Shanghai (Movie Poster)

I couldn’t help the title. It was too much out there. And therefore, the immediate retraction.

If you want to take the dedication seriously, then it is first advised that you take it completely. Don’t judge Shanghai with the Costa Gavras‘ Z. Read the book by Vassilis Vassilikos. I haven’t read the book. I have seen the movie. I am not comparing.

Because that is where the fun in Shanghai lies. Because the Greek establishment thoroughly differs/differed from the India establishment. To look for reference points beyond plot make the whole process moot. The pattern and structure followed here is so vastly different that if we go beyond just the movie to relocate Z in Shanghai, we shall miss out on something great, something gripping.

Because Shanghai is a wonderful film. Shanghai is a very powerful film. Shanghai delivers on more than just one level. The various aspects of authenticity, the nuances of film making, the parts that go into making a film a great film, everything is intact and embellished in Shanghai. Well, mostly all of it…some flaws will always remain and points of perspective will always differ.

The timing of this movie could not have been more exact. Shuddering in the passage between two Indias, the movie works as a negotiator and a reflector. It builds on the salient realities of political existence and draws out the reader into the setting of the movie.

And while that is the power of narrative, a lot more is given to it by its vast range of very capable actors. The film does not pause anywhere, even on places where you wouldn’t mind hanging around. The chapters reel away, moving in flash pieces. Everything moves so well programmed that you are forced to become one with the characters. You can associate yourself with them. And that is where I believe lies the mastery of the film.

Using all the tools of realism and fiction at its disposal, director Dibakar Banerjee spins an interesting yarn. He tells the story in a very blunt narrative and when you’re doing a movie like Shanghai, no other approach could have worked better. The movie begins with a shrug, it sets the pieces on the board and the minute Prosenjit Chatterjee lands in Adarsh Nagar, the ball starts rolling. Flying all over the place even! The people earlier introduced get into their parts effortlessly and one by one, one by one, all the set pieces start to fall. You don’t realize it half the time, but the story has moved a thousand paces ahead. And don’t get me wrong. It’s not like the movie flies over your head either. It’s just that everything in Shanghai has it’s own reflex action. And the wonderful part of it all is that the reflex on screen is made to seemingly coordinate with the reflexes of the viewers.

By a long mile, Abhay Deol once again is a revelation. In a role that is a kind of firsts in more than one way, Abhay Deol portrays an wavering honest bureaucrat with alarming ease. His accent is pounded into mastery, his every action has a governmental stamp behind it — even the way he glances away from a file. From seeing Kalki and he in Dev D, to now, in Shanghai, Abhay Deol is a master class performer. He fills you with awe, he inspires you to be more.

It is a unspeakable joy to see Emraan Hashmi to do more than just remixed versions of the same character he plays in his myriad Bhatt Camp movies. And then you realize that he is so much more talented than what he is made out to be. With the crooked teeth, the lecherous gait, the confused guilty mind, he plays them all out as the movie progresses, right till he becomes an integral part of it, ripping everything from inside and out.

Farooq Sheikh finds himself on the big screen after a long, long time and you cannot but wonder the loss that Indian cinema has incurred by leaving so talented a man out of his inner folds for so long. His performance was rust-free, it had an exciting spontaneity and he long seizes to be Farooq Sheikh to become Kaul. He engrosses you even with his absence. He lingers in your mind even during the movie.

In contrast, Kalki Koechlin is a bit of a let down. Very clearly, she doesn’t fit in. And perhaps that was what the director wanted. The glaring debate left open in her character is whether she was in it for the love of socialist justice, or because of her growing affections for Prosenjit’s character. Which is why perhaps she can be out of place, forcing herself in to be a part of his world. But she still doesn’t make the cut. Not completely at least. Yes, she too has her moments. When she finally faces the driver who caused the “accident”, her lashing out and then her broken reaction to it is worth the price of your ticket alone!

Parochial pride too needs to be nursed. How can I get away without even a line on Prosenjit Chatterjee, the principal cause of the whole movie! He doesn’t have too long a part to play, but he has a convincing one to play, a role which needs more to be felt than seen. And he focusses that well through his entire persona on screen, right from appearance to his posture. Crucial in absentia.

The movie is wonderfully captured. Nikos Andritsakis does a marvelous job is getting the right grip on the tone and effect of the movie. And he is skillfully assisted by Namrata Rao, the editor of the movie. She lays the right cuts to Andritsakis’s stark frames to encompass the thriller genre, pausing and freeing the momentum at the right visual moments. Special mention must also be made of the background score in the film, Mikey McCleary being just the perfect harmony adjustment that the plot and screen needed. There is only one song and you don’t tend to pay much attention to that. All that you notice, and feel, is what plays in the background.

Now where then, are the flaws? They are in the overtly simple aspects of the movie. For instance, Adarsh Nagar? Really? And that jibe at the media’s priorities in the scene with Prosenjit and the ugly item number, little things like that go on to diminish the impact of the movie. Because suddenly you feel cheated, that the director did not think the viewer to be intelligent enough. The movie is well-guarded in the truth of it all, and cliches such as these put you off completely.

But in spite of the flaws, watch the movie. It feels nice to see such movies coming from the Bollywood stable. It gives hope for tomorrow.

Related articles

• Friday Release: Political thriller ‘Shanghai’ (ibnlive.in.com)
• Shangai: The plot thickens (thehindu.com)
• Movie Review: Shanghai (dawn.com)
• Movie Review: Shanghai 2012 (girishkumar.me)
• Film Review: Shanghai (June 2012) | Dibakar Banerjee | Hashmi, Abhay Deol, Prosenjit, Kalki (pinashpinash.wordpress.com)
• Masand: ‘Shanghai’ is consistently watchable (ibnlive.in.com)

Actor Pavan Malhotra in a scene from Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro

Dibakar Banerjee’s Shanghai and Faiza Ahmad Khan’s Supermen Of Malegaon that released this past month, 23 years after Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro (SLPMR), offer their own narratives of the nation state as seen through the eyes of their respective filmmakers.

Banerjee’s fourth film, grim in its tone, focuses its attention on how the poor are exploited in the name of economic development. Shanghai is a modern-day commentary on how the very government that ought to function for the people, will use every ruse to turn its back on them to further their own selfish agenda. The very goons who mow down anyone that dare stand up to their political masters are the ones whose families are affected most by the everyday machinations of this political class.

Khan’s maiden documentary/feature, on the other hand, is remarkably funny, but offers its own take of contemporary India. On the face of it, Supermen Of Malegaon documents the struggles of Shafique and his minimal film unit as they set out to make the ambitious Malegaon Ka Superman, a film tailor-made to suit the average Malegaon inhabitant in its attempted parody of the Superman series. Yet, on another level, Supermen Of Malegaon is never too far away from bringing to light the woes of small town India be it in the form of communal tension, continued subjugation of women or lack of sanitation.

“Smuggler ke kandhey pe kanoon ka haath,” says another of Mirza’s characters to describe the cozy relation that exists between people who, fundamentally, ought to remain on opposite sides of the law. Instead, the smuggler, in what is a reflection of the changing times in Indian society, is seen boasting of having greased the very system that ought to get him. “Apun ka dhande mein, neeche se upar tak, sabko pata lene ka. Size ke hisaab se, sabke liye, chaandi ka ek-ek joota.”

Dibakar’s Shanghai magnifies this rot in the police/justice system even more. Inquires are held without any meaning and if someone has to be punished, that person right at the bottom of the ‘food chain’ is the only one who may be held culpable. Here the police are no longer contending with gangsters. With the state having turned oppressor, the men in uniform must obey the government in power. In SLPMR, the protagonist is forced by the corrupt inspector to put his thumb impression on a ‘panchnama’ even when he is not present at the scene of the incident. In Shanghai, cops blatantly misrepresent facts despite themselves being present at the scene of Dr. Ahmadi’s murder. If anything, the long arm of the law is only shown to have regressed in its functioning between the time the two films were released.

In her review of Supermen Of Malegaon, Shubhra Gupta, film critic of The Indian Express, calls the movie, “The story of a small town whose communal make-up is apparent, without it being rubbed in. The cast and crew is mostly Muslim, mostly not well-off, mostly from amongst those who work with their hands.” Director Faiza Khan also broaches the subject of women not being allowed to set foot in the Malegaon film industry. She gets Farogh Jafri, the scriptwriter of Malegaon Ka Superman, to explain this as a kind of forced evil resulting from the lack of education for women in Malegaon. It is a self-perpetuating cycle says Farogh to summarise the entire situation. Shubhra’s observation and Jafri’s assessment are an all too familiar echo of Salim Langda’s “Yeh apun [Musalmaanon] ka area hain” or “Musalmaan log ko koi kaam nahin deta hain” and Aslam’s  “Samajhte hain ki auraton ki taalim ka matlab hain behayayee ya jism ki numaayish. Sharaafat ke naqaab odh rakhe hain in logon ne” from SLPMR.

