WWW- Why Wasseypur works?

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.”