Bollywood is identified
foremost by the song and dance capers that are
churned out in great numbers every year. This
genre of the 'musical' or 'musical drama' is not
only our USP, it is argued, but also our unique
cinematic identity. And as far as musical extravaganzas
go, Yash Raj Films (more so since Aditya Chopra
took over) seems to monopolize this territory.
Moreover, Yash Raj is an auteur in its own right,
and leaves the stamp of its brand on all its products.
Directors come and go, but Yash Raj elements stay
– an overall look that suggests a whopping
budget, a combination of the most saleable stars,
half a dozen songs that are lavishly picturised,
foreign locations, and Punjabi characters and
cultural references (lately also a Pakistan-fixation).
What little remains must be the director’s
territory and Shaad Ali Sahgal seems to fit in
well here.
 Seen
in its purest intentions, Jhoom Barabar Jhoom
(JBJ) could be the story of Rikki Thukral
(Abhishek Bachchan), a Punjabi immigrant in Europe
who is involved in everything that has illegal
written on it and Alvira Khan (Preity Zinta),
an educated British Muslim of Pakistani origin.
There’s a lot to keep them away from each
other – apart from their class difference,
one is from India, the other from Pakistan, and
they are shown engaged to different people. But
Rikki and Alvira do fall in love, and after several
misunderstanding s and complications come together.
But they never were engaged in the first place,
both had lied in their initial wariness of each
other. Their tales of love, both imagined and
real, could be the stuff the fantasies of immigrants
(with hopes and dreams of finding love and bearings)
are made of. And the final twist is the possibility
that these characters and incidents were imagined
by an old gypsy singer (Amitabh Bachchan) who
sees the world go by, and has spun a mirthful
yarn for us. Even with its nods to Chicago,
The Usual Suspects and some of our own
films and music, this would have been an honourable
intention.
But the way these stories actually play out in
the film – exaggerated, thinly laid out
and rushed - the wise gypsy now seems to be laughing
at the audience’s credulity. If Bunty
aur Babli had the con-protagonists having
fun at others’ expense, JBJ needed
the filmmaker as the 'con-artist' who could use
this inventive narrative form and keep the story
alive. Unfortunately, JBJ starts with
a forcefully plotted chance meeting, where Rikki
and Alvira behave as if they are on some hormonal
high and hit on each other from the word go. While
waiting for trains at a London station, these
total strangers fall into telling stories of their
love lives down to intimate details. Rikki Thukral’s
story is everyman’s dream where a rich,
sophisticated girl with a French accent (Lara
Dutta) falls hopelessly in love with him –
the penniless, conman, smuggler, him. In Alvira’s
story, we see little variation theme-wise –
she is saved from certain death by a modern knight,
a super rich lawyer (Bobby Deol) who lives in
a grand palace. After the regular flower and chocholates,
they get engaged. Now, after declaring their engaged
status, in an unexplained and sudden interlude,
Rikki and Alvira drop their love interests and
are in India, visiting gurudwaras and mosques,
discovering similarities between their two communities
(Sikh and Muslim). This second bout of reverie
over, they go separate ways, only to realize they
have fallen in love with each other. But not before
the film clarifies that the new condition is 'legit',
that they were actually 'free' to do so. We learn
that the stories Rikki and Alvira were telling
about their lovers were actually fictitious. This
'secret' revealed early on, the denouement of
the film, which isn’t much, drags through
the entire second half of the film. The film seems
to be a compilation of failed intentions.
 However,
for the 'family audience' that these films are
targeted at, one must hazard another reading –
there are, as expected, plentiful songs and dances,
half-witted one-liner jokes in Gujarati, Punjabi,
Urdu and even Cockney, an overdose of foreign
locations (from the Eiffel Tower to the Louvre
Museum, to Notre Dame Cathedral and the London
Bridge, with the Taj Mahal thrown in as bonus)
t o give 'paisa vasool' to the Indian audience
and have kids clapping at their favourite Preity
aunty and Abhishek uncle having a ball. Put this
way, it's rocking. Innit?
One cannot really complain about the performances.
Abhishek Bachchan manages to get a hold on the
street smart Rikki Thukral, and maintains it to
the end. Preity Zinta with her put-on Cockney
accent comes out rather clean in her undemanding
role. Lara Dutta is bindaas in doubling up as
a French-speaking hotelier and a London prostitute,
whereas Bobby Deol seems ignored by the filmmakers.
We have already hazarded a guess on what Amitabh
Bachchan’s character was meant to play,
but, he is no ‘sutradhar’ who uses
the song to push the narrative of the film. With
no speaking lines, Bachchan does his bit in singing
the same one song throughout the film.
The technical finesse of JBJ –
production design, camerawork, special effects
– shows. But what sticks out is its title
song that plays half a dozen times during the
film and carpet bombs the entire climax. The song
thumps you into a numbness that is meant to allow
no thinking. Which serves the film, for the song
quite literally asks you to mindlessly 'jhoom',
never mind the senselessness of it all.
A final word: reviews won’t count here.
A Yash Raj musical extravaganza is backed with
equally extravagant promotions. Aggressive marketing
combined with the humungous number of prints released
simultaneously all over the country will ensure
packed houses for several days. As you too are
likely to make a beeline – so just Jhoom.
Jhoom barabar jhoom barabar jhoom barabar…
Awwight!
Padmaja Thakore holds an MPhil in English
Literature and is currently a lecturer at ARSD
College, Delhi University. She's long had an interest
in both popular Indian films and international
cinema.
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