In 'Defence' of Swades

Originally published on PASSIONFORCINEMA.COM

Jodhaa Akbar is the flavour of the month- some love it, some love to hate it- as for me, I fall somewhere in between, I guess. Maybe the reason why I am not so drastically dejected by the film is that I wasn’t really expecting a Lagaan or Swades out of it, and also that the leads actually did way better that I expected them to- admittedly, if anyone’s faltered here, it’s Gowariker- without doubt.

I doubt if Gowariker is ‘the new K Asif’, as someone on PFC recently proclaimed him to be- I frankly find the comparison rather absurd- but he definitely is one of the best filmmakers we have in India- and I don’t really mind if if his film gets a little more than it deserves, as long as he continues to strive to make great cinema- which his latest effort certainly falls way short of.
Anyway, all said and done- recently, Kartik and I were having one of our usual discussions over the phone on recent films and events, during which I discovered that Anurag Kashyap, in his infamously ‘controversial’ article in criticism of Black in Tehelka, had also compared the aforementioned film with Swades calling both films terribly indulgent, and remarking that Swades was a 15 minute idea stretched to the point of exhaustion.

Indulgence is a tricky thing to discuss, really. Some of the best films and filmmakers in the world are terribly indulgent- and for that matter, even Mr. Kashyap’s latest and most unfairly derided film is unquestionably indulgent, almost to an extreme. Having said that, I failed to see how exactly Swades is ‘indulgent’.

I have to confess that criticism of Swades somehow always manages to strike a raw nerve with me, considering how deeply it touched me. I was reasonably intrigued and surprised- I found it rather odd that the two films be mentioned in the same breath- and did finally read the article. And without any bias, I have to say that I found it unobjective and the criticism leveled at the film unfair and based on presumptions and preconceived notions. And while I can hardly claim to be as erudite and knowledgable about cinema as Mr. Kashyap (who I have immense regard for as a filmmaker), I do feel compelled to- for lack of a better word- ‘defend’ what is one of my favourite films and one that has unnecessarily been bogged down by adjectives like ‘preachy’ and ‘documentarish’.

Anyway, coming to my point, let me quote:

Bhansali’s Black is a classic case of sheer technique dictating content. Like Gowariker’s Swades, it suffers from the terrible Oscar fever that seems to have gripped Bollywood after Lagaan’s journey.

As for craft overshadowing and dictating content (an accusation the author makes against Black)- I personally don’t always mind that- but then, the craft has to actually be that good. I am not a huge admirer of Sanjay Leela Bhansali or his body of work, and though I find the ire vented at Black in the article a tad overt, I don’t think that is really worth discussing, considering that it is admittedly a film that has been discussed far more than it is worth.

What I really find questionable is how Swades is tagged along with Black as an ‘Oscar-baiting’ film, made by Gowariker simply for the purpose of attempting to duplicate Lagaan’s success at the Academy awards. Now anybody who has seen and appreciated Swades, will probably agree with me when I say that it is a very personal, intimate film- and that it can only truly resonate with those of Indian origin- and I say this not because it supposedly preaches ‘patriotism’, but because the soul and sensibility of the film- amply reflected in the script, dialogue and imagery- is too ‘Indian’ to really be absorbed and comprehended by audiences alien to Indian culture. Lagaan, in that sense was a simpler, more ‘universal’ tale- that with its ‘underdog’ theme and exuberant tone finding favour with all audiences.

Reading on further, the author goes on to say:

In the process of touring the world with Lagaan and experiencing the hysteria surrounding it, he thought he had hit upon a formula, long dead, of the real, rural, India. And he made Swades, but ‘We the people’ was further from the people than its predecessor. Swades had none of the innocence of Lagaan. It said, “I know what I’m doing. I’m here to change the world.” It would have sufficed if the film had said, “I want to change the world. I know it’s a tall order but give me a chance.” We have to pretend to love it for we might be deemed unpatriotic.

Here, not only does the author make a silly assumption about the filmmaker’s thought-process and intent behind making the film, but also seriously undermines the intelligence and integrity of Gowariker as a filmmaker to contending that he stupidly thought that he had hit upon a ‘formula’- that is- ‘Rural India’- and cash on it through Swades. Though Bhansali’s look-I-am-making-a-masterpiece conceit was ostentatiously evident in almost every frame of Black, it completely escapes me how Mr. Kashyap sees the same assured smugness in the wholly honest and unpretentious Swades.

It is extremely naïve and ignorant to view Swades as merely a ‘patriotic’ film, made by an over-zealous director obsessed with preaching to the audience. Ironically, while people may see the film as a vain attempt ‘to change the world’, the film, to use the words of Mahatma Gandhi, is about ‘being the change you want to see in the world.’ Swades is a many-layered film- a film that works on so many levels- if only one tries to see. Though at one plane it may be seen as a film with a strong nationalistic message, it is also more importantly a film about self discovery- discovery of your identity and your roots. It is about finding yourself and where you belong. It is not about Mohan transforming a village and its people, but rather how the village transforms him, and in that sense, Swades is an extremely internal film.

Swades is one of those rare films where each dialogue, each moment has so much purpose and meaning. Take, for example that wonderfully constructed moment where Mohan refers to his countrymen as ‘You Indians’, which gently yet powerfully conveys how alienated he has become from his own people. Then there are those absolutely lovable characters that populate the landscape of Gowariker’s film- and think it is the very innocence that Mr. Kashyap finds missing in them that makes them exude such warmth- warmth that envelops you without even trying. When Mohan is shown meeting Kaveri Amma for the first time in years in the film, it is hardly an emotionally manipulative moment- we haven’t even been force-fed with a sepia-tinted flashback ala K3G so that we can feel the bond between the two- and yet, inexplicably, I have a lump in my throat every time I watch that scene played out on screen with beautiful restraint by Kishori Ballal and Shah Rukh Khan (in what is a towering, career best performance that excuses all that terribly hammy acting that simply deserves to be sandwiched between two slices of bread.)

The brilliance of the film of course, reaches its zenith in the unforgettable sequence where Mohan goes to another village to collect some unpaid debt, and returns a changed man. This is what could in a way be described as one of the few ‘dramatic’ points in the rather subdued film, and it is filled with such beautiful, memorable images wonderfully capturing the contrasts in the film and shot vividly by cinematographer Mahesh Aney- that of the protagonist sitting on the boat, in a rickety bus, in the train- finally culminating in that heart-breakingly poignant scene where he buys water from a child at a nondescript station.

Water is used both as a metaphor and leitmotif in Swades with marvellous subtlety, standing as a symbol for life and change. It is these small touches in the film that for me elevate the film to another level altogether. The characters are all affectionately portrayed, with Gowariker’s unique tinge of gentle humour, and it is to the director’s credit that none of them appear as caricatures. There are of course, some parts where the director shows spectacular flourish, especially in the Yeh Tara Woh Tara song where with trademark earnestness and audaciousness he has Mohan drop the curtain separating the people and breaking the caste barrier, making the children- the future- come together united and reach for the stars, quite literally.

Towards the end, we see Mohan at NASA, haunted by memories of his native land as Rahman’s evocative Yeh Jo Des Hai Tera plays on, and then of course- predictably, one might say- he chooses to go back to India like a true hero, selflessly giving up his career. But even here, his decision really has little to do with a seemingly sudden bout of patriotism and altruism, but rather is associated with the fear of dying alone, in an alien land- something also captured in Mira Nair’s superb adaptation of The Namesake. As the old Fatema says in one of the best dialogues in the film- “Apne hi paani mein pighal jaane mein barf ka muqaddar hota hai.”