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(You know the drill: SPOILERS AHEAD!)
Somewhat like Ravi Chopra's Baghban, Baabul is a film that has garnered mixed reactions from me. I'll admit, first, that, with Baghban, my expectations were very high. The promotions looked great, the cast was über-promising, the songs rung inspired, and the "B.R. Chopra" name implied something grand. In the case of Baabul, there was less publicity, I didn't care much for the songs (from what I had seen in commercials), and Ravi Chopra's name was already reasonably tarnished by the ultra-clichéd, hyper-contrived Baghban. Nevertheless, Baabul (again, like Baghban) has its share of great moments, and, in the end, is probably worth the price of admission.
I promise that this will be the last (or close to it) time that I type this (it's not that it won't apply further, but just that I'm getting sick, myself, of writing it), but, like Baghban, the success of Baabul lies largely (read, largely) with Amitabh Bachchan. Bachchan — indubitable — is one of the most talented actors in the Indian film industry (or, for that matter, in the world). Given an uninspired, trite part, he can work such wonders that the audience genuinely enjoys his work. In a film that actually grants him something with which to toy, Amitabh Bachchan is unstoppable. As the concerned, thoroughly loving "Baabul," Bachchan is pitch-perfect. During the first half of the movie, he walks breezily through his part, having little to do but enjoy himself and impart a very few delicate words of wisdom. He's done the "cool dad" bit some times before, now, and it's good to see that the act hasn't gone stale. Post-intermission, the mirth and merriment are gone, and an earnest, mature, grieving-yet-burdened-by-the-tears-of-his-daughter-in-law Amitabh shows up, and he's just awesome to watch. His performance at the film's climax is the sort of thing that Amitabh-Bachchan fans wait to see, and, after his work in some scenes of Khakee, we get to see the man really go all out with his histrionics. The perfect combination of strength-of-will and respect-for-family lead to a performance that's as authentic and as enthralling as any director could hope to get from his actor.
Rani Mukherjee, though she'll probably never again land a part that exercises her thespianic muscles as did her role in Black, is a notch above great in Baabul. After her critically-acclaimed-yet-to-me-unimpressive work in this year's over-blown, over-appreciated Karan-Johar flick, Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna, Rani again gets a part that's identifiable, human, and, simply put, "good." In Baabul, Mukherjee gets to be sweet, intelligent, charming, and sad, and she goes through each characteristic with conviction and élan. Yes, I gripe that I'm fucking sick of the artifically-induced tears that every director seems to be bent on having stream interminably down his actress's face from the point at which that crucial "bad thing" in her life happens, to that at which the film's credits roll, but, truthfully, this isn't Mukherjee's fault, and so she ought not to be faulted for her excessive, inappropriate, generally-annoying volume of tears.
Salman Khan — who I think I've loathed and lambasted ever since he chose to trade in his personality for his pecs, and decided that "acting" was something that was meant to take a back-seat to "star-presencing it up" — is actually very good in Ravi Chopra's film. As he did in Baghban, Salman Khan seems to put his best foot forward when working alongside Amitabh Bachchan. Perhaps it doesn't make sense to try to steal stardom from the man who's had a claim to the word since about four years after he first hit the world of acting, but, for whatever reason, when he's by Bachchan, Khan keeps his shirt on, and he does what I thought he'd taken an oath never again to do: he acts. His is the part of the "light-hearted lover-boy," and, though pushing at the upper-limits of the age at which doing this sort of role still evokes sympathy instead of vomit, Khan manages to make the part right for himself. He shares a pleasant on-screen chemistry with both Bachchan and Mukherjee, and, for the first time in a while, doesn't leave me sighing, "if only someone else has landed the role, this film could, perhaps, be watchable."
