ZUBEIDAA
produced
by Farouq Rattonsey / directed by Shyam Benegal / starring Karisma
Kapoor, Manoj Bajpai, & Rekha / music by A.R. Rahman / lyrics
by Javed Akhtar
Karishma
Kapoor, Bollywood's queen of comedy and erstwhile hip-shaker
extraordinaire, is looking awfully serious these days. Actually,
she's never had more reason to smile.
Kapoor's
performance as the strong-willed sister and eventual executrix
of a Muslim terrorist in "Fiza" surprised critics
into a shower of accolades, and her title role in Shyam Benegal's
"Zubeidaa" assures their continued praise. Though
with "Zubeidaa" she reaps only the benefits of a surprising
failure to fail, the film itself towers above the competition
in this season of uncertain cinematic harvest. A semi-autobiographical
account of writer Khalid Mohammed's family woes, the story is
told in flashbacks as a young journalist researches the short
but scandalous life of his mother Zubeidaa (Kapoor). What starts
out as an exposition-heavy biography becomes a powerful morality
tale about the dangers of social repression.
As
a young Muslim woman in the 1940s, Zubeidaa flouts social convention
to secretly become a film actress. When her father Suleiman
(Amrish Puri, doomed by "DDLJ" to forever play tyrannical
fathers) discovers her prancing across a sound stage, he swiftly
forces her into marriage. Alas, nine months later, as Zubeidaa
struggles to give birth, Suleiman and the in-laws have a roaring
fight, and later compel their children to divorce.
Zubeidaa
is despondent until her father's mistress introduces her to
a charming young maharajah nicknamed Victor (Manoj Bajpai).
In her second act of defiance, Zubeidaa marries him and moves
to Rajasthan, where she must contend with his lecherous brother
and his imposingly proper first wife, Mandakini, played with
marvelous ambiguity by Rekha. Mandakini's exemplary behavior
serves to highlight (deliberately or unconsciously, we are left
to wonder) Zubeidaa's own shortcomings in the role of Rajput
princess.
Zubeidaa's
panic mounts as she comes to realize that her new world affords
her no more freedom of autonomy than the one she left behind.
Once Victor decides to take his Hindu wife on the campaign trail
and leave Zubeidaa at home, her wrath and despair spiral to
a final act of rebellion — with tragic consequences.
In
a film characterized by brilliant performances, Karishma Kapoor
is the weakest link. Zubeidaa's growth as a character is defined
by her dawning awareness that her independent nature, rather
than any external force, will be the true catalyst for her own
destruction. Kapoor renders this awareness as a heightening
hysteria that both announces and foreshadows Zubeidaa's doom.
Occasionally her overt melodrama works, making the self-fulfilling
prophecy pleasurably painful to watch.
Yet
Zubeidaa's main dramatic action consists of responding to what
is done to her, and no actress can successfully sustain the
theatrical equivalent of high C. Once Zubeidaa's father exits
the film (disappearing after her divorce, in a move so unbelievable
that one must speculate the editors were trimming for time),
there are no clear-cut villains with whose deeds Kapoor's shrill
self-pity can favorably contrast. Her husband might leave her
behind when canvassing in a predominantly Hindu votership, and
he may be dense enough to reassure her that her only job is
to "amuse his heart," but Manoj Bajpai's masterly
portrayal leaves no doubt that Victor's a nice guy who clearly
loves his new wife. Thus her bouts of panic begin to grate.
Thankfully,
the fatal temptation to view Zubeidaa as a whining child or
loose cannon, rather than a free spirit manipulated and constrained
by society, is averted by the double narrative. Zubeidaa's character
gains tragic depth as we contrast her vivid, though unenviable,
fate with the shabbier ones of more self-contented characters
in the film. Suleiman's mistress, who enthusiastically facilitates
Zubeidaa's initial meetings with the prince in the belief that
passion is the best medicine, concludes her life impoverished
and alone. Yet she remains smugly assured that Zubeidaa's mother,
a withered crone who is broken by her daughter's fate—and
who blames the mistress for it—has shaped Zubeidaa's tragedy
by agreeing to the second marriage only if Zubeidaa leaves her
son behind. Meanwhile, Victor's family and former servants guard
their past glory by vehemently denying Zubeidaa's existence.
While no one profits from the regimented codes of this society,
each has been deeply affected by Zubeidaa's defiance.
Gradually,
the various proofs of the lasting emotional impact of Zubeidaa's
short life accumulate, and what might have been an unfortunate
travesty wrought by a girl's defiance of her parents' wishes
and her own inability to "roll with the punches" becomes
a cautionary tale—not about the fate of a strong-willed
female, but about the fate of a world in which a strong-willed
female has no viable way to determine her own path.
In
"Zubeidaa," director Shyam Benegal, who is better
known for his art-house films, has successfully walked the tightrope
between popular and artistic sensibilities. Unlike in the recent
"Fiza," the song sequences seamlessly complement the
plot, and the period costumes and gorgeous Rajasthani architecture
compensate for the usual cutting-edge fashions and exotic locales.
The only disconcerting element of the film is the soundtrack,
which, while lovely, seems to have been scored by A.R. Rahman
with no regard for the music of the era in which most of the
action occurs.
However,
this is a small complaint. Just like Karishma Kapoor's tendency
to wax melodramatic, it does not obscure the pleasure of watching
an intelligent film with a refreshingly novel plot—one
that makes viewers question their own autonomy in a world still
unquestionably regulated by rules which define one's life even
as they limit it.
-
reviewed by Meredith
