The Dirty Picture: More dull than daring

By Mahesh Dattani Critics have hailed The Dirty Picture as some kind of milestone in the study of feminism, calling it a ‘seminal work’. I say, baloney. At best, it’s a film about living in a man’s world and a woman’s hopeless efforts to survive in such a world. However, by ending it the way it does, the film subscribes to the most outrageous stereotypes of what women really want. The film begins on a promising note with the famous Zarathustra quote by Nietzsche – ‘One must still have chaos in oneself, to give birth to a dancing star.’ If only they had stuck to that quote as their movie mantra, they would have had an all time classic, a truly seminal work and a perpetual money-spinner on their hands. Milan Luthria is a director known for his gritty portrayals of city life and an eye for detail, a rarity amongst filmmakers of popular cinema. In his earlier works like _Taxi Number 921_1 and the iconic gangster thriller Once Upon a Time in Mumbai one saw that he was capable of making a well made film that found favour with the serious film buff and also provided a more classic telling of story that engaged an audience looking for amusement alone. It is indeed tragic that he missed the bus with The Dirty Picture. Maybe the project started with a clear vision. That of a biopic on a sex Goddess who took the South by storm with her raw sex appeal. Like Mae West or Marilyn Monroe, Silk Smitha oozed sex with every inflection of her speech. Her mannerisms, even a flick of an eyebrow always suggested that she was ever ready for a romp. Her on-screen sexuality coupled with her deeply tragic personal life is perfect material for a film that can make for compelling drama.  At the same time such a story can engage an audience with its backdrop of the semi sleazy South Indian film industry of the eighties. [caption id=“attachment_147080” align=“alignleft” width=“380” caption=“In an industry where the vanity of stars overrules any other artistic consideration, Ms Balan deserves applause for her sincere efforts. Image from the official The Dirty Picture Facebook page.”]  [/caption] That vision got diluted instantly with the serious miscasting of Vidya Balan as the sex siren. Ms Balan may be of South Indian origin and one may argue that she is an actress of great calibre.  But sexy she is not.  She tries (really hard), the costume designer tries, the dialogue writer tries, the camera tries but the chemistry just doesn’t happen.  One has to commend the hard work put in by her especially in the latter scenes where her character is more dissipated in appearance. Only a consummate actress would put on weight and have the courage to show a flabby belly because the role demanded such an appearance. In an industry where the vanity of stars overrules any other artistic consideration, Ms Balan deserves applause for her sincere efforts. Even so, the major let down is the screenplay by Rajat Arora, which chops and changes as the story goes along.  The first half with its intricate set up that shows the politics of casting, the politics of production-line filmmaking and the politics of gender holds one’s interest. But the story takes a well-worn and predictable turn when it comes to the protagonist and her love interests. Motivations and reasoning get thrown out with every costume change. Even the most uncaring among the audience would ask ‘why are they doing that?’ To make any sense of the relationships you have a narrator explaining the arbitrary twists. The director hoped that clever dialogue, also by Rajat Arora, employed to brush away the improbabilities in the plot might divert the audience’s attention from the weak screenplay. Initially, the witticisms sparkled and one laughed at their ingenuity, but after a while, they grated on the nerves as they came in quick succession regardless of who is saying them. The final quarter of the film has a torturous romantic development between Emraan Hashmi’s character and Vidya Balan’s. A pseudo-Sufi song sequence touted by the film’s publicists as a ‘hit’ song had the audiences rushing to the washroom although, to the film’s credit, they did return. Anyone could have told the director or the producer the basic principle of commercial filmmaking — never have a gratuitous love song at the climacteric of your story. The ending is perhaps the oldest and biggest cop out used by filmmakers who claim to make ‘feminist’ films that will spark off a revolution. Without spoiling it for those who intend to see the film, all I can say is that true daring in a film can be gauged by how it ends.  By suggesting that what she really wanted was a traditional life of marriage all along, this one proves that it set out to be mediocre right from the start. All said and done, the bottom line is we go to the cinema for ‘time-pass’, right? Social correction is for the activists. But then filmmakers, why pretend to be a champion of a cause you don’t believe in?  As for us audiences, if you really want entertainment, entertainment, entertainment, do see a movie with an item number by the original and inimitable Silk. Mahesh Dattani is a Sahitya Akademi award winning playwright and director and the author of many acclaimed plays including Final Solutions, Dance Like a Man and Tara. He directed the films Mango Souffle and Morning Raga.