Eklavya
is a visual masterpiece that certainly scores
points for originality. Chopra constantly pushes
the envelope for Bollywood in this regard. And
there is no doubt that he is a master of the mise-en-scene.
As a director, he stamps his authority with brilliantly
imagined visual setups that leave you thinking,
“I haven’t seen that done before.”
Take for example the scene where Eklavya
takes a dip into his past when his mother hands
him the title of the Royal Guard after his father
drowns. The scene is stylized as an underwater
POV, managing to convey a flashback in a wholly
relevant and original way.
There are other scenes too that clearly stand
out as a result of extensive out-of-the-box thinking:
like the scene where Eklavya targets
a ghungroo tied to the leg of a flying pigeon.
Here is a scene that is only intended to astound,
a high-point though not central  to
the plot. The dramatic effect is enhanced cleverly
with two relatively minor motions: the first when
the ghungroo gets stuck on a ledge, and the second
when Eklavya saunters into the fountain
to catch it. This is truly the difference between
an imaginative director and a pedestrian one.
Other scenes that are cleverly designed to impressive,
however, don’t work so well with the audience:
the key scene, the one you’ve seen plastered
all over the promo in actuality is the promo itself.
You’ve seen it all before in the teasers,
so that takes away significantly from the importance
of this scene. Given the centrality of this incident,
Chopra has faltered because the scale is cheated
and wholly apparent. The timing of the train and
the endless stream of camels (of which we never
see a long shot – easily achieved with CG)
leave you suspecting contrivance. Even the showdown
between Shergill and Bachchan in the complete
darkness (a two minute sequence on black, with
only sound) leaves the audience a little frustrated,
considering the end is so predictable.
Predictability is the film’s biggest bane.
At no point really is the audience’s gray
muscle flexed to question what happens next or
who or what must’ve happened to result in
this or that. Everything is simply laid out on
a platter. Everyone knows who is Saif’s
father the moment Saif makes an entry. It’s
ridiculous to keep audiences in the know and your
characters in the dark, because when the moment
of revelation arrives for them, the audience,
instead of sympathizing, merely mocks at the character’s
foolishness of being unable to spot it before.
It’s tragic, because this is a good story
treated with disregard. The structure of the sceneflow
is left wanting because the twists aren’t
working, the rivalries aren’t surfacing,
the details are clunky (you mean Jackie’s
character did it for the money? A painting gives
it away? School theatre stuff), and any bout of
serious emotional gulp moments missing entirely.
If an Indian film fails to move you, it fails.
And with his recent spate of movies as a producer,
especially Munnabhai, you’d think
Chopra would have flooded theaters with patrons’
tears when it came to his own film.
There are other problems too. Having spent a
little time in the company of a Maharana, I know
that life isn’t quite like as portrayed
though the basics are in place. While Saif arriving
form London in a ‘copter is entirely real,
the complete absence of people (family, staff,
tourists even maybe) in and around the Rana and
his palace is not very convincing. The villagers
track could have been much more significant. They
seem to be quite content to get back the land
that was theirs in the first place. What irrelevant
nonsense.
Performances… Ah. Would you believe it?
The film’s short length of 110 minutes works
against it. Indian stars, it is now deduced, need
the screen time to build their graph and compassion
in the viewer’s mind. Really. All characters
were one-dimensional (not be confused with good
decision making  ability
as the plot contrives its way to equate Bachchan
with the original Eklavya) and barely
have enough time to utter their lines. This leaves
Jackie Shroff entirely incomprehensible throughout
the film. I didn’t catch a single word he
said. Balan is slowly becoming ever more repetitive
and the Balan-Khan burlesque of Parineeta could’ve
seen something fresher and perhaps, deeper. When
was the last time a Rana-in-waiting from London
married the driver’s daughter without blinking
an eyelid? Jimmy ain’t so bad as the bad
boy, his play enlivening proceedings and stimulating
other actors into restrain, which is good. Saif
seems to be going through the motions mostly,
Boman is lost in his wig. Come on, Boman Irani
is the finest we got – he may not be your
stereotypical star – but he can act –
use him please! Integrate the script and his prowess
to create subliminal and memorable characters!
That leaves Bachchan, who gives it all he can.
So did he deserve the Rolls Royce as the bonus?
Umm… Maybe a nice big SUV would be more
justified.
So how do we conclude this criticism? All I can
say is that another one bites the dust. First
it was Salaam-e-Ishq, and now Eklavya.
Two very different films that we expected to tower
above the rest, however, we learn that brilliant
cinematography, a dream cast (though middling
performances), supreme art direction, and all
that jazz is simply not enough to make an engaging,
good film. What we need is a good script that
doesn’t patronize the audience and an X
factor. This X factor is what keeps Bollywood
(or for that matter any film industry in the world)
ticking. It’s what sets makers’ pulse
racing on premier night, it’s what makes
stars human at the mercy of the lowerstallers,
it’s what the buzz about the BO is all about.
The X factor is what makes great, memorable films.
Can you imagine if the code was cracked and every
film was perfect and made tons of money? They
shouldn’t even attempt it. It’d kill
creativity.
Despite it’s creativeness and contrary
to expectation, Eklavya fails to make
the cut.
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