One of Bollywood’s axioms is that ‘heroine-centric’ films don’t make financial sense and that only a ‘hero’ can guarantee box office returns. This has been disproved, not least by Bhansali whose films, despite the men, are driven by women. (C R Sasikumar)
There’s a joke in the 1944 film Mr Skeffington that Sanjay Leela Bhansali might appreciate. Bette Davis, playing a woman named Fanny Trellis, is told by Claude Rains, who plays the titular Skeffington, that “a woman is beautiful when she is loved and only then.” Pat comes the reply: “Nonsense, a woman is beautiful if she has eight hours of sleep and goes to the beauty parlour everyday. And bone structure has a lot to do with it, too.” The unexpressed punchline here, one that all women would relate to, is that far from being the sublime attribute that men might believe it to be, feminine beauty is created through practical steps — rest, hydration, exfoliation, make up, among other things — for practical reasons. Bhansali gets this. His women, always gorgeously presented and shot in the most flattering frames, don’t just happen to be beautiful. They wear their beauty with purpose, like an armour to deflect the slings and arrows of a cruel world.
In his new series Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar, like in all his films, Bhansali has lavished attention on the appearance of his women — their gorgeous brocades, the curls that cascade down their backs and how they seem to never walk, but glide. But the point of such extravagant beauty, as Bhansali well understands, is to present a stark contrast to the ugliness and pain that lies beneath. The women of Heeramandi lie, scheme, steal and betray each other — they also nurse broken hearts and frustrated ambitions, they crave independence and respect.
For years now, Bhansali has been accused of exploiting the pain and heartbreak of women through aestheticisation — tears don’t ruin make-up, hair is artfully dishevelled, while clothes stay unrumpled. From a young Ganga in Gangubai Kathiawadi to Kashibai in Bajirao Mastani, they suffer their humiliations with dignity. Even in their moments of breakdown, Bhansali frames his suffering women like works of art — the improbably long pallu flying behind Paro, in slow motion, as she runs to be with a dying Devdas, the light reflecting on Nandini’s face as she unsuccessfully attempts suicide by a pool of water (Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam). All of this might seem to verge on the exploitative, if not for the fact that Bhansali’s women don’t merely suffer. Annie (Khamoshi), Nandini, Mastani and Gangubai push against the limits that the men in their worlds place upon them. Even when they’re not at the front and centre, like Anupama in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, they are the ones who unleash the forces that bring in tension and drive the plot forward.
This kind of narrative space has rarely been afforded to women by any mainstream Hindi filmmaker (except Vishal Bhardwaj and perhaps Yash Chopra, whose heroines too are self-willed, dynamic personalities). Bhansali’s “feminised” films, where women’s egos, desires and traumas are prioritised, stand in sharp contrast to the male star-driven vehicles that still form the overwhelming majority of films coming out of Bollywood. Here, a Bhool Bhulaiya 2, despite the pivotal role played by Tabu, is known as a “Kartik Aaryan film”, and an Animal, deeply invested in its man-child protagonist’s growth, becomes a hit despite misogynistic overtones. At a time when conversations about pay parity have begun in Bollywood, this is no small thing — the audience may decide the ultimate fate of the “stars”, but it’s the filmmakers who actually construct these larger-than-life figures. And the difference between Bhansali and his peers in this regard is evident from something as simple as the paisa vasool moment of the “star entry”: Consider the dramatic “intro” for Sonakshi Sinha’s Fareedan in Heeramandi, the beautifully shot song ‘Man Mohini’ from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam which establishes Nandini’s headstrong, irrepressible personality and the hunting scene in Padmavat which shows that the princess of Singhal, played by Deepika Padukone, is a combination of beauty, brains and courage.
One of Bollywood’s axioms is that “heroine-centric” films don’t make financial sense and that only a “hero” can guarantee respectable box office returns. This has been disproved many times, not least by Bhansali whose films, even when a major male star is in one of the lead roles, are driven by women. Indeed, Gangubai Kathiawadi was powered entirely by Alia Bhatt’s performance, with no male star of a similar stature required to make it a hit, and Heeramandi too is headlined by women. If the first step towards empowerment is representation, then Bhansali has done more — with a more consistent record — in this regard than his industry colleagues.
pooja.pillai@expressindia.com
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First uploaded on: 24-05-2024 at 07:10 IST
