It might not be Bhardwaj's truest adaptation of Shakespeare but his latest offering is still the most memorable Bollywood film of recent years, writes Reema Omer
Vishal Bhardwaj’s Haider is an ambitious film. Though an adaptation of one of Shakespeare’s longest and most complex plays, at all times its form remains mainstream Bollywood, meant for cinema houses, not niche audiences of film festivals. With a film that seeks to achieve so much, how far does Haider do justice to Shakespeare, to the people of Kashmir, and to its audiences?
Haider (Shahid Kapoor) is a student of revolutionary poetry at Aligarh Muslim University who returns to Kashmir after getting news of his father Hilal Mir’s (Narendra Jha) disappearance. As he begins a frantic search for his father, he starts to unravel his mother Ghazala’s (Tabu) brewing relationship with his uncle (Kay Kay Menon).
A tale of love, deceit and revenge that Hamlet is known for, slowly unfolds. Perhaps a bit too slowly, some would argue. If you leave the film during the interval, you will feel Bhardwaj has let the political backdrop overshadow the story he set out to tell –that of Haider’s quest for avenging his father’s death. However, this changes post Bismil, a musically and visually spectacular adaptation of Hamlet’s Mousetrap scene, which shifts the focus of the film from Kashmir to the Mir family drama.
[quote]Much of the film unfolds like cinematic poetry[/quote]
Full credit goes to Pankaj Kumar for his cinematography, the maestro Gulzar for his lyrics and the Vishal Bhardwaj-Basharat Peer duo for their screenplay. Much of the film unfolds like cinematic poetry, and Hamlet’s famous to-be-or-not-to-be speech organically and effortlessly transforms into Haider’s dil ki agar sunuN toh tu hai... dimagh ki sunuN toh tu hai nahi. Jaan looN ke jaan duN? Main rahooN ki main nahiN.
Even though he falters now and then, Bhardwaj largely stays true to the spirit of Hamlet. Shahid is compelling as Haider, particularly in the second half. Shraddha as Haider’s love interest Arshia is effective, although at times unnecessary, while Irrfan Khan, in his short cameo as Roohdaar, is a scene-stealer. Kay Kay Menon is convincing as the lecherous uncle, but it is Tabu’s enactment of Ghazala that truly stands out. The fearful mother, the unfulfilled wife, and the licentious lover – Tabu gives many shades to her character and portrays them all with equal ease. Bollywood needs to see much more of her, and not just as a Geeta of Salman Khan’s Jai Ho.
[quote]The intensity of emotions shared by mother and son make for some of the most powerful scenes [/quote]
Be it their intimate walk in the forest, Haider’s erotic dab of perfume on Ghazala’s neck, or Ghazala’s desperate goodbye to Haider in the graveyard, the intensity of emotions shared by mother and son, including the evident Oedipal tension, make for some of the most powerful scenes in the film.
Oscar Wilde famously wrote: “There is no such thing as Shakespeare’s Hamlet…there are as many Hamlets as there are melancholies”. By situating Haider’s melancholic tale in Kashmir, Bhardwaj emphatically affirms this point.
This is not the first Hindi film set in Kashmir – the picturesque valley has previously provided a backdrop to many Bollywood blockbusters. But in Bhardwaj’s Haider, Kashmir doesn’t just provide a beautiful setting, it is – like Bhardwaj himself said in an interview – one of his key protagonists.
Shardha as Ophelia is effective, although at times unnecessary
Kashmiri youth are not caricaturized as Kalashnikov-wielding terrorists or doe-eyed belles, but shown as real people suffering horrific abuses by Indian security forces. One character poignantly describes everyday life in Kashmir as din per pehre, raat par taale, oopar khuda, neeche fauj, and Bhardwaj unflinchingly depicts the frisking, the torture and the killings of suspected militants. When Haider says poora Kashmir ek qaid khana hai, the despair, gloom, and fear running thick in the air of the valley are palpable for the audience.
Bhardwaj uses Faiz’s poetry in a way never done before on celluloid. When guloN meiN rangg bhare reverberates through prison cells of tortured detainees at night, it will give you goose bumps. And when aaj ke naam plays during the closing credits, you will stay glued to your seats.
This is not to say Haider is free from compromise. The one glaring problem that is difficult to overlook is that it tells the story of the Kashmiri freedom struggle through the prism of Haider’s quest for revenge. The film preaches forgiveness, and depicts violence as a one-dimensional evil that must be forsaken to achieve “real freedom”. The frequently repeated adage “an eye for an eye leaves the whole country blind” may work as advice for Haider’s revenge, but is less effective as a sermon to a population struggling against decades of abuse and injustice.
This is where the constraints of the medium through which Bhardwaj tells his story come in. The film reportedly had to make 41 cuts before it was cleared by the Indian censor board. Even in its current form, it has already been declared an anti-national, anti-army, and anti-Hindu glorification of terrorists, with movements calling for it to be boycotted and banned.
Bhardwaj deserves credit because despite the shortcomings in his political narrative, he reaches out to a wide audience to show them a glimpse of Kashmir they have not seen before, to bring them out of their comfort zones and introduce them to the world of disappearances, half-widows and AFSPA.
This is not Bhardwaj’s truest adaptation of Shakespeare – Omkara, and particularly Maqbool, score higher on that count. This is also, one hopes, not Bollywood’s final say on Kashmir – a braver filmmaker will some day tell a story that is closer to the aspirations of the freedom of the Kashmiri youth. But despite its flaws, Haider is one of the most memorable Bollywood films in recent years, one that will stay with you for a long time to come.
Tailpiece: Those of you who are anticipating its release in Pakistan – don’t hold your breath. If not for the references to Pakistan’s training camps for the mujahedeen and the ubiquitous presence of ISI agents, Haider is unlikely to see light of day in Pakistani cinemas as the story it tells – of disappearances, of half-widows, of gun-point nationalism – is too close for comfort to our own secret realities of the “missing persons”, the bullet-riddled bodies of the Baloch youth, and the mass graves of Khuzdar. With propaganda like Waar still being hailed as a work of cinematic genius, it is going to take a long, long time for the Pakistani State, the Pakistani film industry, or for that matter, Pakistani audiences, to digest a Haider.
