Saawariya...movie review

Sanjay Leela Bansali
Rani Mukherjee, Salman Khan, Ranbir Kapoor and Sonam Kapoor
Zohra Sehgal, Begum Para


Sony pictures brought their money and Sanjay Leela Bansali appears to have handed most of it over to the art director and costume designers. Some where along the way he remembered he was making a movie and the two young actors step in like marionettes onto an overdone set that is a bewildering mix of Venice, Russia and Iran. Never mind, we had been warned several times that this is a musical love story and Indian audiences are very forgiving about fantasy, amiably willing to be drowned in glitz and gooey sentiments. Especially when everybody has been promo-primed that the actors are scions of two successful gharanas of Mumbai filmdom. The audience begins to go into a sugar high and the dialogue writer ambushes them with inane philosophy when the protagonists mouth some gratingly common dialogue. The umbrella and rain borrowed from the Nargis / Raj Kapoor era and deliberate use of words like “aawara” and “junglee” are an unnecessary reminder that the Prithviraj Kapoor family is involved here. Sonam is attractive without being stunning and the director puts her through abrupt bouts of staring weeping and giggling and she ought to restrict the number of giggling fits. That first among gigglers, the fabulous Ash, has been adored despite her irritating giggle but then the self-made Aishwarya Rai has a lot more going for her even if she had no starry dad to pave an overdone and underwhelming filmy launch.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, on whose “White Nights” this is supposed to be “based”, will certainly turn over in his grave but Rani Mukherjee’s Gulabji may provide him with some earthy comfort. Besides being dressed to kill in tawdry-chic splendor, Rani adds some salt to try and stem the hemorrhage of sugar all around. Her raucous voice fits in just right with the whore image. I noticed that the audience around me stopped their bored comments, switched off their glowing blue mobiles and sat up to enjoy the dance that she and the other street walkers burst into for Ranbir Raj’s wide-eyed edification. A collective feeling of “paisa vasool” pervaded the hall for a short while there after!!
Zohra Sehgal and Begum Para spice things up briefly with Anglo-Indian accent and Mughal-e-Azam memories.

Salman Khan walks in and out of the film, just that. The much vaunted towel-dance scene was eerie because the body was doing its erotic bit while his face was static in its befringed boy-next-door wink and smile rhythm. But then maybe I was one of the few that finally moved my eyes upwards to his face!! That was one of the better filmed bits in the movie and Rishi Kapoor’s son’s body will be remembered for a while at least, till the scramble begins for more desperate hunks to go the whole hog and drop the towel… and will the censors allow that without going snip-snip?
The music is again, sweet (sorry, can’t find another suitable word), but in musical terms the movie itself is a crawling slow crescendo that builds up to nothing much, leaving the ear and eye wallowing in an anti climax of something desperately missing…..