COURT MARITAL Hrithik and Aishwarya shine as married royals… when not smothered under the bloat of Ashutosh Gowariker’s historical romance. Plus, the year’s film-to-beat. FEB 17, 2008 - I HAVEN’T LAID EYES ON PICTORIAL REPRESENTATIONS of Jahangir as an infant, but going by Ashutosh Gowariker’s Jodhaa Akbar,he was doubtless the handsomest baby in all of Mughaldom. And how couldhe not be, with Hrithik Roshan and Aishwarya Rai Bachchan for parents –those flesh-and-blood advertisements for eugenics, with thosecheekbones and that jawline and that hair and those eyes? Hrithikoccupies screen space with such silent poise and regal bearing, it’shard to believe this is the same actor with the loosest limbs inBollywood. And while Aishwarya’s beauty is no breaking news – in fact,that’s the only explanation for the longevity of her career – she’s soluminous from certain angles, it’s as if the cinematographer lit herfrom within. When I first saw these two together, my concernsabout the film – based on rumours that it’s too long, too this, toothat! – simply melted away. There are films that you go to because theychange your life, your perspective, your reason for existence. Thenthere are those that function primarily as tourist brochures oncelluloid, showing you beautiful people and beautiful places, all fromthe comfort of your well-upholstered seat in an air-conditionedtheatre. If Jodhaa Akbar had been merely the latter, ifGowariker had done nothing more than train his camera on his leads –after positioning them in and around the period architecture that’salmost as good-looking – I’d have considered my four-something hours(including commercials and intermission) extremely well spent. Unfortunately, Gowariker isn’t content with the story of a Mughalemperor named Akbar and a Rajput princess named Jodhaa getting married,overcoming their differences and living happily ever after. (And thisalone would have made for a wonderful addition to our canon ofromances, because with the exception of Mani Ratnam, almost no othermainstream filmmaker appears interested in exploring aspects of love aftermarriage.) Gowariker wants to contextualise this love story within thepolitical turmoil of the period – and while this is no doubt necessarywhen you consider that we need to know the kind of man Akbar was and the kind of woman Jodhaa is before they become Jodhaa Akbar(what a nice touch that her name comes before his in the title, forit’s her influence that tempers him to greatness), Gowariker simplyisn’t equipped with the skills to tell that story, the wholestory. To make an epic entertainment out of all these disparateelements is perhaps impossible without a dash of go-for-broke madness,and Gowariker is too sane a director, too methodical, too… nice. What he’s very good at is in filling in the emotional landscapes of people – think of the moment in Swadeswhen Shah Rukh Khan finally comes home, by drinking water that isn’tbottled – and when he moves beyond people and into politics, he’splainly out of his league. I was left wondering why this filmmaker withsuch love for old-fashioned filmmaking – he foreshadows the evil that’sto come with a shot of a dark cloud enveloping a full moon – didn’ttake a leaf or two out of Mughal-e-Azam, which blissfully abandoned all pretence of addressing history and therefore functioned marvellously as just a love story. Jodhaa Akbar takes a long, long time to take off, and evenwhen it does, it doesn’t soar so much as stay airborne for smalldurations between bumpy landings. You get a glimpse of what’s in storewhen, early on, Gowariker unleashes the battle of Panipat. There’s noenergy in this sequence, and it’s so laughably staged, it’s as if theextras leapt into position a half-second after the director yelled,“Action!” A later sequence that has Akbar taming a wild elephant isworse, with Hrithik dodging this way and that, trying his darnedest toconvince us that the beast is a mortal danger – while the poorpachyderm just lumbers along, shaking its head as if puzzled by thisman’s inexplicably enthusiastic exertions. But even with the non-actionsequences – say, the ones involving discussions on taxes or religion –the staging is so flat, you feel title cards could have done a betterjob. This happened, we’re told in a plodding fashion, and then thathappened, and then this happened, and then that happened… After luringus into theatres with the promise of a love story, Gowariker gives usanything but that for long, dull stretches. A crucial subplot involvinga threat to the throne is downright ridiculous, considering thevillains behind these machinations have barely been developed ascharacters, and we’re meant to take them seriously. And when a largish chunk of a film is filled with things you don’tmuch care about, it’s a huge problem. Gowariker wants to do justice toevery single detail (the end credits feature a “food dresser for theRajasthani meal”) and to every single actor, right down to theinsignificant slave girl who makes an exit after relaying a crucial bitof information to her emperor. (The camera lovingly keeps her in focusas she does a salaam and exits the frame, instead of havingher leave while the scene shifts to the others.) You wish all that timehad been used to accommodate more scenes of Ila Arun, say, who playsAkbar’s wet nurse. This is a fascinatingly complicated character –filled with love for the emperor she has breastfed, and equally filledwith insecurity over his increasing attention to his new wife – but theway she comes across is as a petty, scheming, cardboard vamp. Thenthere’s Akbar’s mother (played by a stiff Poonam Sinha), who could havemade for an interesting counterbalance against the wet nurse who’ssupplanted her as Akbar’s mother-figure, but all Sinha does is smilebenignly and appear and disappear with alarming suddenness. But thankfully, Gowariker pulls off the love story – at least theportions of it written