Cast: Aamir Khan, Rani Mukerji, Kareena Kapoor, NawazuddinSiddiqui Director: Reema KagtiRuntime: 139 min. Verdict: Mostly workmanlike as an exercise in narration, but itsinterests lie elsewhere – in wanting to raise a few tired conventions to theirthematic extremes. Genre: Thriller, Drama NotwithstandingMr. Khan’s penchant for expressing his art via the layout of his facial hair,that thick moustache, proudly walking all the way up to the chin, is probablythe most defiant symbol of patriarchal control in this world here. Control thatthe “alpha” male, or otherwise, needs almost more than anything else, and thebreakdown of which leads to very bad case of overcompensation via Man’s Guilt. Itis considerably easier to feel guilt than to feel helpless, i.e. impotent, andas gently as Ms. Kidman breaks the nature of that illusion to Mr. Cruise’s egomaniacalmasculinity in Days of Thunder, Ms.Kagti here causes something of a therapy session masquerading as diegesis,which in turn, it could be said, is masquerading as redemption. I mean, the opportunity to salvage someone’s life. Asyou would be aware, dear reader, that I’m not a big fan of sentimentalizing acity and all that fluff, and Talaashhere seems to present Mumbai as some sort of illusionary shit-hole, a microcosmof urban life (eye roll, obviously), that people need to be saved from. It makespeople selfish, do “bad” things, and it tries to offer these battered andbruised souls a chance to redeem themselves before they meet their maker. Momentsof grace, if you might want to call it that. Now, Ms.Kagti is no great storyteller nor is she an especially ingenious one, but whatshe does here in Talaash is to use aset of fairly tired conventions to cause some sort of gender statement. Somecomparisons ought to be had with DhobiGhat here, and Talaash, one couldclaim, is essentially a hyperlink film masquerading as a single character’sjourney. The initial set-up and the coda might even fool one into assuming thatthis is the good old-fashioned star-celebrating (an individual over a wholegroup, Dabangg, Rowdy Rathore andevery film that celebrates a hero) tale of a cop who has lost his son and isinvestigating a homicide. Truth be told, I prefer the way the film is, tryingto be a hyperlink individualistic piece within the confines of a hero-piece,and the sophomoric literary dexterity with which Ms. Kagti tries to mix andalmost dissolves (chuckle) two mostly archetypal tragedies – one the loss of ason and two the accident of an actor – is sort of cute. I mean, watereverywhere, and tears begging to come out but being prevented by the patriarch’ssense of guilt over what he feels is a momentary lapse in control, and thenfinding himself utterly helpless at the very bottom of the sea only to bringhim to admit that being responsible and being guilty might not be the samething after all. In manyways, it is like the exact antithesis of a Raj Khosla film, of schemers undoneby lost souls, of not one but a tale of many living in their little cocoonsrunning behind illusions trying to control their little worlds, and when Mr.Siddiqui (Timur) limps and jumps and escapes for the second time this yearcarrying a blue bag, momentarily making us doubt his intentions (film noir), Talaash sort of leaps genres and becomessome sort of tragedy. We meet Timur for the first time when he knocks on hismentor’s home, and as the door opens, there’s a woman who wakes up on the bedin the corner. There’s something about her casual demeanor that inspires thekind of emotions in a lonely man which might have led Kevin Spacey’s Joe in Se7en to desire a wife. He limps aroundin the film with that desire to call some woman his own, and in Talaash, where the notion of a helplessfeminine in this land of male-desire-driven rules is systematically revealed tobe merely an illusion, where the illusions themselves are essentially femininein their nature, he becomes as much of a helpless man lost in the middle ofnowhere as the protagonist, Srujan (Mr. Khan). They got to be some sort ofbrothers, one overtly masculine, one a crippled weakling, and yet weakened bytheir desire to be the male-in-control in the eyes of their women. One runningaway from it, and one running towards it. The limp desires to be a hero of somesort, and the other cannot reconcile with the fact that his heroism has beenrendered near impotent in the eyes of his wife. Not that this is what the wifebelieves, but we’re looking at the male perspective here, and Srujan needs toconquer some territory and establish an area of control. I’m reminded ofScottie, again a detective, and the desire to control an illusion. Which herehappens to be a hooker by the name of Rosie (Ms. Kapoor, horribly dressed andquite garishly colored). Not the film is anywhere near acceptable on the skilllevel as far as creating an image of desire, but Ms. Kagti’s point does getconveyed across. Apart from a couple of deftly handled conversations, Ms. Kagti’sfilm is essentially workmanlike, and most times it works more on a sub-textuallevel than the textual level. But where it did win me over was the manner in which it mirrorsthe desire to control an illusion with the classic narrative trope of theawesome detective. A seemingly unsolvable case is what is presented, not with agreat deal of finesse I might add, almost hammering the point home, and acop/detective much in the vein of a Sherlock Holmes, who would amaze us allwith his sense of reason and observation, and hence provide a sense of controlover the seemingly uncontrollable and hence inexplicable. Talaash is not interested in using its narrative twists as somesort of trump card, and as someone who is fairly proud of his ability toobserve conversations, I was under the impression it gave its game(intentionally or unintentionally is debatable) fairly early, or at least definitelytowards the halfway mark. What it is more interested is in upsetting thattraditional patriarchal order of things, of a man, of a detective, of a worldthat is feminine and does accept its lack of control, and although I respectthe manner in which the film goes about its objective, my version of achievingmight have involved something more along the lines of a Zodiac. Soyeah, even though I believe someone like Mr. Randeep Hooda would’ve knocked theInspector’s overtly masculine behavior out of the park, I do abide by this iterationof Mr. Khan’s facial hair. Alright, consider that moustache a deconstruction ofthe ones in Dabangg and Rowdy Rathore. And I absolutely abide bywhat the film considers it final image, of the patriarch sitting in front of ariver and submitting himself into the arms of his wife. It is a tough thing, toperform like a man all the time, and sometimes it is absolutely fine to be akid all over again, desiring the motherly embrace. It is a plea for help, anadmission of one’s weakness, and I believe it is the film’s own way of notmerely bringing the various elements of its narrative full circle, butproviding some sort of therapy. There is some grace there if you ask me.
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