Filth, dirt and grime are the Malegaon Ka Superman’s nemesis Farogh Jafri tells the viewers in his own inimitable style in a scene from Supermen Of Malegaon that leaves the audience in splits. Why Kryptonite when we have every possible disease lurking round the corner to bring Superman down? It is an inspired thought by Jafr. He realizes exactly what will strike a chord with the Malegaon moviegoer, who, possibly, is exposed to all kinds of illnesses in the absence of proper sanitation. Shanghai’s protagonists, similarly, are seen regaling themselves with the idea of India despite Dengue and Malaria.

Bharat mata ki, Bharat mata ki

Tum jai bolo jai Bharat mata ki jai

Sone ki chidiya, Dengue Malaria

Gud bhi hai gobar bhi Bharat mata ki ja

Supermen Of Malegaon was made in 2008, but was commercially released in India only on Friday, last week. That makes SLPMR, Supermen Of Malegaon and Shanghai three very distinct films, made several years apart from each other and by three filmmakers with entirely different sensibilities.  That I happened to watch all three films over the last 10 days gave me the opportunity to view India through the perceptive eye of three different individuals.

Unfortunately, the view in all three films isn’t exactly flattering. That’s not a good sign when three films are set apart by 23 years.

This post isn’t a review about Shanghai, its more of a reflection upon the after-taste it leaves with you. While I’m aware of the countless responses which deemed this film an overrated dull piece of parallel cinema trying too hard to stick its head in the mainstream, I disrespectfully disagree. I’m not even going to dwell on that topic.

Dibakar Banerjee is one of the few directors in the country who dish out works of art that don’t give a rat’s ass about likability, the maker should be pleased. Period. Other notable examples of this behavior are Terrence Malick  and our very own Anurag Kashyap. When this behavior reflects in Cinema, it gives the viewer a flavor that he has never tasted before, and can never be replicated, authenticity. Its a very big deal to be working along, or for, the mainstream and manage to display an uncompromising glimpse of your mind. That’s what these people do. And that’s sheer genius.

Shanghai is a political pot-boiler that adheres to realism. So much that it leaves you baffled.

The sad part is that had this film been based on an actual story relating to an actual event in recent history, this wouldn’t have passed the countless barricades that would have appeared out of nowhere. Films like Deepa Mehta’s Fire, Deepa Mehta’s Water and most of all Rakesh Sharma’s jaw-dropping documentary about the Gujarat Riots of 2002; The Final Solution witnessed the wrath of the unknown and the corrupt, much like the protagonists of Shanghai did.

When you come across Media like these, you start digging stuff up and when you find stuff that normal people wouldn’t bother finding, you realize how big a myth freedom of speech really is. The drop deep into the rabbit hole began for me when I learnt that there is no freedom of press law in India. That got me interested in studying the law of the land, in detail. Here’s what I found out. The constitution guarantees you the Human right of Freedom of Speech, but keeping itself safe by conditioning it. This freedom can be legally restricted for reasons of sovereignty and integrity of India, the security of the State, friendly relations with foreign States, public order, preserving decency, preserving morality, in relation to contempt, court,defamation, or incitement to an offense. While this helps in safeguarding, it could also be twisted and misused.
For example: A film carries content that exposes a flaw in a system that, if detected by everyone in society, can cause a revolution, the freedom to broadcast it can be restricted under the pretext of security of the State, thereby neglecting the security of the People.

Another confusing aspect happens to be the RTI, the Right to Information, this Act provides citizens with a legal right to receive information about any governmental activity as they please. That’s how pleasing this bill sounded around the time it came out. But what nobody talked about was the OSA, the Official Secrets Act. This Act enabled the government to withhold any information about governmental functions. This cancels the RTI out-rightly .

Here’s an excerpt from Raja Sen’s article in Mumbai Mirror,

“Following the standard-issue anti-smoking announcement came the disclaimer that the film is fictional, and any parallels with real life are coincidental. In Costa Gavras’ critically acclaimed adaptation of Z - the 1969 film opens with a disclaimer that clearly and defiantly states that none of the resemblances to real people are accidental. “It is INTENTIONAL,” says the film’s most defiant subtitle, wearing intent on sleeve.”

RELATED POSTS-
HOW THE DARK KNIGHT LEGEND DOES NOT END WITH TDKR
HOW VICKY DONOR DOES WHAT DELHI BELLY COULDN’T
WHY PAAN SINGH TOMAR DESERVED TO BE APPRECIATED MORE THAN IT WAS

Dibakar Banerjee is among my favourite directors, simply for the way his films stick out among our multi-colour, sappy-sweet three-hour dozefests that pass off as films.

In all the discussions I have had with friends, our understanding of films and their content amuses me. The common saying is, “Film entertaining hai, yaar. Dimaag nahi lagana padta hai.” This is what is entertaining – the Rohit Shettys and Prabhudeva films where Tata Sumos fly and women expose their navels and giggle. On the other end of the spectrum are the films that are supposed to move you to tears, or teach you a moral, or have some deep significance. The kind of films that Bhansali or Bhandarkar churn out regularly.

Dibakar Banerjee, through his films, manages to steer clear of either of the two stereotypes. His films are funny without a fat or dark guy being ridiculed, and they make you think without resorting to melancholic soundtracks and deep, philosophical mumbo-jumbo dialogues.

Those of you haven’t watched Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye and Khosla Ka Ghosla should do it immediately, to get what I mean. The characters have their own quirks and tics. They are funny, the situations are funny, and the detailing permeates to more than just the opulent sets – the detailing lies in the naming, the dialogues, the characters literally breathe their roles.

With Shanghai, Banerjee is going to uncharted territory. The film is dark, gloomy, and hopeless. And even though these should be mere traits of a film, it is considered bad, chiefly because our biggest blockbusters are all colourful and cheerful.

It is also the largest film Banerjee has attempted in terms of scale – his most outrightly political film.

The story is about a small town symbolically called ‘Bharatnagar’, which is all set to transform into a Shanghai – thanks to Special Economic Zone (SEZ) and other investors coming to the town. The whole town is in a state of celebration, when an activist, Dr. Ahmedi visits the town to talk to the people of the evils that await the town. He is no messiah, though. He is manipulative when he wants to be, and doesn’t mind making out with one of his students. But since he has ruffled a few important feathers, he gets bumped off.

What follows is the story of how three people become involved in a murky tale of grime and grease. Abhay Deol is a Tamilian IAS Officer, Emraan Hashmi is a pornographer/photographer, and Kalki Koechlin is one of Dr. Ahmedi’s students who wants justice.

The performances are top notch. While Kalki Koechlin takes some time to sink into her character, Abhay Deol and Hashmi – in my opinion two of the most important actors of the coming generation – are at ease with their roles right from the beginning. You have to watch Hashmi grin with his paan-stained teeth to see how much he has evolved from the guy who would sing a slow and song and seduce anything that moves. Abhay Deol’s accent, like his conscience, keeps slipping and finding its foot, but in no way does it hamper his performance as the IAS officer who wants to avoid being a mere pawn in the hands of ministers.

If the film is still playing in theatres far from you, go ahead and give it a watch. If it’s not, wait for it to come on TV. If you want to piss Kapil Sibal off a little, download it from the internet and watch it.

For it’s a film that deserves a watch. How long do we have to be subjected to no-brainers under the garb of ‘dimaag nahi lagana padta hai’. Since when did not using your brain become equal to having fun? And why don’t these people just sit at home and masturbate then? Us mein mazaa aata hai, aur dimaag bhi nahi lagana padta hai.

The film requires your patience, and some overlooking. It is satisfying, and frustrating. It is slow at times, and frantic in the others. It is silent, yet screams out to be heard.

And honestly, how many films can claim to do that?

I don’t get cinema. I don’t say this as some sort of grand  sweeping statement, but as a disclaimer. Though I should actually say, “I don’t always get cinema”, because I think the times are a-changing. My film education has been almost entirely Indian cinema, and mostly Hindi films (thanks to meri Ma, appropriately), but even so, I find it very hard to articulate a theory of Bollywood aesthetics. There was a time when I lived abroad that I used to explain Bollywood to my firangi friends as entertainment, not art, and ‘art cinema’ in India as being very different. But over the last few years, I have started seeing film, and even music as a text of sorts with its own narrative, character and textual aesthetic. To put it simply, I have realised that ‘literary’ can extend beyond just text. And films with their visual narrative open up wide levels of understanding about literariness and what makes for art (not exactly an original Eureka moment, is it? ).

