RGV ka torture

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Films like Department are hard to come by and that is why they are special. How often do directors offer a full report of their being, well or otherwise? Which film by which director can you recall that is an honest and voluntary disclosure of who they really are? Directors give brief glimpses of their fetishes, politics, sexuality, obsessions and complexes. But a full-frontal confession? No, that can only come from someone really special, like Ram Gopal Varma.
If Ram Gopal Varma ki Aag was an X-ray of RGV’s brain, Department is an MRI scan of all his soft tissues — brain, heart and other vital parts. We can clearly see which ones are functioning and which ones have atrophied.
Two specific ones, sadly, are not functioning — the same ones on which Varma, for years, balanced his ego and machismo: his brain and, well, take a guess.

Department is vaguely inspired by that superb 2002 crime-thriller from Hong Kong, Infernal Affairs. When I say vaguely, I mean that it takes cues from A Duffer’s Guide to Infernal Affairs.
There are two super cops in Mumbai: Mahadev Bhosale (Sanjay Dutt) and Shiv Narayan (Rana Daggubati). Both operate outside the law, Shiv in khaki uniform, and Mahadev, because of his wobbly potbelly, in untucked shirts. Both are out to destroy small gangs and then the big ones. They shoot to kill, but clearly not enough because their bosses think that more stern action, overt and covert, is required, especially against one Muhammad Gauri. So they set up Department — not a department of or for something. Just, Department.
Shiv is under suspension because he shot someone, and Mahadev, who shot many, is put in charge of the amorphous Department. Mahadev offers Shiv a position in the Department. Shiv is honest and devoted sort; Mahadev is older and cynical. But they take a liking to each other and go hand in hand to shoot the bad guys.
Their main targets are the underworld gangs, including the one run by the wispy thin Vijay Raaz whose gang members mostly loll around discussing kitne gangwalle tapak gaye, and how they must tapkao a few rivals. Raaz always discourages them from taking any action.
The two gang members of concern to the story are DK (Abhimanyu Shekhar Singh) and Naseer (Telugu actress Madhu Shalini). DK is a bonehead, but Naseer is ambitious. So it is up to Naseer to arouse DK. She does so while riding him and wearing sunglasses for that extra special eroticism. She also tries to arouse members of the audience by repeatedly putting phallic food items in her mouth and speaking as if she was being reared by a tribe of langurs before humans rescued her.
Shiv and Mahadev, in between all the shooting and chasing, find time to bond over meals with Mahadev’s wife Satya (Laxmi Manchu, the daughter of Telugu actor Mohan Babu) and Shiv’s dullard doctor girlfriend, Bharati (Madhu Shalini). And when Shiv announces his wedding, Mahadev takes him and us to suffer an item number by one Ms Nathalia Kaur who is given to pulling such silly faces while jerking her pelvis and jiggling her stuff that I was worried about her.
Enter don-turned-politician Sarjerao Gaikwad (Amitabh Bachchan), bathed in red and with a little tinkle bell on his wrist. Sarjerao has lion heads around him, sits sprawled on a large throne-like settee and says “Jai Maharashtra”. Get the reference? Geddit? Geddit?
Shiv saves Sarjerao’s life and the goonda-politician takes a liking to this sweet, upright boy with a cute accent. But Sarjerao doesn’t like Mahadev and drops some hints about his loyalties.
Mahadev tells Shiv who he really works for. And while Shiv is appreciative of Mahadev’s honesty, he says that he will remain loyal to khaki. This sets them off on different paths, with Shiv taking directions from Sarjerao and Mahadev from Muhammad Gauri’s phone calls. Soon everybody is shooting at everybody, including the wannabe Bonnie and Clyde.

Though Amitabh Bachchan lifts Department for a few moments with his sheer presence — he has a funny skit, a song and some dialogue-baazi — the experience of watching this film is like being dragged by one ankle through the mucky and nauseating innards of Ram Gopal Varma, and then some.
There is a disturbing desperation to every aspect of Department, hence everything is overdone, stretched and for its own sake. People abuse because they can. Boys kick because boys can. Bullets come flying out of chests and skulls because, again, they can. Ladies are made to suck on kulfi and prance around in panties because, well, they can. The man who shoots Sarjerao is dressed like Sai Baba for no apparent reason except that he is. All the action, all the gore, the abuses, jokes and camera shots stand apart and alone, making little sense.
Department has a needlessly convoluted story and no characters, only idiotic caricatures — the women are either blow-up dolls or boring aunties, and the men are either shooting or getting shot.
All interactions and events in Department — people talking to each other, fight sequences, etc, etc — are given to us through camera angles that are completely cuckoo. If there is a meeting of cops and their bosses, the camera skitters about, trying to creep up mantriji’s pyjama or Mahadev’s jeans. The camera looks up from the bottom of a tea cup, from inside a lion’s mouth. And when it is not creeping under sofas, cars, tables, it runs around in circles. In scenes with Naseer, it is an excited sexual device.
It’s as if two teenagers high on, I’d like to think sugar, are running around with the cameras, completely bored with what’s happening but distracted by what’s inside uncle’s pant and why auntie’s lips are busy with vowel formations.
Yet, Department is important. Because it is the story of a genius in decay.