Barfi

It’s a beauty: visually and emotionally. Sure, there are flaws unlimited but then which love story isn’t blemished, as much in real as in movie life? In fact, halfway through Anurag Basu’s Barfi, my heart sank.

Too much blah blah, too many Charlie Chaplinesque gags, even a pinch from Buster Keaton’s General. And please Mr Basu, quit alluding to those Forrest Gump cuties (butterflies, fireflies and what not). And how about leaving those forlorn havelis in snowtowns to the supercilious Sanjay Leela Bhansali?
But then, Anurag Basu, like some sorcerer, makes all his references, repetitious chases and frequently flashbacks, fall perfectly into place. Result: a movie that boasts of super craftsmanship, knockout performances and above all, a heart, its beats compelling you to slalom between smiles and tears. The screenplay does go through bumpy weather, but at the end of the ups-downs-and-gulps, the flight is a splendid one. Indeed, here’s the kind of salute to romance which I thought had vamoosed with the wind. Or the black-and-white era when love meant Raj Kapoor and Nargis looking at each other with bonfire eyes. Swoontastic!
This is not to suggest that Barfi is in the class of the RK or Guru Dutt classics. No way. It’s just to say that here’s a cross-millennia love story which doesn’t lapse into obsessive disorders or morph love into some sort of malaise. If a girl says, she’s already engaged, cool. The guy who’s hitting on her moves on, but not without letting her know that maybe she could still like him, maybe not. Making the eponymous character, Barfi (slurred from Murphy), deaf and mute, does add to the sympathy factor. Gratifyingly, this isn’t the crux of the plot though. The physically challenged gadabout of Darjeeling is comfortable with himself. Ditto the viewer. No pity demanded nor given. He’s smart and savvy, cuts above the rest of the Lotharios in the vicinity.
So circa the 1970s, a chauffeur’s son Barfi-Murphy (Ranbir Kapoor) attracts the attention of visitor Shruti (Ileana D’Cruz). Despite her impending wedding, Shruti softens, asks her mother in an excellently written scene, if she married the man she loved. “No I didn’t,” the mother says evasively. “But who says you cannot fall in love again?” In fact, it is Shruti’s convention-defying love for Barfi that is the most tender and engaging aspect of the gossamer-light plot. A single shot of a silhouetted Shruti and Barfi waiting at a railway station for the next train out of Darjeeling is technically stunning as it is emotionally stirring. Yup, it’s that wow moment, making you thankful for still watching movies on the big screen.
Next: Shruti has a bland marriage and the societal norms of Kolkata to deal with. Murphy has his own cross to bear: to subsist in the mahanagar with the autistic Jhilmil (Priyanka Chopra), a childhood chum, who has fled from her uncaring parents. The hilltown buzz is that Murphy kidnapped her which is why an ubiquitous Falstaff-like sub-inspector (Saurabh Shukla, first-rate) is hot on their trail. Suffice it to say the three-way, shuffling romance between Barfi, Shruti and the often brain-addled Jhilmil, twists and turns through intricate emotional bylanes. The best single scene I’ve seen in years, depicting a woman’s feelings of possessiveness, is achieved casually and yet accurately: Jhilmil’s hurt to the core when the man she loves gives an extra “puri” to the other woman during a gol guppa hogging session. Brilliantly lensed and acted. Just for that scene, Anurag Basu is pardoned every sin (read Kites).
Now, many may miss a strong, conflict-crammed story content. It would seem that the screenplay must have gone through quite a few alterations. In the event, Barfi’s father (good ole Akash Khurana) and best friend (Retro Jacket) get short shrift. The father’s last viewed in an ICU bed — I’m still worrying did he survive or just skedaddle to the pearly gates? And I’m not quite okay with Shruti’s husband uttering that chestnut line, “If you step out of the door, don’t come back.” Eeeeesh. In addition, the pace is leisurely but at points, wonderfully lyrical. Basu’s triumph is in making the viewer care (and how) for his protagonists and overlook the deficiencies. From the final look of things, he doesn’t care a damn whether the result is a mega-commercial hit or not, he’s done his job. Period.
I’m not a trade Nostradamus at all, but I do hope that a decidedly individualistic and beautiful mind does get the audience it deserves. Most if not all `100 crore-earners are the sort which will be forgotten over time. Not the impulsive and lovable Murphy boy.
The background music score is overloaded. As for Pritam’s songs, they have a lilting ’70s melody, and this time three balladeers occasionally glimpsed in the background are a gentle touch, unlike the in-your-face faux rockers of the director’s Metro. On the techfront, cinematographer Ravi Varman’s work is top class.
Of the cast, Priyanka Chopra is impressive, eschewing glamour for authenticity. She has to learn about the effectiveness of silences and doing nothing though; far too frequently she twitches her mouth as if she were at a dentist’s clinic. Newcomer Ileana D’Cruz is expressively dot-on, consistently appealing. Expectedly, the show belongs to Ranbir Kapoor who is superb. Alternately funny and serious, vulnerable and steel-strong, here’s quite easily the best performance of the year so far. Move over Uncle Khans, Jr’s here to slay the competition.
Bottomline: If I was so delighted by Barfi, why not five stars? Because it’s very good and that’s saying a helluva lot. So go ahead make your matinee.