But I think what’s also come out of it, is that I’ve stopped seeing this divide between high-art and low-art, a Bollywood vs ‘art cinema’ polarity in films, and that has been a sensational epiphany. It feels like I can come out of my closet and express some Bollywood-love and defend it without sounding anti-intellectual.

And I think this perspective is strengthened when you read Rasa theory and realise that aesthetics in India used to specifically involve depicting the eight/nine rasas (emotional states) and evoking emotions from the audience. Performance arts like classical dance still utilise rasas heavily through practiced expressions and movement. But in film, and through some other traditions of Urdu theatre, the framing of sequences and shots, the narrative structure and dialogue also thoroughly imbibed elements of the rasas. Actors in Indian cinema are not expected to be ‘method’ actors who live and breathe their roles to become the character, but are instead mainly expected to portray emotions in a way that resonate with the audience. In that sense, in Indian films, the power lies with the audience — in whether the audience was able to empathise with the character’s emotions, and not in whether the character was believably portrayed. That is at the core of the realist aesthetics of Indian cinema, in my opinion, and where it differs wildly from the Western aesthetic.  For instance, if you were to  look at the rasa of ‘shoka’ (grief/sorrow), where Hollywood may choose to show sorrow through a character’s body language and behaviour in a natural set of circumstances (the classic show-don’t-tell), Indian cinema usually depends heavily on facial expressions and stylised body language – think Nargis in Mother India, the classic pose of carrying the plough, the head tilt and the expression on her face. Mother India (1957) in many ways represents a very classical Indian style of filmmaking, one that influenced Hindi cinema for generations, and that still exists in much of regional cinema.

However, modern cinema has changed that aesthetic significantly. Western elements have invariably seeped in, and there is now an interesting aesthetic shift that commingles disparate aspects of both. I think Shanghai and Gangs of Wasseypur are mature realisations of this aesthetic shift and offer a very interesting mix of both styles, using a very specific technique in storytelling – subversion. I’ll come to this a little later.

A second disclaimer: this is not going to be a review. In fact, it’s going to be a review of reviews that these films have received, in particular Shanghai, which seems to be facing the brunt of claims of misrepresentation, unrealistic characters and stereotyping.  So if you haven’t watched  these films, then be warned, most of what I’m going to discuss involves spoilers, big spoilers and endings and climaxes and whatnot, so this post is best read after having watched the films and read the reviews.

So, when Shanghai released, certain reviewers in mainstream media hailed Shanghai immediately as ‘a realistic representation of “modern” India on film’, with ‘nicely etched characters, a realistic shooting style, and a dollop of humor‘. Masand in fact says that it’s a good film, just not great, while his pal  Anupama Chopra is a tad more generous saying it ‘doesn’t provide the comfort of answers or happy endings. But it forces us to ask urgent questions‘. There were already mostly credible questions about its artistic merit — did people just like to go gaga over directors like Banerjee who flirted with serious issues or was this film really worth the hype? And there was considerable hype, aided by Banerjee’s appearances along with Emraan Hashmi on several mainstream TV channels. Bikas Mishra from DearCinema called it ‘a hugely disappointing film that’s superfluous and unduly serious in its tone. It just scratches the surface of an important contemporary issue while telling an un-engaging tale‘, directly comparing it to the stark realist landscapes of Mirch Masala and Ankur. Another interesting question raised by the sharper critics was whether Shanghai really was realistic or just a sham? The people who live Shanghai’s brute realities in the slums have also argued very convincingly that the film does ‘exactly what the state would want to do to resistance and people’s movements in the slums – they bulldozed them out of the film‘, in effect aligning the filmmakers (who by the way, are also funded by the National Film Development Corporation) alongside the fascist state.

I love this film.

I told a friend that I see Dibakar Banerjee as a darker, contemporary version of Hrishikesh Mukherjee, whose comic timing and characterisation in the 70s were also spot-on, but who had the pulse of middle India, the Common Man, if you will.  But I do think Banerjee also has an evolved sense of storytelling that has evaded even the sharpest of his critics. Part of their misdirection lies in the fact that Banerjee overtly credits the movie’s inspiration as the novel Z by Vasilis Vasilikos, and the corresponding film adaptation by Costa Gavras. Many critics say Shanghai doesn’t match up to its source material. Fair enough. Maybe it wasn’t meant to? More and more criticism has emerged about the so-called realism of the film, and that the characters are caricatures, stereotypes of the most trite kind, etc. I think many of these critics have missed the point. Shanghai is not meant to be realistic cinema, and certainly not ‘unduly serious’. In fact, the film overflows with irony, satire and parody, all handled through one main strategy – subversion.

People smarter and better-researched than I am have explored subversion in media arts, and the best exposition I found was this article by Łukasz Ronduda. Please read it all to get an illuminating perspective on subversion, but  let me quote some pertinent aspects that he mentions:

The term subversion… has a dual meaning, and both senses of it are fundamentally critical. The etymology of the word (from the Latin sub “from below” + vertere “to turn”) suggests that criticism can be a physical act: overturning an object, transforming it – even destroying it – in the process of appropriation. Subversion in this sense can be understood as a method or technique for creating a work of art through the decontextualization and recontextualization of existing images from art or from the broader visual culture.

Shanghai is decontextualised from the get-go. Bharat Nagar is a fictional small town that could be any city in India (despite the 2-hour from Delhi statement in the film), and the very first visual of the film says exactly that — a city with a visibly developed, planned, ‘civilised’ area and equally visible ramshackle, chaotic slums in what seem to be clearly demarcated localities. This is the modern Indian city — it doesn’t matter which city. And yet through his images and locations, Banerjee goes on to show us the specifics of our city, of areas that ‘respectable’ people wouldn’t venture out to past a certain hour, of homes with tall walls that certain people are kept out of and of a constant rousing ‘morcha’ in the subaltern streets (protest/strike) that refuses to abate no matter what the issue is. We recontextualise Bharat Nagar in our own mind, with the shops and gallis of our own neighbourhood, with slums and protests that we have known in our ‘ilaaka’.

Ronduda also quotes an important point made by Grzegorz Dziamsk, who says:

“Subversion entails imitating the object of criticism, or even identifying with it, but with a subtle shift in meaning. The moment when the meanings shift is not always evident to the viewer. It isn’t direct criticism; it is criticism full of ambiguity.”

Who is Shanghai criticising? The corrupt overlords or the sometimes-for-sale, sometimes-exploited morally convenient masses, or the self-absorbed reformers and social workers fighting for the underclass? Is the film criticising one of them or all of them? We start with identifying with Koechlin’s somewhat blandly-portrayed Shalini, who is ominously informed that her mentor and former teacher may be killed, and automatically transfer our identification to Dr. Ahmedi, who as it turns out is not at all likeable. He enjoys women, he lives a good life in New York but he comes all the way to India claiming to represent protesting slum-dwellers. He also understands the value of drama, and so, despite being stoned (as in hit by a stone, not the other more pleasurably benign state), takes to a stage with oft-heard, black and white statements about development and revolution. Are we really upset by the accident that severely injures him? Not so much. And then before the tension can be heightened, we abruptly meet Jogi (a fabulously sleazy Emraan Hashmi) who is the observer of the unfolding events. He’s repulsive, opportunistic, physically off-putting and all too real. And then, when the dust settles, we meet the staid and respectable Krishnan, an understated IAS man who ticks all the boxes of respectable bureaucrats – bland personality, stickler for by-the-book procedures, dislikes complications and morally ambiguous. Even as the visuals zip by us, we are no longer sure who is protagonist and who is antagonist, who has our sympathies, who we want punished. All our expectations of these characters are subverted. The dislikeable people are on the side of right, the likeable people commit crimes, the police are incompetent, the bureaucratic method seems competent, but who can really tell which is which at this point?

Let me also quote another point made by Ronduda about what he calls the ‘subversive strategy’:

A strategy combines both the theoretical aspect of artistic activity – the artistic agenda or concept – and the practical one (the methods and techniques for carrying out the agenda or concept). In the broadest terms, a strategy is the combination of standpoint and technique, as postulated by Benjamin; thus, following this same line of thought, I regard subversive strategies in the field of media arts as the combination of certain subversive techniques (for example found footage, video scratch and software art) with specific artistic positions and concepts (such as critical or analytical art).

