Cheeni Kum, chatter-patter zyada,
aur 'chatari' ke jokes
Mr. Amitabh Bachhan defies analysis. You can probably analyse the typical Mumbai garbage for the variety of substances that have gone into it; how do you analyse a garbled-up actor who remixes all his insipid megalomaniacal roles of the past -- Vijay Deenanath Chauhan, Shahenshah, Mard, Lal Badshah, etc., etc. – to model his characters in his films of today?
Whether it is Black, Ajnabi, Shootout At Lokhandwala, or Cheeni Kum, his get-up changes, histrionics don’t. What has gone wrong with the sensibilities of this smart and scheming Allahabaadi Kayasth? Why does he seek inspiration from the guttural roles of his career in this old age, irrespective of the kinds of films he does?
The obtuse chatter patter combined with Big B’s uneven and laboured grandiloquence leads to the total annihilation of an interesting film premise worth exploration. ‘Cheeni Kum’ is what a film should not be, verbose, monotonous, and artificial; clinging onto harmless, sexually charged bantering among its characters for a life-line that goes dead after a point.
A thirty-two-year old woman, a software professional from India, and a sixty-four-year old man, a chef and a proud restaurant owner in London, have a chance skirmish over a plate of Zafrani Pulao, which leads to mutual liking, and love and the talk of marriage. This ultimately results in their marriage after a long sustained opposition from the girl’s father, a New Delhi-based Gandhian, who practices non-violence once a week by not eating meat. In between, the girl teases the grand old man, her prospective beau, about his manhood and staying power; a bunch of clowns crack sexy jokes; and a little girl talks about watching adult films since she is dying of cancer and will not survive to attain the legal age to watch them.
The most important motif of the film is ‘chatari’, in its dual interpretation of an umbrella proper and a condom; ribbed, lubricated, flavoured, and of other varieties. But the film has been given a U/A certificate by our ultra-liberal Censor Board. The over-enthusiasm of the Ministry of Human Resources to impart sex education to Indian kids seems to have rubbed off on Sharmilaji, who has been promoting herself as one of the most liberated actors who dared to bare in the sixties by wearing a two-piece bikini in ‘An Evening in Paris’. And she is full of self-admiration and high praise for her avant- garde, semi-nude looks and legs.*
‘Cheeni Kum’ promotes the use of condoms, and not Viagra, by the geriatric brigade before they prove their manhood to thirty-two plus lasses. It also introduces the kids among the film’s audience to strawberry-flavoured condoms. You should not be surprised when you see a kid sucking on a condom, instead of a Baskin Robbins strawberry ice cream.
The precocious little girl, a leukaemia patient, in the film is not called ‘Cutie’, ‘Cuddly’, ‘Giggly’, ‘Bubbly’, or the usual nicknames we give to our little girls. She is called ‘Sexy’. The other day an RJ was talking to this child actor on one of the FM channels and asking her if her friends now call her sexy. None finds it awkward and inappropriate. Is it a sure sign of the sexual emancipation of India?
No, it is not. It simply reveals the sick mindset of the new breed of film directors who use ‘sex’ as an instant laughter pill. The problem is they are going for an over kill. They keep popping it one after another, indiscriminately, in a no-holds-barred manner and thus killing their films.
‘Cheeni Kum’ illustrates this affliction and anxiety. Sex - this three-letter word is more powerful than the other three-letter word ‘God’. You have to do a lot of pooja, path, and tapasya before arousing Him. Sex does not need elaborate rituals for its arousal. It gets a little hint, external or internal, and consumes your whole being. It is ever ready to rise and shine. Nothing else survives its onslaught and impact.
So, you have to handle it carefully in any form of art. If you don’t, it will reduce your art to lascivious porn. Or else, you go all out, and explore the territory without any inhibition, the way the sculptures of Konark and Khajuraho did.
Can we call ‘Cheeni Kum’a film? Not actually. It is a mixed bag of supposedly sexy puns and repartees. The film explores nothing and finally turns its basic premise into an inconsequential joke.*You cannot dispute it. Jab woh sharmati ya muskurati thin, to unke gall ke gadhe bhi baat karte the aur jab unke khoobsoorat honth thartharte the to qayamat barpa ho jaati thi. Unke khas sile huey bina button ke blouse, surahidaar sutwan gardan, kateele naak naqsh, badi badi poetic aankein aur bada sa balon ka ghoslanuma jooda, jazbaton ka toofan khda kar dete the. Unke angrezi andaaz mein Hindi bolne ki ada cinemapremiyon ko mantrmugdh kar deti thi. Unki kamar, unki chiffon ki sari, aur unki lehraati hui chaal, hamein sab yaad hai Sharmilaji, humein sab yaad hai. Na woh din bhoolein hain, na yaadein bisri hain.RKSArchive of Film Reviews & Other Issues
