The moment I walked out of the theatre, I knew immediately that
Guru would fall more readily in the league of the not so successful
Iruvar,
Kannathil Muthamittal,
Dil Se than
that of the highly successful
Roja and
Bombay. All these films have a common thread of being based on real issues of social and political relevance. The key differentiating factor is that
Roja and
Bombay are essentially people movies, where the issue of
Kashmir or Communalism merely forms the backdrop to what is simply a story of ordinary people caught in extraordinary circumstances. They do not demand a basic understanding of the context in which the story is set, whereas it helps to have at least a faint idea of the
Dravidian movement, the ethnic conflict in
Sri Lanka and the turmoil in the North East to truly appreciate
Iruvar,
KM and
Dil Se. Here the issues are given as much importance, if not more, as the people embroiled in them. I have always been against prerequisites and supplements to help appreciate art, so much so that I question a friend’s love for
Mulholland Drive, a film which you need external help to comprehend fully. But movies like
Iruvar and
Guru force me to re-evaluate my stance. When you watch
Guru purely as the rags to riches rise of an ambition blinded man, it is not going to be as impactful as seeing it with an awareness of the
License Raj, the stumbling blocks to entrepreneurship and the bureaucratic bullshit small time businessmen have to put up with in India. For a simple fact, even today, you need 9 licenses to start a simple cafe(
Source: India Uncut). By itself, Guru is an engaging, charming story of the underdog making it big. But when seen with an understanding of the odds stacked against Gurukant Desai, when you realise the magnitude of his achievement, when it dawns that for every Gurukant Desai who succeeds, there are hundreds, maybe thousands more bogged down by licenses, laws, and levies,
Guru can be so much more.
The weakest part of Guru is obviously its climax, where after having the potential to build up to a powerhouse, Maniratnam, uncharacteristically builds it on a shaky house of cards and then disappointingly flicks it away. The only explicitly stated obstacle in Abhishek’s entrepreneurial journey is his inability to obtain a license to trade. After surmounting that, he is shown to have a pretty much smooth sailing. Justifying all his actions in the speech at the end, doesn’t stir you as much as it would have if more of his struggles with red tapism, obsolete constricting laws and taxes had been dwelled upon suitably. Also there is this ridiculous scene where a man who got his daughters married with share earnings from Abhishek’s company offers him his support. To try and lend an altruistic colour to an obviously selfish man is pretty lame. Given the pre-release hype about the shades of grey in Abhishek’s character, it appears as though Mani never really wanted to show any black after all.
Having started on such a negative note, let me allow my Maniratnam bias to take over from here. I don’t think any other director has this man’s ability to develop relationships as realistically and to portray sexual chemistry and intimacy so brilliantly. The slapping sequence between Abhishek and Aishwarya, the exquisitely used Tere Bina and the way it culminates, his penchant for stressing the physical aspects of love- after an unsuccessful emotional proposal, Madhavan elicits a yes with a deliciously shot lip lock- all the stuff of legends. The rich production values, the meticulous attention to detail, the painstakingly crafted sets, Rajiv Menon’s camera work all make up for an awesome visual treat. It hurts though that all the other songs, barring maybe Ek Lo, Jaage Hain and the amazing refrain that accompanies most of Vidya Balan’s screentime, have been mercilessly relegated to the background and hence thoroughly devalued.
Moving on to Vidya Balan and the necessity of her role, for me this is one of Mani’s most multi-layered, open-to-many-interpretations characters ever. First and foremost, Vidya is the film’s only truly neutral observer, the only one who doesn’t take sides, the only one who is able to love both Abhishek and Madhavan, indifferent to what they do with their lives. She is a reminder to the viewer to hold on and reserve their judgements, and not classify Abhishek and Madhavan in the stereotypical wrong and right moulds. Vidya also represents the common man, someone who is in reality so far removed from, and hence unaffected equally by the illegalities of Abhishek’s business and its exposure by Madhavan. Vidya’s handicap is a metaphor for the obstacles to Abhishek’s ambition . She probably looks up to him because he is in some way able to work around those obstacles, something she cannot even hope to do. Finally, Vidya is the restraining factor holding Abhishek from doing anything adverse to Madhavan, helping him stay in the “justifiable” grey as opposed to the “unjustifiable” grey.
Guru does not merely chronicle the life of one man, it makes us think of the many more equally enterprising men, who never make it big because they stay within the confines of the law. Ironically, the law that is written to benefit the people can benefit so many more if rewritten to benefit these men- For instance, Abhishek’s tax evasion helps more people as shareholders, than the taxes themselves would have, considering the layers of corruption they would have trickled through.
Returning to the league in which Guru falls, is it Maniratnam’s failing as a director that the movies where he has focused on people have been more powerful than the ones where he has focused on issues? Should he stick to the genre of Roja, Bombay, pandering to the public, digging deep into their emotions and merely tickling their intellect or should he make movies like Guru, feeding both emotions and intellect equally? Give us more of the former, Mani. Give us more of the latter too.Aw..what the hell, just give us more, Mani!