It is in this aspect that I find Shanghai severely lacking. Considering Banerjee’s last brilliant experiment with Love, Sex aur Dhoka (LSD) I’d expected him to meddle with camerawork, with the use of a particular medium to tell a particular story. LSD was full  of experimental media such as digital handy-cams and CCTV cameras that were used brilliantly to tell the stories of its subjects, but in this case Shanghai subverts nothing of traditional storytelling. I suspect the use of Greek cinematographer Nikos Andritsakis has something to do with this, but coming from Banerjee, it’s still disappointing. For the media-saturated landscape of Indian cities, experimental cinematography would have made this narrative much edgier and much more relevant.

But Banerjee still infuses his screenplay with a subversive narration, mainly with two techniques — interruptions and the motif of cleaning. The early parts of the film are rife with tense or emotionally heightened moments being interrupted by a peripheral event. It starts with the gori dancer landing on a private airstrip almost overbalancing on her stilettos, a pronounced hitch in her stride. Her interaction with the press is interrupted by Dr. Ahmedi. It continues with her Imported Kamariya routine, which halts within 20 seconds when an important minister arrives late and is ushered to his seat before the act resumes. A minister in the middle of a photoshoot is interrupted into taking a crucial phone call. Then there is Dr. Ahmedi’s speech to the masses on a mike that is repeatedly interrupted by feedback. Then when he’s rushed to the hospital post-accident, and Shalini aggressively questions Jogi as to how the accident could have happened at all, a nurse butts in to tell them, “Yeh hospital hai. Please bahar jaake fighting kijiye.” Afterwards, when Krishnan is interrogating police officers as part of the official inquiry, he is interrupted by an outraged Shalini who accuses the police of foreknowledge, and she in turn is interrupted by an out of turn basketball hurled through the window and an official saying “Yeh khelna ki jagah nahi hai”. Outside the same office, as both Krishnan and Shalini stomp off, their strides are halted by a slippery floor.

This irritated me initially as I felt Banerjee was deliberately stunting our emotional engagement with the characters; each time things got intense, we were made to disengage with some random aside. The process of disengagement and re-engagement though, is an important sign of how Banerjee mocks realist cinema, that depends on uninterrupted smooth storytelling. Banerjee is deliberately subverting our narrative expectations keeping us off-guard as to what might happen next.

Another similar motif is the cleaning. Shalini is warned about the danger to Dr. Ahmedi by a maid dusting her bookshelf. When Dr. Ahmedi lands and arrives in Shalini’s home, she obsessively is cleaning her mirror. When Krishnan moves into his office, there is a flurry of dusting and sweeping going on inside. When he and Shalini storm out of the room, there is heavy mopping right outside the office.  When Krishnan is at his residence dwelling on the complexity of his case, someone is cleaning a massive empty swimming pool in the backyard. Over and over, it seems to indicate a strange compulsion of people wanting to keep their surroundings clean while the events get more and more murky and polluted. There is a certain futility shown by the task of cleaning, which is contrasted by the earliest scene where the face of a chubby bookseller is blackened in slow motion for selling Dr. Ahmedi’s loud book. Banerjee heightens the scene of the face-blackening, and follows with the repetitive cleaning actions to almost underscore the pointless actions we engage in when the damage has been done.

Dr. Ahmedi’s character was the weakest link in this story to me. If Banerjee wanted to emphasise subversion, it would have made even more sense to make the character not just Western in his approach, but also a Westerner, in light of the number of writers from the west who have made India’s development the focus of their  criticism. In fact, think of non-fiction books on slums and development, and the most recent one immediately pops into the mind – Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death  and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity by Katherine Boo, which has been criticised for colluding with the neoliberal narrative, just as the slumdwellers I mentioned above felt that Shanghai does.

There is one final point I’d like to use Ronduda for with reference to Hal Foster in his book Subversive Sign, about critical artists practicing subversion in the 1980s:

“each treats the public space, social representation or artistic language in which he or she intervenes as both a target and a weapon. This shift in practice entails a shift in position: the artist becomes a manipulator of signs more than a producer of art object”

This is probably the point that highlights the anti-realism of Banerjee best. Like I said earlier, this is not a realistic film, it only represents realistic events, but the narrative is entirely subversive and Banerjee’s intention is to manipulate signs such as Bharat Nagar, IBP, progress, morchas and corruption and to subvert our film-watching experience. In a way, the film’s predictability and cynicism becomes a subversion of its own. The man who colludes with the state is at the end displaced and betrayed by the state through his own hands by the time we reach the climax. This represents the paradox of the Indian state  and its machinations perfectly.

I think there is an expectation in Bollywood that any film that is ‘art’, has to fit in the realist cinema movement of the 80s, that removed any semblance of entertainment or tight storytelling, instead choosing to represent real-life issues and characters with high-level precision. But I like what Rebecca West once said against realism — “A copy of the universe is not what is required of art; one of the damned thing is ample.”

Shanghai does not fit the realism bill. Instead, think of it as a filmic version of Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four; where they had a Ministry of Truth that was anything but truthful, this film has a political party ‘India Bane Pardes’, which clearly mocks that lunacy. It’s a satire, black comedy at its newest, and maybe needs to be done better, but it’s a damn good start.

I don’t think there is any better way to end than quote Ronduda’s article AGAIN, but in the specific words of Józef Robakowski who in his subversive paper I Manipulate, says:

“In art, ‘playing at manipulation’ is an unworthy and exceptionally shameful notion. It is generally felt that a true artist is a sincere person who experiences deep feelings about his or her own existence, and who is rooted in great suffering and passion. An artist is a distinct, specially endowed ODDITY, shrouded in the mystery of his or her own peculiar ways. At the same time, the question of whether or not I am an artist is of enormous interest to me. Because I can state categorically that throughout the entire life of my art, I have been feeding on manipulation that serves to blur my personal image. I’m convinced that an artist is a kind of deceitful fraud, a social canker, whose lifeblood is manipulation for his or her own ends, as a defense against annihilation – that is, against public acceptance and recognition.”

In my Part 2  post, I hope to examine Gangs of Wasseypur under the scanner of subversion — I think Kashyap is much more of a social canker and manipulator than Banerjee, and I also think Gangs of Wasseypur may be the most intelligent tribute to Bollywood (far more than the silly Om Shanti Om) and also possibly my favouritest movie in Hindi ever. Unfortunately, I have to wait to watch part 2  for at least a month, and so will you.

The film excavates some ground realities of one of the most cynical n controversial subject of Indian politics that mirrors the disparities between exploited grass roots and the booming/aspiring economy. The strength of Shanghai lies in its script and thoughtful execution, without any sensationalism, happy ever afters or crass violence. The screenplay is intricate and highlights the subtle nuances in every scene. There’s a right balance of off beat and commercial story telling and that is what makes this a clear winner! None of the characters are glorified or overpowering and blend well within the story. Emraan Hashmi is quite a revelation. Kalki is decent. Abhay Deol’s versatility comes across as his biggest strength as an actor. Faruq Sheikh is quite convincing. Watch it if you’re up for some serious cinema and solid performances. 3.75 stars!
PS: Prakhash Jha could take some lessons from Dibakar Banerjee the next time he attempts a ‘realistic’ issue.

I managed to catch this movie a week later, sitting in a plush multilex with occupancy way below even 50%. Even before I could watch the movie, I was greeted by an usher who happened to be someone I knew. “Dude! Why are you watching this movie? It sucks! Should’ve watched Rowdy Rathore instead .” [Now here's the thing about we Indians, its our birth right to give 'valuable' advice to anyone we know(Or don't) to anyone who has asked (or hasn't). We are everywhere, from choosing our next President to eliminating some douchebag on a douchey show called Big Boobs (or is it big boss?!. Whatever.)]
Nonetheless, I did watch the movie and oh boy, I was mighty impressed.

Shanghai is an example of ‘Intelligent cinema’. A movie backed by strong characters, real emotions, and lauding performances. As the director, Dibakar Banerjee, said in an interview, the dots aren’t joined for us. We are given a situation, some hints, some reactions, and onto the next scene. Touted as a political thriller, it does live upto that, well almost. Shanghai ‘s biggest merit is that it dares to move out of the typical Bollywood cliche of characterisation. Like, one of the male protagonist, Joginder Parmar (played effortlessly by Emraan Hashmi) isn’t a suave muscle flexing man who shoves people in a gravity defying way, enough for Newton to cringe and swear his law in the grave. But instead he is a small time photographer/pornographer(!) who is a coward but does a heroic act and again goes back to being the same. The female lead played by Kalki Koechlin (who shouts and stares the crap outta people, though delivering a commendable performance) is not shown running around trees wearing chiffon sarees. And the biggest win is the portrayal of Abhay Deol’s character who inspite of being a tamilian, does not even once utter the word Aiiyyo!, a word that bollywood has made a-must for tamil characters (referring a bengali as ‘babumushaye’ and ending every sentence with a ‘Hayo Rabba’ for Punjabis being an example)

Sure it does have drawbacks. If you are familiar with politics, you won’t be surprised with the proceedings at all. It does not tell us anything new. Yet the way in which it unfolds, is where Dibakar and the movie succeeds. It does not give us solutions, but leaves us with the bitter state of our country’s politics.

