I couldn’t wait for a movie titled Shanghai to release in Mumbai — the mad metropolis that is waiting (according to a delusional ex-chief minister) to metamorphose into a Chinese city that is dirtier... and even more crowded.

How do I know? I have my own Shanghai story. It begs retelling. At the time when Shri Vilasrao Deshmukh was still sitting on the CM’s gaddi and selling Shanghai dreams to awestruck Mumbaikars, I happened to visit China and, naturally, my first stop was Shanghai. Like several Mumbaikars, I had developed an inferiority complex about the place and was prepared to be blown away on arrival. Well, admittedly, the airport was superior. But after that first “Gee whiz!” reaction, I was entirely underwhelmed. Yup. Even by the famous Bund (Mumbai’s Marine Drive is far prettier). What I experienced is a sense of déjà vu. There were pockets of central Shanghai that reminded me of an old Mumbai. The Mumbai of the 70s. And this is exactly how I felt about Dibakar Banerjee’s recent film that has received rave reviews (for once our critics are in sync), and will walk away with most of the major awards later this year. Perhaps deservedly so. But we need to pause a bit and ask what the fuss is all about. For one, it is an “inspired” film and acknowledged as one by the team.
While Costa Gavras’ Z (1969) remains an all-time masterpiece, alas, Dibakar’s Shanghai will for ever be perceived as a fan’s tribute to the original. As a statement film, it has its attributes. But the narrative is a bit too disjointed to work as good, leave aside great, cinema. Did Dibakar need to insert an out of context item number? Did Hashmi have to dance to Jai Mata, complete with a bump-and-grind routine? Did the CM have to parody all the female CMs put together (Jayalalithaa and Vasundhara’s girth, Mayawati’s cunning)? Did Dibakar have to resort to the good cop-bad cop cliché? And by casting Abhay Deol as a Tamilian bureaucrat (it wouldn’t have made a damn difference had Krishnan been a Kapoor), was there some unique point to prove?
As a filmmaker, Dibakar has created his own brand, taken risks, and worn his politics on his sleeve (Khosla ka Ghosla). Even in Shanghai, he has focussed on displacement of the quintessential “outside” (nearly every major character is one) and used symbolism to talk about the Silent Indian (Anant Jog). The weakest link and possibly the character whose role is the worst written, is the central figure of Dr Ali Ahemadi (Prosenjit Chatterjee has done the best he could with poor material). Even though the intellectual-activist professor’s martyrdom is a given from the time he lands in Bharatnagar, his ideology remains vague and childish. What sort of a threat does someone like him present to the state? And at the end of the day, the fight is over a plot of land — it’s an old, hackneyed story, that’s a nod in the direction of Enron, big business, the landless, the disempowered, the corrupt. The bigger picture here is totally dwarfed by the dynamics that dictate the fates of Kalki Koechlin (can some filmmaker please give her a normal, happy, giddy, sexy role?), who plays the burning with love for her old professor, fired up, crazed student... and the el crudo blue films pornographer, Jaggu, superbly played by a pot-bellied Emraan Hashmi. Nothing is really resolved in the end, leaving audiences somewhat annoyed and dissatisfied.
Having said all this, it is important to point out the validity of films like Shanghai in an environment that celebrates the mindless mazaa of a Rowdy Rathore (I had the best fun watching it). Dibakar, like all cerebral Bongs, prefers to take the road less travelled. But does that make him a genius? No, it doesn’t. It makes him a risk taker, and he deserves recognition on that score.
But, frankly, as a powerful comment on just how deep the pit is in our political system, the recent Arjun Kapoor-Parineeti Chopra masala film (Íshaqzaade) shook me up much more with its raw, crude, violent, vulgar narrative that underlined the terrifying subtext of desi politics in the badlands of the North. Dibakar’s sepia-toned cinema verite representation of contemporary realities, while being far more subdued, lost me at some point by becoming didactic. Dibakar did say he refused to spoon-feed his audience, and preferred to leave a few dots without joining them. But I found the storyline following such a predictable path, it was possible to second guess what would follow. However, there were quite a few exquisite touches, rich in irony, and the casting was inspired, to say the least. Farooq Shaikh and Tilottama Shome and Pitobash Tripathy in particular, stood out for the intelligence of their respective performances in small but significant roles.
Going by the critical acclaim Shanghai has received, let’s hope similar brave attempts to break the mould and create a cinema that dares to explore corrosive social issues in a coherent way will receive enough commercial success to make them viable. Movie making involves big bucks, regardless of the star cast. Dibakar Banerjee may just be the game changer Bollywood has been waiting for, who proves one doesn’t have to blow up 20 cars or cast an Akshay Kumar in order to set the box office on fire. Lagey raho, D.B. Hum tumhare saath hain!