rlelias

Shree 420 is a classic Bollywood "social" of the 1950s. Its romanticized populism deserves comparison to Frank Capra's films. As in Kapoor's earlier Awara, the hero is a Chaplinesque tramp, another vagabond (as in Awara). Poor but honest (and happy), he falls in love with Vidya (Nargis), but is soon tempted to partner with a fat millionaire who makes money through fraud. Raj soon becomes rich but just as quickly regrets his choice, with Vidya serving throughout as the voice of his conscience. Songs in Kapoor's films are classics, but beyond their quality, the way Kapoor uses them is an important aspect of his directorial technique. In a pivotal scene, Raj (Kapoor's hero shares his first name) staggers drunk from a nightclub to encounter a stone-faced Vidya outside her poor home. The narrative problem here is that she – and the viewer – must condemn Raj but, at the same time, the movie has to communicate that she still loves him. Kapoor deftly solves this problem by showing Vidya staring coldly while a white-robed specter of Vidya sings a love song to the departing Raj: two Vidyas, one who censures him, another who reaffirms her love for him. And a good song. Imagine how a Hollywood film might resolve this. How many words would it take? How many tears? Kapor allows the stone-faced Vidya to image our disapproval while the spectral Vidya's song reveals what is going on in her mind.

B/H stands up as a comedy AND an affectionate parody of Bollywood formula romances. The very title underscores the love-hate relationship many contemporary South Asian filmmakers feel about the Hollywood hegemon (see http://www.thefilmjournal.com/issue9/bollywood.html ). As such, it offers a sly reworking of the Pretty Woman formula, with an Indian twist – which raises the question of why Mehta's writers chose THAT Hollywood movie to build a comic plot upon. One answer requires examination of how women, especially young women, are depicted in Bollywood movies, which valorize – even enforce – Ramayana-like ideals of female purity versus the reality and problems of female identity in a modern world. Compare Mehta's Fire. The comedy and parody in B/H offers a different take on a Mehta theme. The Shakespeare-quoting grandmother reflects another aspect of the film's comic concern with the clash between tradition and modernity – here, the kind of British-inspired education the grandmother would have received, which often required students to memorize whole scenes from Shakespeare (whose plays were and are very popular in India). The comic turnabout at the end might be examined in light of equally sudden turnabouts in movies like DDLJ, the difference being that the main blocking character at the end of B/H is Sunita herself. Her father, minutes before, reverses himself BECAUSE he has seen movies like that one. A very "filmi" intrusion into the comic plot, but (true to Mehta's sympathies) it is Sunita herself who becomes – for a moment – the blocking character whose needs must be recognized. It's a matter of HER identity, albeit within the framework of Bollywood comic romance. As such, her situation offers, for the perceptive, a bittersweet comic take on a question Mehta raises more seriously elsewhere. B/H is a parody, yes, but it has a serious side as well. Think about this while you laugh.