Why Wasseypur works?
The much-awaited, highly anticipated GoW released this Friday amidst speculations over the great
reception it received in Cannes, the catchy Manoj Tiwari’s ‘Jiya
ho Bihar ke lala’ being the talk of the town and the ‘keh
ke loonga’ phrase that seems to have caught the fancy of the entire junta.
“Hamare jindagi ka ek hai maksad hain.. badla”. As Manoj
Bajpayee’s baritone-like voice cuts across the air, the audience breaks into a
frenzied applause, whistling and hooting for their “hero”. Sitting in a
houseful, tightly-packed posh South Delhi theatre, I look around for a minute.
The pretence of the Puma chappals, the arrogance of the expensive cocktails is
lost for a moment. The fat uncle sitting beside me, who couldn’t stop browsing
his iPad & talking in accented English (or whatever that was) five minutes before
some men on the screen gunned down Tusli Virani’s welcome song, is besides
himself. The iPad is nowhere to be seen, the accent is gone and he happily
exclaims to his Zara-clad wife, “Kitna
raw dialogue likha hain.. How amazing! Le li bande ne sab ki! I can’t believe
this”. Out of curiosity, I try to gauge the wife’s reaction too. And yes,
there she is- laughing, with an expression of bewilderment, awed by the
charming “hero” speaking in rustic dialect. Cut to 2009. Three years back I sat
in a similar theatre with similar people watching a somewhat-similar genre
movie. A similar catchy song had caught the fancy of the people and driven them
to watch an anti-hero, gulping vodka; a love story between an addict and an
estranged prostitute. Some said it was awesome, some said it was an Attyachaar.
But none let go of the arrogance and the false poise, till the time it attained
a cult status and critics talked about it, young film-makers raved about it,
media and socialites ranted about it and it became a cool thing to smoke some
good marijuana and listen to Amit Trivedi’s hard-hitting songs and yes, people
judged you if you did not have a DVD rip of DEV D in your hard disk. Wasseypur no longer requires that “social
acceptance” which a Paanch never received, a No-Smoking hardly got, and a Dev-D
earned, but only in due course of time. The story is very, very different
today.
How Anurag Kashyap managed to pull this is somewhat history
and a bit of a mystery. In 2010, one of the other extremely talented Kashyap
Brothers had managed to pull the same trick. He made the audience leap up their
seats and go mad over Munni. But to make a Wasseypur
work, according to me, is a more Dabangg act. With no top-line
Bollywood actor in the crew, a tale of Dhanbad Mafia, and a director with no
major “commercial” success (mind it, critical acclaim is different) Wasseypur
scores in every parameter required to make good cinema. As I sit and watch the
gruesome, gory play of blood, power and politics, I marvel at Kashyap’s way of
storytelling. I do not know whether the audience has really matured over the
years, become flexible and approachable in the way they consume cinema or is it
a false display of double standards and hypocrisy, but all I know is this: To
make the Zara-clad aunty comprehend dark humour and laugh at Richa Chhada’s
stellar performance as Nagma, to make the Uncle forget his accent and pay
attention to Sardar Khan who carries his onslaught with an almost-human like
absurd manner, is no joke.
The display of such varied characters, a Marquez-like magic
realism setting, and the grandeur of Neo-noir style is compelling. Wasseypur
is a gripping story that spans across generations and promises an epic
conclusion. As the end credits roll, and Wasseypur II trailer shows an
all-powerful Faisal, the names of the characters and their oddity and audacity
strike you. In my head, I can imagine a smiling Anurag Kashyap saying to the
established, hierarchal, old order of stale Bollywood: “Box-office nahi maarenge, Keh ke
lenge sabki- in a DEFINITE, TANGENT, PERPENDICULAR manner.”