The reason for Shanghai’s poor box office collection is because it chose NOT to be dumb like Salman’s Bodyguard, Shahrukh’s Ra.One, and Akshay Kumar’s well, every movie. When the movie ended, the guy next to me said to his friend “Arey what? No song at the end?? Where’s that Emraan hashmi’s sad song? Shucks this is bad.” Now this is the problem with Shanghai, it’s not in-your-face entertaining, nor has slap stick comedy, nor romantic songs in its proceedings. It’s on the same lines as that of Rockstar, complicated, different and intelligent. And here’s why I applaud Mr. Banerjee, for breaking the stereotype and giving us a good intelligent film, if not great.
We need directors like him who can challenge the audience, make them think and not the ones who believe “Our audience will not accept this.”

A baby cannot be fed on biscuits forever,he needs to be given nutritious food.
As of now, the baby is Indian Audience, Biscuits are a bunch of pretentious fun movies that we are expected to like and nutrition? Well, Shanghai.

Directed by Dibakar Banerjee, Shanghai stars Abhay Deol, Emraan Hashmi, and Kalki Koechlin. — Courtesy Photo

Vassilis Vassilikos’ novel ‘Z’ (and its film adaptation by Costa Gavras) is principally de-humoured and Indianised (not Bollywoodised), in “Shanghai”, the new political thriller featuring a subdued AbhayDeol and EmranHashmi in a potbelly.

A prominent anti-corporate social activist (Prosenjit Chatterjee) is run over, by — hold your breath for the reveal — a reigning political party’s plan. The head of the IAS (a gritty, in-control Farroq Sheikh) wants the investigating officer — played with intelligently drafted conviction, and a subdued South Indian accent by AbhayDeol — to tie up the case pronto. The case is a dud, with torn police reports and no plausible evidence. The activist’s comrade, played by Kalki Koechlin, wants justice. Mistakenly videotaped evidence is lost somewhere in the one room studio of part time-pornographer (Emran Hashmi bearing stained teeth, a half-wit sadak-chaap attitude and a potbelly).

Connecting the dots takes an hour and 54 minutes by wiz director Dibakar Banerjee, whose heavy-handed thriller is inexplicably titled “Shanghai”. Now, I know the film introduces an unrefined explanation during, and at the end of the film, but still, “Shanghai” makes little sense.

Like Kahaani, “Shanghai”, is an edgy thriller stretched tight by its inflexible, painfully rationalized screenplay by Urmi Juvekar and Banerjee, and its close-quartered, hand-held cinematography by Nikos Andritsakis.

Far from being a byproduct of a group’s canny collaboration (like last week’s release “Ferrari Ki Sawaari” “Shanghai” differs itself by being an auteurs work. And in being one, the movie is shanghaied by Banerjee’s aesthetic calls — apt, shrewd and austere as they are.

The film runs engagingly enough (though 15 minutes less would have been better), and its payoff, though clichéd and predictable from the get-go, is sharply set-up to inflict a hard-hit just before the end credits. But the hit never connects because of the film’s one-track pace. In creating a tense-thriller, Banerjee forgets to add points of emotional release into the pacing of the picture, which creates a passionless distance with the audience.

Still, there’s a ton to appreciate in “Shanghai”. The performances by Prosenjit Chatterjee, Abhay Deol and by Emran Hashmi are unimpeachable.

The gradations in their persona’s anchors the film in a pseudo-stark-reality that is easily capable of dumbfounding a thinking man into thinking there’s a deeper depth in the movie than what we perceive.

So, of course we’re bamboozled a little, but if new-Bollywood  filmmakers are this crafty on hoodwinking, I don’t mind being duped at all.

Last Friday saw the release of Dibakar Banerjee’s Shanghai. The film was released on approximately 1000 screens by PVR Pictures. The film opened to below par collections in the multiplexes and the single screens were disastrous.

*All figures in Crore (INR).

Although the film grew on Saturday but again Sunday was completely flat. So, the weekend closed at about Rs 12cr. This figure is below par for a film like Shanghai. Monday onwards it was all downhill and the week closed at Rs 17.5cr.

Economics: Shanghai’s landing cost is Rs 28.5cr. (It includes cost of production, marketing, promotion, print, digital rent and publicity cost). Its satellite and music rights were sold at Rs 10.75cr and few circuits were sold to independent distributors for Rs 4cr. So, the producers had recovered 50% of their investment before release. Leaving only the balance 50% to be recovered from theatres, that am afraid is not going to happen. As the 1st weeks distributor shares are in the tune of Rs 8cr only, leaving the balance Rs 6cr to be still recovered. It would be safe to assume that despite all the hedging done by the producers, Shanghai has bombed! All said and done, this film despite being a flop will be Dibakar Banerjee’s biggest money spinner till date, overtaking his previous films like Khosla Ka Ghosla (Rs 3cr Lifetime), Oye Lucky Lucky Oye (Rs 6.5cr Lifetime) and Love Sex Aur Dhokha (Rs7.5cr Lifetime). As, Shanghai has made more money in its 1st week then these films did in their entire run combined. Ironical.

On the other hand Mr Rathore, joined the ‘100cr Club’ on Sunday, making it the 4th fastest film to do so. It continues to collect well across the country. Circuits that were underperforming initially have also joined the Rowdy party. In Gujarat(a bastion of comedies), the film is all set to become the 2nd highest grosser ever. In Bihar and Rajasthan it might emerge the biggest ever.

Rowdy collected the 3rd biggest 2nd weekend in the history of Indian Cinema, a massive Rs22cr(behind 3idiots and Dabaang) . It’s 2nd Week has closed at a whooping Rs 35cr, taking its 2 weeks total to 113cr. This South remake seems set for a 130-140cr finish, which will make it 4th on the all time list.

*All figures in Crore (INR).

That brings us to the question, despite having good reviews why didn’t Shanghai take off? Many theories are doing the round, I will try and list down the ones I feel worked against it.

• First Look: The films first promo was dull and gave the viewer an impression that the film is slow, dry and boring. The songs that were released were given too much importance in terms of airtime and they weren’t really blockbusters. The item song inclusion seemed like a desperate bid to excite the viewers.
• Emraan Hashmi: Mr Hashmi has a certain image and a reputation to live upto, his presence here added confusion in the minds of the viewers. Dibakar Banerjee and Abhay Deol’s sensibilities are poles apart from where Hashmi comes from, both the respective audiences got a little wary of the product.
• Rowdy Rathore factor: Mr Rathore is on a rampage, the film has held onto every single screen where it was released and all the country’s good single screen are in its clutches. Giving Shanghai a poor chain of cinemas across the country and a weak product needs to be showcased well to have any chance. Even in the plexes Rowdy has retained lot of screen space. Giving Shanghai very little breathing space. Plus, Rathore continues to do well in its 2^nd week.

So, Shanghai ended Hashmi’s  dream run at the boxoffice  and  Rowdy brought back Khiladi Kumar in the reckoning.  I have also learned that Akshay has signed up for the Malayalam smash ‘Pokkirri Raja’(Mamooty starrer).  I guess South remakes are here to stay or is it just one of those phases?

Related articles

• Ferrari Ki Sawari: A Bumpy Ride at the Box-Office
• The Amazing Spider-Man shatters records
• Teri Meri Kahaani tanks at the Box-Office, Gangs of Wasseypur survives
• Rowdy Rathore: 1 per cent audience, 100 per cent blockbuster

The story of Shanghai takes place in a fictional town of “Bharatnagar”. The government is determined to clean the slums at the heart of the city and build a world class business center with high rises called “International Business Park (IBP)”. The opposition is weak and comes from the poor residents of Bharatnagar who are represented by a popular left wing activist Dr Ahmadi (played by veteran Bengali actor Prosenjit Chatterjee).  Ahmadi is mowed down by a truck after delivering a speech, and the incident is quickly attributed to drunk driving. The driver is nabbed, the truck seized, condolences given and case is shut, until pressed by popular demand government sets up a mock investigation headed by bureaucrat T. A. Krishnan (Abhay Deol). The investigation is supposed to be open and shut until Krishnan starts to dig deeper, helped by a local videographer Joginder Parmar (Emran Hashmi) and Ahmadi’s student, muse and follower- Shalini (Kalki Koechlin).