Unfortunately, the three aforementioned actors are the only ones in Baabul who are truly comendable. Hema Malini, in my opinion, has always been just a "good" actress (I only ever "loved" her in Ramesh Sippy's impeccable classic, Sholay), and, in Baabul, she's not even that. She's not "bad" so much as she's just "not good." In all honesty, it's a small part, and there's not much for her to do within its confines, but, even when Malini finally does get a few lines, it feels as though she delivers them half-assedly, if for no other reason, then simply to spite Chopra for not giving her more screen-time. John Abraham ostensibly teeters always between "good" and "bad" when it comes to his performances, and, in Baabul, he meanders betwixt the arenas of "bad" and "acceptable." Post-interval, he has ample time on screen to make his presence felt, yet — albeit working with the most hackneyed, unimpressive lines that have been being tirelessly penned for at least the last two decades — Abraham never really seems to do more than fill a necessary role. He's there, but his heart appears not to be, and a more enthusiastic portrayal might have elicited more sympathy, and less base tolerance, for what should have been a very important character. Om Puri is a magnificent actor, and thus there's no point in berating his abilities. We've seen him clash with Bachchan before (in Dev), and, in as much, we've witnessed him match the "angry man" blow-for-blow. This, however, isn't Dev, and Puri's role in Baabul is so poorly-written, so obligatorily-conjured, that justice simply can't be done to it. As the elder brother, Puri has, not little, but nothing, to do but snarl between bouts of uncalled-for shouting. I understand that his is the character to be "overcome," to be bested by "progressive thinking" and "humanistic values," but, challenging old ideals doesn't have to (and shouldn't) go hand-in-hand with debasing those characters who are meant to represent them. Maligning a particular stand on an issue by voicing it through two-dimensional, unappealing characters is not something a "successful" film does, but is, instead, the act of a desperate, unable-to-pull-any-other-trick-out-of-its-hairy-asshole movie. My biggest problem with Ravi Chopra — having seen Baghban and Baabul — is that he actually doesn't "tackle" salient social issues. You "tackle" an issue by representing it accurately, with real, well-imagined, convincing characters; not by having a well-spoken, impassioned, right-from-the-start protagonist easily best an Ernst-Stavro-Blofeldesque caricature of the opposing view. The "kids" in Baghban were nothing but space-filling, nauseous cretins who spoke as though from the dumbest soap opera ever fathomed, and the "bad family members" in Baabul aren't much better. To the credit of the latter film, there are fewer situations this time around that make you cringe, fewer moments of bull-shit line after bull-shit line; and so there's less time spent waiting for the inescapable eventual cessation of such scenes. The only real "conflict" (i.e., "obstacle," beyond the grieving widow [who I feel, too, grieves for just a bit too long, and in a few too many moments]) presents itself during the picture's penultimate moments, and is resolved in just as much space. A quick exchange of words, and it's happily ever after. The tears and sorrow are drawn out to fill nearly half the film, yet the strife between ideals (which, I believed, was supposed to be the main "point" of this whole movie) is introduced and ameliorated in all but about ten minutes. That's... not cool.
Just to mention the songs, only one shines. Baghban had a sublime soundtrack, but no one number was "song of the year." Baabul, on the other hand, has a good soundtrack, and it houses what I'd consider Amitabh Bachchan's best song since Silsila's, "Rang Barse." "Kehta Hai Baabul," which Bachchan both penned the lyrics to and composed the music of, as sung by Jagjit Singh, is just another "good piece." The version crooned by Bachchan, however, is easily one of the most impressive sound recordings of 2006. Of course, there's no point in comparing a song such as this to Dhoom 2's "Crazy Kiya," but, as far as slow, somber works go, Amitabh's "Kehta Hai Baabul" is out of this world. It's especially effective, in my opinion, for the film to have ended on it, as it at least leaves a positive impression of the movie as you walk down the aisle to leave the hall.
Overall, Baabul is a good movie with a message that, in fact, is still quite relevant, still important, in to-day's "modern" world. Ideas regarding women and marriage haven't changed so much as people might like to think, and a movie such as Baabul serves to remind that the issue must be addressed. The picture's exection, sadly, is almost as heavy-handed and one-sided as that of Baghban, and thus it is a film that feels amateurish. What could have been a great study of human emotion and societal burden and expectation, inevitably (well, not really, as Chopra could certainly have taken a different path) turns into the boxing-match from Rocky IV: There's no struggle, no empathy for the "villain," no sense of humanity — really, nothing at all; it's just a one-two from the politically "just," and the enemy is down and the crowd rejoices. If Ravi Chopra is, indeed, learning from his mistakes, then his third "family drama" with Bachchan (it'll probably happen) is likely to be a cut above this type of sophomoric film-making mentality. Nevertheless, I hope that it'll not be another twenty years before we finally see from Chopra what we should have been seeing from him all along: A well-written, well-executed venture, that's brace enough to give us believable potrayals of both sides of the argument, and confident enough in its abilities to convey to us which angle it supports.
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