty weapons, and a crumbling health sector. Each segment of the corrupt world is set to the timeless tunes of Hindi, Tamil and Telugu singers from the 60s. The use of old songs is reminiscent of the strategy in Money Heist, which throws in the Italian resistance anthem Bella Ciao for good measure. Call it what you want, but it seems a dash of retro beats can overshadow any accusations of unoriginality.
Now, I won't claim to offer a review of Atlee's cinematic endeavour with Shah Rukh Khan donning multiple avatars. Instead, I'm more concerned with the mystery of why our local audience adored this film seemingly tailored for a below-IQ audience. Excuse my prudish arrogance, but tolerating mindless action scenes is one thing—believing a doctor can diagnose a fainted woman's pregnancy seconds before facing the gallows is idiocracy on another level. So, what's the secret sauce that made the masses fall head over heels for this cinematic spectacle?
The easy answer is the combined glamour of the main actors. However, I suspect the real allure lies in the film's subtle political undertones—issues that we, apparently, aren't meant to discuss. It portrays our deepest fantasy. In a Big Boss world, Jawan says the unsayable, concealing bitter truths within its glamorous capsule, much like how Money Heist takes down capitalism with a flourish. The film paints the soldier protagonist as a modern-day warrior battling war machinery where businessmen and politicians treat soldiers like expendable pawns. It's not only soldiers—other groups are equally helpless against the dark political and bureaucratic machinery. As the vendetta mission unfolds, we discover that the troop of female soldiers are, in essence, prisoners of their own devices. Led by a prison guard, this gang exposes the unholy alliance between party politics and underworld thugs—a plot twist as familiar as Thakurmar Jhuli.
The symbolic significance of a few law enforcement members responding to their moral compass and siding with what seems right resonates deeply with the audience. Issues like microcredits, usurers' oppressive methods, major bank defaulters getting blank cheques from those in power, and the farcical claim of making all hospitals world-class—it's a script that mirrors our reality in an uncanny way. The film whispers about overpriced non-functioning battle weapons within the military, an open secret that everyone suspects but dares not discuss.
The crux of the matter lies in democracy and accountability. The titular soldier wages war against all forms of social wrongs, inspired by a promise to his dying mother to clear his supposedly dead father's name from false allegations of treason. The gang held the voting machines hostages right before the election to get the ear of the head of the state. Such attempts make democracy speak. The hero passionately urges the masses to bring politicians under their fingertips during the next election—a plea common to subcontinental nations and chiming with a global audience yearning for democratic norms.
The unmistakable power of a mass message transcends the boundaries of fiction to echo the collective sentiments of a global audience. Despite the banality of the revenge motif, Jawan offers a profound commentary on the shared human quest for a more just and equitable society. The seemingly inconspicuous characters mirror the diverse faces of our communities, each playing a crucial role in a broader narrative that speaks to the hunger for a world where power is not concentrated in the hands of a few.
The director, quite cleverly, hides potent messages in plain sight. These stories resonate because they tap into a universal desire for a world where the underdog can triumph, and where the pursuit of justice is not a solitary endeavour but a collective journey. It serves as a compelling reminder that, even in the realm of entertainment, the stories we tell reflect our deepest yearnings. It underscores the fact that seemingly banal narratives have the power to amplify the collective heartbeat of a society hungry for change—a change marked by freedom, democracy, and accountability. And if a Bollywood flick can sneak in such messages amid songs and dance, well, that's a cinematic feat worth viewing, especially by those whose change of hearts can bring real change to the world.
Dr Shamsad Mortuza is professor of English at Dhaka University.
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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