around moments between Jodhaa and Akbar. (Awayfrom politics, they are just people, see?) The first great sequencebetween them occurs as strains of a bhajan sung by Jodhaawaft over to Akbar’s court, as he is being questioned about hisdecision to let his Hindu wife build a temple in her quarters. Theacrimony is instantly soothed over by the melody. Akbar excuses himselfand wanders off in search of the source, he reaches the poojaroom, removes his footwear, tiptoes around the wife he hasn’t fullyseen unveiled, and when he comes around, she stops and turns and theyface each other… Whether it’s due to Akbar locking eyes with Jodhaa orHrithik Roshan finally justifying his pairing with Aishwarya RaiBachchan, this is the moment that begins to restore some balance to themovie. And there’s a beautiful coda, as he walks away lost in thought –not an emperor who’s taken leave of his queen but a smitten man who’sleft behind a beautiful woman. It’s these silences that Jodhaa Akbarneeded more of, these little stretches of nothingness that let us baskin the pleasure of a made-for-each-other couple at the cusp of fallingin love. Had the film been culled down to just its Akbar and Jodhaa moments,it would have still made for a not-bad love story. There’s a hugelyentertaining sequence where Jodhaa prepares lunch for Akbar (courtesy,I guess, that “food dresser for the Rajasthani meal”), and the secondhalf features a lovely stretch where Akbar tries to apologise forpacking off Jodhaa to her father’s home over a misunderstanding. Ifthese scenes don’t quite crackle and pop the way truly great lovescenes do, they’re at least written and staged well enough to providemuch-needed respite from all the courtly intrigue surrounding theirunion. And I liked how Gowariker depicts Akbar and Jodhaa aspractically mirror images, the only differences being those of genderand religion. Towards the end of AR Rahman’s moving Khwaja mere khwajanumber, Akbar sees a blinding light and gets in step with a group ofwhirling dervishes, as if in a trance – and later, this blinding lightvisits Jodhaa as she prays to her God for her husband’s life.An early instance of Jodhaa winning a swordfight when a manservantdistracts her opponent’s attention is mirrored later, when Akbar wins aswordfight when a maidservant distracts his opponent’sattention. And even as children, we’re shown that he is handed a swordbefore a battle, while the paintings she makes aren’t of plants andskies but of forts. But when they get married and when he senses that she may not beinterested in him, he tells her that his religion gives her the optionto walk out of the marriage, while she gently counters that accordingto her religion, this is a “saat janmon ka bandhan.” I expected the Azeem-o-shaantrack to feature first, because it extols the emperor and would seemthe perfect backdrop for a strutting Hrithik Roshan, but it makes sensethat the first numbers we hear are Manmohana and Khwaja mere khwaja.The initial encounters between Jodhaa and Akbar are almost entirelycoloured by religion – his and hers – and it’s only when a compromiseand an understanding is reached that we get to the beautiful love song Kehne ko jashn-e-bahara hai.(The song sounds lovelier without any instrumental backing, when itechoes around Akbar and Jodhaa when they are separated for a briefwhile.) And it’s only when they become soul mates that Gowariker letsloose the awesome In lamhon ke daman mein, and you note that the push-pull dynamics of the composition – which kept you wondering when you just heardit – finally make sense, for the mood alternates between tender romanceand torrid passions. Looking at it logically, this song has no businesscoming in so late and lasting as long as it does, but it provides sucha beautifully satisfying culmination to the great love story we’ve beenpromised that you don’t want it to end. There is this thing that Aishwarya does where her lips slacken justa bit, with the outline of a smile waiting to be born – and she usesthis to great effect in her scenes with Hrithik. She is less sure whenshe has to hold forth about this and that, but whenever the cameracatches her in a pose, she’s exquisite – I know this doesn’t sound likea compliment, but trust me, it is – and for all the problems withAishwarya’s “acting,” I cannot see any other present-day heroine asJodhaa, just as there’s no one else you can replace Hrithik with asAkbar. From the authority and the compassion in his refusal to behead adefeated king to the close-up intensity in his prayer at the shrine ofShaikh Chisti, from his self-mocking heroism during an argument with agrain merchant in Agra Bazaar to the self-aware sexuality whilewielding a sword bare-bodied for his new wife’s benefit, this is one ofthose star turns that almost carries the movie. Almost –because Gowariker doesn’t allow his star to entirely break through. Hegives us a look at Akbar’s dark side when the emperor has a traitorthrown from a height (and when he doesn’t die, he’s brought back up andcallously tossed over again) — but this one-off instance doesn’ttranslate into a sustained shades-of-grey portrayal. (Had that been thecase, the wild elephant that was tamed earlier could have been astand-in for Akbar, who’s himself “tamed” by Jodhaa.) Hrithik is therein practically every scene, but other than those where he’s withAishwarya, his edge is mostly blunted by Gowariker’s bloat – and theAkbar we get is simply a nice, sweet, charming bloke who incidentallyhas to run, oh, an empire. There’s an intimate two-person drama in heresomewhere, buried under all the pomp and pageantry, and it’s too bad wecatch only the occasional glimpse. Walking out, I felt as if Gowarikerhad zeroed in on Romeo and Juliet and then devoted most of his attention to detailing the internecine dealings between the Montagues and the Capulets.
http://www.desipundit.com/baradwajrangan/2008/02/16/review-jodhaa-akbar-mithya/
