Saturday, December 05, 2015
Angry Indian Goddesses
Ladies’ Special
If a
young woman is seen cavorting in the garden with a hose, dressed in her inners,
Bollywood logic has it that something bad will happen to her.
If a
bunch of women are having a good time in Goa, they will be made to suffer for
their happiness.
If
gun appears somewhere in the middle of the film, it has to be fired by the end
of it (at least the filmmaker obeys Chekhov).
Pan
Nalin’s Angry Indian Goddesses can’t
be called a Bollywood film, but if a Mumbai filmmaker were to make a female
buddy film, it would have the same trajectory. Only the suffering women would
probably not be dressed in tiny shorts and strappy tops, showing smooth,
depilated, cellulite-free skin. (Might
just send hormonal male teens to the multiplex to watch it!)
That
women in India get more than their share of male chauvinism, is true, but all ‘types’ gathered together in the film, have problems caused by men or a
patriarchal system, which is a bit much. Freida (Sara-Jane
Dias), a photographer, gets sick of being told to shoot fairness cream ads, and
chucks it all to move to a lovely
cottage in Goa. She invites her female
friends Joanna (Amrit Manghera) an aspiring actress, forced to swing her hips
more; Pamela (Pavleen Gujral) whose
arranged marriage to a boor is reaching a childless dead end; Suranjana
(Sandhya Mridul) a high-flying corporate type, who doesn’t notice the
loneliness of her little daughter (Nia Dhime), a singer Madhureeta (Anushka
Manchanda), forced to sing before drunken men because her careers is going
nowhere and Nargis (Tannishtha Chatterjee), a tribal rights activist. To
balance the class-caste issue is the fiery maid Laxmi (Rajshri Deshpande). Freida says she has called them to attend her
wedding but won’t tell them who the groom is, as if audiences can’t guess…
after so much foreshadowing.
Even
though their constant shrillness starts grating after a point, there is still
come freshness and joy to this bonding, away from the male gaze. In fact, the women ogle the shirtless
neighbor as he washes his car; Joanna even has the hots for him, but a
half-English, modern girl simpers when he is around, but doesn’t simply say
hello and start a conversation!
Then,
the problems start-- a run-in with some local male toughs, depression, marital
problems, maternal guilt, alternative sexuality and every other cliché that can
be thrown into the cauldron. And then the resolutions, building to an
incredibly hokey climax.
Pity
that nobody thinks of making a happy female buddy film, in which women’s issues
are discussed—like they are in many living rooms—but not chucked at the
audience like stones at rioters. It’s
easy to see why the film worked for an international audience—they haven’t seen
too many films about independent (well, somewhat), high-spirited, urban Indian
women. But for an urban Indian woman
watching this film, it is so overwrought that it makes for a tedious watch, in
spite of the jumpy camerawork and frantic cutting in an attempt at
edginess.
Labels: Cinemaah
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