After Vishal Bhardwaj’s masterful adaptation of Shakespeare in Maqbool and Omkara, Dibakar Banerjee’s Shanghai is yet another brilliant adaptation of a western work – the Greek author Vassilis Vassilikos’s “Z”- as the starting credits boldly announce. The novel, and its famous 1969 adaptation by Greek filmmaker Costa Gavras, dealt with the classic anti- leftist sentiment of the 60s over the subject of disarmament. (Interestingly Costa Garvas’s “Z” began with the disclaimer that “Any resemblance to real events, to persons dead or living, is not accidental. It is INTENTIONAL”). Dibakar’s adaptation is an intelligent potpourri of sorts. He takes the blueprint of the narrative from “Z”, paints it in Indian context with the backdrop of dirty coalition politics, but pulls the core of the issue from China.  The government’s forceful evacuation of slums at measly settlement benefits to build a glitzy business hub reeks of the famous (and widely criticized) “slum clearance” of 90s that happened in Shanghai to convert the city into how it is seen today. (Are you still wondering why the movie was called Shanghai?) The good: Shanghai’s transformation became a symbol China’s arrival into international business arena as an economic superpower. The bad: the slum dwellers of Shanghai have disappeared into oblivion. Depending on where you stand – right or left – you will weigh “the good” and “the bad” differently.

We saw Dibakar Banerjee’s immense talent in Khosla ka Ghosla and Oye lucky! Lucky Oye, but “Shanghai” is his coming of age film. Shanghai comes from extremely dark recesses of Dibakar’s mind. The world of Shanghai is hopeless; evil is supreme and lurks large. Even the hostile world of Gotham city would feel like fairy tale to the dwellers of Bharatnagar. The authoritarian, heavy handed leadership in Shanghai is reminiscent of the chancellor’s regime from V for Vendetta. The roving van with loudspeaker announcing curfew late at night reminds of the “A yellow coded curfew is now in effect” warnings from V for Vendetta.

Dibakar’s tale is rich in symbolism and reflects his strong eye for detail. The name itself, while a reminder of Shanghai’s slum clearance, also paints the picture of India’s (or rather Indian’s) willingness to outgrow China. The leaders of Bharatnagar want to convert it into “Shanghai” and not “London” or “New York”. During a dance performance to celebrate IBP, the same acronym seems to be translated as “India Bana Pardes” (India transformed into abroad) on a banner at the back of the stage.  In another scene as Krishnan commission is trying to unearth the truths behind the accident in a shabby block, the peon is seen mopping the floor – a symbolism of layers and layers of cover up. Next, bureaurcrats are seen slipping on the wet floor, symbolizing how prone they are to the system on one hand, and their susceptibility – despite all their might – to the common man on the other (after all it was just a peon who left the floor wet).

Performances in the movie are very strong. Abhay Deol mesmerizes in his apt portrayal of a South Indian bureaucrat posted in North India. He sport a clean cut moustache and his accent has just a slight bit of Tamil flavor (Shahrukh Khan please take note – eating pasta with curd using bare hands is not the only way). Prosenjit is powerful in his brief role as Dr Ahmadi and establishes himself quickly as such a strong beacon of hope for the residents of Bharatnagar that his accident and incapacitation makes you feel the void he leaves behind. Farooque sheikh, once again, is remarkable and extremely believable in his portrayal of a single minded and shrewd senior bureaucrat. His role as Kaul reminds of his performance as mantirji in Yes Minister’s Indian TV adaptation Ji Mantriji. And a great director can make anyone act they say (remember Abhishek Bachchan before Yuva and in Yuva?). Dibakar even managed to get Emran Hashmi – the erstwhile serial kisser – to shine as a dimwitted videographer (cum pornographer).

Dibakar’s conclusion of his tale was equally masterful as his crafting of the narrative (And if you have not seen the movie yet, you are better off skipping this last paragraph as there is a bit of a spoiler in here). While the movie is largely seen from the lens of the “sufferers”, those who want Justice for Dr Ahmadi and for the residents of Bharatnagar, Dibakar lets you munch on the contra view at the very end. Kaul’s final lines to Krishnan – “Is this your idea of justice, the CM could have become PM and we could have outgrown China” suddenly provides a much needed breadth to Dibakar’s tale. These lines evoke the right winger in you and let you judge the issue for yourself depending on your political view. As Dibakar recently said in an interview – “My job was to just throw the ball at you”.

Pithy dialogues

Casting coup: Abhay Deol & Emraan Hashmi

Prosenjit

Opening scene

Dibakar Banerjee

What Went Wrong –

Songs that went missing like Jogi

Songs that were there: clumsy with no impact

No twists, no surprises, no mystery

Projecting the movie as a thriller during promotions

I hope the review has been as subtle

but pointed in its style in keeping with

that of the movie.

The disclaimer at the beginning of Z, which reads: “Any similarity to real events, to persons dead or living is not coincidental. It is INTENTIONAL”

[Note: this post contains spoilers for Shanghai and Z, strong language, and bullet points]

Images: Jacques Perrin as the journalist in Z, Emraan Hashmi as the videographer in Shanghai

Some differences between the two films that bothered me:

• Changing the circumstances of the assault – in the original, The Deputy dies not from being run over by the truck, but from a blow to the head he receives from the man in the back of the truck. This revelation during an autopsy is what spurs the Examining Magistrate to keep pursuing the investigation. Without this detail, the investigation in Shanghai felt pretty pointless and toothless.
• Related to this, in the original The Deputy dies within a day or two of the assault (about half way through the film). This casts a pall over the second half of the film, and significantly raises the stakes of the investigation. Having Dr. Ahmedi die only at the end of Shanghai was anti-climactic and lowered the stakes of the investigation.
• Dr. Ahmedi’s affair with Shalini. By not making his character a good guy and an explicitly viable threat/alternative to the ruling party, Shanghai gives us less reason to care about his assault and the subsequent investigation. Also: is it so hard to believe that a woman would support a political cause if she isn’t fucking its leader? Give me a break. ALSO: two out of three female characters in the film and they have an acrimonious relationship over a man? I’m so tired of this shit.

Images: Irene Papas as Helene, The Deputy’s wife in Z, Kalki Koechlin as Shalini in Shanghai

• Not sure why Emraan Hashmi’s character was made a sleazy videographer instead of an opportunistic journalist like in the original, except for laughs and titillation. Similarly, why make Abhay Deol’s character a Tamilian if it isn’t going to relate to the story in some way, and if no-one is even going to comment on it? (To me, this is like having a movie set in Toronto and all the characters are from Toronto except for one who is from Newfoundland and no-one even says anything about it – totally unrealistic and pointless).
• Finally, maybe this was clearer in the film and was just lost in translation in the subtitles, but the location of the story was confusing. I spent most of the film thinking it was set in Mumbai and that “Bharat Nagar” was the name of the neighbourhood that was being razed to make way for the business complex. Towards the end of the film I started to doubt this assumption and wonder where the film was actually supposed to be taking place – and was surprised when I read in some reviews of the film that “Bharat Nagar” was the name of the whole town. I think this could have been made much clearer, along with where, exactly, in India the town was supposed to be located.

Images: Jean-Louis Trintignant as The Examining Magistrate in Z, Abhay Deol as the high-ranking bureaucrat in Shanghai

This isn’t to say that Shanghai isn’t a good movie, because it is. It’s certainly very stylish – I especially liked the dramatic black-and-red Devanagari title card, the really excellent background music by Mikey McCleary, and the cinematography. Some scenes that stood out for me:

• Kalki Koechlin’s face lit only by the light of her cell phone screen, followed by a shot of Emraan Hashmi with the light of his cell phone visible through the pocket of his shirt.
• The tracking shot of Kalki and Emraan’s characters sneaking through the city after curfew, past all the storefronts with their gates down.
• Another tracking shot, this one showing a post-riot street and revealing Bhagu’s body.
• And Emraan’s frantic dash with the computer tower toward Kalki and the waiting rickshaw.

Those last three, with their sense of dread and touch of surrealism, actually reminded me of Alfonso Cuarón’s excellent film Children of Men. And there was one change from the original that I actually really liked – in Gavras’s Z on the night of The Deputy’s assault the elite of the town have gathered at a performance of the visiting Bolshoi Ballet, while in Banerjee’s Shanghai they are taking in the performance of an “imported” item girl. I thought that was a clever and sly update.

Images: my favourite shot from Z, just because, and Scarlett Wilson as the item girl in Shanghai

However, the bottom line is this – in Z you can feel Costa Gavras’s outrage over what had happened in his native Greece. I was fully expecting to feel a similar outrage in Dibakar Banerjee’s film, but it just wasn’t there. Banerjee has crafted a stylish political drama – it isn’t really a thriller, as the stakes aren’t nearly high enough, mostly for the reasons I mentioned above – but it seems to me he squandered his opportunity to make a scathing movie about dirty politics, and that’s a shame.

Z ends with a list of things banned by the Greek military junta

Dibakar is a fine filmmaker. It’s evident from his work that he makes a very conscious effort that his next is very different (and better) from his previous. His first movie, Khosla ka Ghosla, was a drama with a classic three stage act. Then came ‘Oye Lucky..’ which I believe is one level higher because it was entertaining despite having no story and no conflict. I mean, the camera essentially follows the chor around for two hours. The third film, LSD was truly path breaking. Nothing like that had been tried in Indian cinema. With every new project Banerjee has showed growth in his technique and the quality of entertainment delivered.

As you can tell, I had been eagerly waiting for Shanghai, for over a year. It was initially scheduled to release on January 26th this year, but did not. The news was that Dibakar wanted to re-shoot some of the scenes. So after a long wait of six more months, I finally got to see it and I liked it. Can’t say I loved it. But I honestly liked it.

The cinematography by Nikos Andritsakis appears real-life like in terms of lighting, with some nice, continuous, hand held shots. The set design is awesome which further adds to the realty experience. There is different joy in seeing a good actor (Farooque Shaikh) return on screen in a meaningful role. Abhay’s subtle Tamilian accent and Emraan’s stained incisors and street side mannerisms are a signature of Dibakar’s astute observation and sophisticated expression.

And now about things that did not work for me as an audience. The story and screenplay in the movie is flat. There simply is not enough tension in the storyline to keep you engaged. It’s a premise you have been to several times and you wait for that, you know, something new, and disappointingly there is none. It falls somewhere in between documentary and fiction, if you know what I mean. You appreciate the gravity of the subject but it fails to entertain you like a movie would. It’s not uncommon for great directors to find themselves in a situation like this after having made a few films, when they try to cut down the artificiality of the ‘drama’ alongside their quest towards perfecting their craft and technique. The end result is something like a ‘Shanghai’.

Well, all said and done, ‘Shanghai’ is still a good movie. It’s sad to see movies like Rowdy Rathore, House full 2, Golmaal 3, Bodyguard, Ready and the re-make of Agneepath do better business. Sigh. If you’re waiting for me to give a star rating (for the sake of comparison, Khosla, Oye Lucky and LSD were 5 out of 5) I think I would give ‘Shanghai’ 3 out of 5 stars and request the Indian government to impose a heavy fine on the makers of brain-dead comedies.

This last month I realized how the enjoyment (or not) of a movie is fraught with dangers. Before you even buy a ticket you’re bombarded with opinions all and sundry, and to go against the tide on a social networking site is akin to poking a beehive.

Take Hugo. I expected to like it so much that I avoided reviews and reports like the plague (though now that I think about it, psychotherapists would tell me I had been quite certain I would dislike it). I was laughably disappointed because for me, the movie never began.

Ironically, the polar opposite happened with Shanghai. I was so confident of loving it that I sought out every bit of available information from talk shows, reviews and making-of segments (psychotherapists world over nod knowingly). Here’s what I got – fast-paced political thriller, brilliant performances across board (some barred Kalki from this praise), average rating 4/5.

I caught the movie much earlier than I usually do – on its first Sunday – but it so happens that I also gave it the worst reception any creative maker can get: bored.

                                      Yes I was bored. Shanghai is an exceptionally well-made film but unfortunately, the story is so straightforward I was shifting about in my seat waiting for it to go somewhere. There’s no mystery. I knew the good doctor was murdered by politicians not because of any brilliant deduction on my part but because the promos had made it crystal clear. It’s no fast-paced thriller either. The interval was the most startling event in the first 40-odd minutes since only ho-hum motivations and dead bodies had been stacked up so far. If you ask me, the interval should be bumped off as succinctly as these characters.

Political activist Dr. Ahmedi (Prosenjit) is an inconvenience to the dominative political party in a small town, and is duly killed. His lover and student Shalini (Kalki) is compelled, more by personal loss than ideals, to prove the accident was no accident. A pornographer who moonlights as a journalist Jogi (Emraan), excited by a sudden proximity to pale skin, offers her taped evidence. IAS officer Krishnan (Abhay) is pressurized to put a quick and clean end to the investigation. Jogi’s partner is bumped off, giving him a stronger motivation than love for white leather to locate lost evidence. He locates it. Krishnan uses it fittingly. The end.

LSD has more tension than this one.

If there’s any reason for me to love Shanghai, even now in my disappointment, it is its maker.

While I was serving time in film journalism, Dibakar Banerjee had told me that he wanted to gradually say more while showing less. He has done that exquisitely with Shanghai. With him, God is in the details, and it is these details that delight me. He is a relentless, even ruthless, watcher of life. Where Dibakar the director is concerned, Shanghai is leaps beyond his previous work. If I hadn’t walked into it expecting to be on the edge of my seat, I might have warmed to it.

And yes, performances are pitch-perfect, though not across board. This has probably become a cliché by now but Emraan Hashmi made me go all warm and fuzzy inside (less sexual, more maternal) (yes I have to clarify). Abhay Deol is fantastic and I would have bowed if he had worked on his accent better. Proshenjit has made Ahmedi memorable with just 15-odd minutes of screen-time. The weakest link is Kalki. According to Dibakar (in a TV interview), Shalini is the character who drives all the plot points but she is the character I remember the least. I suspect the half-baked impact is not Shalini’s doing but Kalki’s; she’s good, but somewhere out there is an actor overlooked who would have done full and total justice to the character.

                                         What I regret most is that Dibakar’s sense of humour has fallen prey to the law of diminishing returns. His anger – the one common factor in all his films as different as they are from each other – has steadily sloughed off the skippy humor of Khosla ka Ghosla until it’s now reduced to the cynic’s chafing. This is undoubtedly Dibakar’s darkest film.

 But …his punchline is on me. I found myself royally cheesed off as I exited the theatre and the reason was none of the above. It’s because I was cheated of Emraan’s lover-boy act. The two songs in the movie were clumsy appendages, and the two others were entirely missing. 

Truth is, every time Khudaaya and Duaa played on TV and I saw a helpless Emraan mooning over the unattainable white girl, a part of me willfully melted. Ironic that I should choose to admit this first on a public forum.

So congratulations, Dibakar. With Shanghai, you led me up the garden path in ways I hadn’t imagined. I will remember this.

Sitting in the hall with my friends, surrounded by a largely docile audience, I was quietly hoping that Shanghai would blow me off my seat with its rustic appeal and its grippy plot. I was blown off my seat alright, but for entirely different reasons. Dibakar Banerjee’s realistic approach combined with intellectual put-shots at the functioning of Indian bureaucracy welcomed me with a whiff of fresh air.

Shanghai is a political thriller/drama based on the Greek novel ‘Z’ written by Vassilis Vassilikos. I think it’s more of a drama as the thriller aspects are under-stated given the predictability of the plot. It’s a simple story, treated immaculately with strong attention to detail.  The plot surrounds the murder of a socialist/political activist (Prosenjit Chatterjee) followed by the Government establishing an enquiry committee to investigate the incident to ascertain the nature of the accident. The supporters of the murdered activist demand a probe into the highly plausible killing of their leader, who raised his voice against the devious atrocities of the Government.

Each character is woven finely into the narration with strong doses of reality attributed to every person involved in the story-telling. There is a strict avoidance of unnecessary glamour and an instantaneous identification with the rationally genuine Bharat Nagar, the city on the brink of becoming the next Shanghai. Bureaucratic delays, inefficiencies of the police force, illegal demonstration of political power, helplessness of the poor and authentic representation of the common man; Banerjee gets it right in practically every department. He set out to direct a satire on the functioning of India proper and he nailed it marvellously. He is intricate with his scenes and his characters, and takes his time to reveal the slightest of nuances to establish his point.

Vishal-Shekhar score highly with their music. Although there are five songs in the movie, Banerjee films just two. He has picked a stunning ensemble of actors who elevate the movie to stratospheric heights. Abhay Deol plays his part as the repressed bureaucrat with conviction, Prosenjit Chatterjee is strong and motivational in the portrayal of the activist, Farook Sheikh pulls the strings as the CM’s right hand competently and Emraan Hashmi performs his role of a good hearted part-time pornographer commendably. In smaller roles, Supriya Pathak is dominative as the CM, Pitobash Tripathy pulls off the role of a road-side goon naturally and Ashok Pathak is simply fantastic. Yes, there are plenty of actors with fine talents. And sometimes, keeping track of them becomes a concern.

The movie is intentionally slow. But it appears a lot slower than it actually is. The humour is very subtle, save a couple of scenes, and the social message, if any, is not particularly clear. The movie requires a severe exertion of cognition and sometimes appears to be too intellectual for its own good. The ending seems rather convenient as well. Shanghai is the best movie, critically speaking, of 2012. Banerjee has cemented his name as an intelligent and mature film-maker. He gets it right for the most part. But had he attended to a few more significant facets with greater scrutiny, he might have transformed Shanghai into an outstanding movie.

Rating – 3.5/5

Director:

Dibakar Banerjee

Cast:

Emraan Hashmi as Joginder Parmar

Abhay Deol as T. A. Krishnan

Kalki Koechlin as Shalini Sahay

Prosenjit Chatterjee Dr. Ahmadi

Pitobash Tripathy as Bhagu

Farooq Sheikh as Kaul

Tillotama Shome as Mrs. Ahmedi

Music:

Vishal-Shekhar

Based on the novel ‘Z’ by Vassilis Vassilikos.

Story:

A small town somewhere in India is poised to become the next Shanghai. Billions of dollars are being poured into an upcoming International Business Park. On the eve of its launch a drunk truck driver mows down a prominent social activist. A lone girl believes it to be a murder, supported by a porn film maker who claims to have the proof that will bring the government down. A high ranking bureaucrat is brought in to investigate the accident.

Review:

Shanghai, is not your typical Bollywood movie. It doesn’t have the usual masala and the unnecessary dancing at every second. It has only two occasions where there were people dancing. It starts slow, but it has a good story. It was a good movie.

Kalki cannot act! And Abhay Deol cannot speak Tamil. Though he tries very hard he only pronounces certain words like tamilians. The movie has a good story line and the music was pretty good too. Emraan Hashmi is the only person who acts good (Strange!). The movie is like a documentary. When Krishnan, uses tact and cunning to get his superior to prosecute the minister, was the best scene in the movie.

The Directing by Dibakar Banerjee was pretty good. And the movie was pretty good too.

Final Verdict:

6.5/10

Many critics have called the movie a metaphor. For me, the movie was a metaphor and beyond. Set in an Indian periurban village/town, presumably in north or central India, Shanghai tells the story of an aspiration that the Indian state envisages for its cities; an aspiration which pits decades of faulty governance, lack of infrastructure and a volatile Indian public psyche against the clean, geometric facade of civilization, and corporate governance.

I won’t go much into the plot right now, mostly because I wish to keep this review spoiler free, and partly because I intend to go beyond that.

In many ways, Shanghai is about contrasts; more so, contradictions. Bharatnagar – the ground zero of the genesis, so to say is where Dr. Ali Ahmadi (a kurta-jhola-beard sporting Leftist played by Prosenjit) protests against the capitalist state turning the area into a SEZ. His detractors want him out. Not because of the ideological differences; because in India, politics is not about ideology anymore. It’s a numbers game, as we see the ruling coalition trying to keep its aspirations alive for this Shanghai – to the extent of murdering the doctor.

The principal characters Krishnan (Abhay Deol in his finest performance so far), Shalini (Kalki, who is more confused than anything) and Joginder (Emran Hashmi, a fine actor) are caught up in their own agendas; trying to find something to anchor themselves in the turbulent political climes of Bharatnagar. Yet, I would not call any of them protagonists; they’re characters, each organically placed in their roles, which makes the film’s progression more eased and natural without being caught up to explain their agendas. However what really contributes to the organic nature of the film is the fact that the supporting cast does a brilliant job; from the wily mandarin Kaul, to the Chief Minister and her coalition partner – his cronies, the cops and the plethora of angry political hooligans… It’s a myriad picture, both violent and vibrant, and certainly something from which you cannot turn away.

Cinematically, for me, the winning factor was the cinematography by Nikos Andritsakis. And frankly, for someone who managed to execute a movie like Love, Sex Aur Dhokha, I would’ve expected nothing short of brilliance from Banerjee. There was a constant nervousness in the camera movements, a sense of unpredictability as it captured both the loud morcha scenes, and the quiet, narrow, yet palpable curfewed streets of Bharatnagar. I spoke of contradictions earlier, and it’s notable that the cinematography contributes to the visual telling of these contradictions; the government offices, with glass doors, polished conference tables, and the municipal schools, non-functional toilets.

The score, I felt was apt for a movie as intense as Shanghai, and it is what really contributed to the intensity of the film. The most striking feature, however, was Banerjee’s use of silence to fill in the gaps – which I believe is the first of its kind I’ve ever come across in Hindi cinema. My only complaint was Vishal-Shekhar’s music which, despite sounding great in the promos on TV, did not have room in the film, and thus, resulted in a slightly jarring effect; the songs consumed more time than what was required.

Coming back to metaphors, I think Shanghai does more than just talk about the Indian state’s aspiration to compete with the world by converting its cities into Shanghais. It is a commentary on the inherent contradictions within the Indian state; contradictions between the welfare role of the state and its capitalistic nature. It is about more than just corruption in the system and the abuse of state power; the corruption runs far deeper, and into the Indian psyches itself. It is a commentary on the very nature of Indian politics. Elsewhere, I’ve mentioned that political parties today are no longer connected to an ideology – be it the right-wing BJP, or the so-called liberal Congress or the Left, or any of India’s regional parties – the politics of India in the 21st century is that of anti-ideology; about synthesizing a form by positioning itself against an ideology; increased westernization, neo-liberal policy, and so forth.

What makes Shanghai the film it is, is the fact that Banerjee manages to capture these fine nuances on screen, in its profoundness and yes, you guessed it, contradictions. For some reason, I think of Shanghai as a “muted” film, mostly because of its noted and brilliant use of silence, as I said before, and also because you feel a sense of futility, of being inured to its portrayal of corruption and state sponsored violence. The Delhi HC was right it calling it a accurate description of the state of affairs in India; look at the Jaitapur, or Raigad, districts earmarked to become the sites where India would usher in modernity and seal its place in the global economic order.

Shanghai is a warning bell for some alarmists, a time where the Indian state would sell the very people who elect governments to raze areas like Bharatnagar and make them into technological and information hubs, clean buildings, planned streets, and most of all, a populace which is the product of India’s neo-liberal values, who are at best passive consumers and at worse, a stupefied, silenced people. It is also something that would intrigue cynics, because it holds no bars in giving an honest account of the country — that we cannot do without corruption, that we cannot build a township, a sea-link, a sky-walk without our governments and bureaucrats having mud (and often, blood) on their hands. It talks about a genesis, of a violent kind, when our cities become the hallmarks of the modern global world order, in a crass Nehruvian manner of speaking.

This is the India of the 21st century; an amalgamation of contradictions. God, I love this country. And, it seems, the makers of Shanghai do so too. Shanghai is a rare gem of a movie. Many won’t like it, because it raises uncomfortable questions. Many like to see the glass as half full. But optimism would not change the fact that the water in it is dirty.

So long, and Bharat mata ki jai.

Written by Proshant Chakraborty.

This is all I have to say when it comes to review.

The best review of the movie according to me is :

http://www.indianexpress.com/news/shanghai/959572/0

Just come back after watching this film and it makes me think of my emotional journey as I sat through the narration.

Yes emotional. Why because one flawless aspect of the film was the fact that it was very Indian in nature. Though, it is inspired by the French political novel ‘Z’, but the aggression, character, flow of the story was so close to the reality!

I can still feel the sadness and remorse I felt when the song ‘Bharat Mata ki Jai’ comes up. The placement of the song very much like it’s lyrics was satirical and the dance on it more so!

The grey shade of each character is another reason you can relate the instances and plot to the real incidents in Indian political framework.

The one man inquiry commission like the many setup in Indian political system the intentions, the framework all the same like we know of from the newspaper. In the story; when the commission closes in, it is suggested by the CM to handover the case to crime branch. Reminds you and me of so many pending CBI cases of political importance!

Read somewhere: “हमारे देश में ऐसे कमीशन अक्सर बैठते हैं. फिर लेट जाते हैं. और फिर सो जाते हैं.”

Also Read somewhere that the character of Anant Jog in the film represents silent India. Not only is that true but it is the most disturbing truth of our society!

‘Shanghai’ or ‘India Shining’. The grass root issues are veiled by these metaphors forced on us by the politicians. This is when movies like Shanghai show us the truth, the ground level facts. However, flawed this movie might be but it demands to been seen!