Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India

"The historiography of Indian nationalism has for a long time been dominated by elitism - colonialist elitism and bourgeois-nationalist elitism. Both these varieties of elitism share the prejudice that the making of the Indian nation and the development of the consciousness - nationalism - which informed this process were exclusively or predominantly elite achievements... [This historical writing] fails to acknowledge, far less interpret, the contribution made by the people on their own, that is, independently of the elite, to the making and development of this nationalism."

- Ranajit Guha, "On Some Aspects of the Historiography of Colonial India", Selected Subaltern Studies

Ashutosh Gowariker's Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India (2001) is perhaps one of the most visible and oft-celebrated Indian films ever made, and for good reason. Even those moviegoers largely unfamiliar with cinema from South Asia can still make reference to that "long Indian movie about cricket". The film is a rare specimen in that it was able to enchant audiences and critics alike, scoring mightily at the box office in India, winning every national award in sight, and riding that ecstatic word of mouth all the way to the 2002 Oscars (it is only the third film from India to receive a Foreign Language Film nomination, alongside Mother India and Salaam Bombay.) Unabashedly steeped in the conventions of commercial Bollywood cinema (a near-four hour running time, musical dance numbers, unrepentant melodrama), the film also serves as an impressive critical intervention in South Asian historiography without ever becoming inaccessible or lofty. In fact, the temptation to simplistically (even condescendingly) frame it as a Bollywoodized "David versus Goliath" feel-good cricket fable has been so tempting that many have overlooked the significant implications made about colonial India, native resistance and the long road to Independence in 1947. For this reason, I open with Guha's tremendously influential words because they hint at the lens through Gowariker represents and gives a voice to the ignored subaltern. Call it the anti-Gandhi if you will: these agrarian farmers of Champaner resist not with swords and fists in the tradition of those mindlessly violent and easily swayed masses, but with cricket bats and a fierce determination to resist imperialist greed.

As the film's narrator (Amitabh Bachchan) informs the audience, it is 1893, and British rule is well established across South Asia. Champaner, a small village in the state of Gujurat, has been suffering through a period of crop-stunting drought for two years. This is a cause for major concern for the entire hamlet, as the villagers are obligated to hand over a third of their agricultural produce as tax ("lagaan") to their Raja (seasoned actor Kulbhushan Kharbanda). In turn, this tithe is handed over to the British, who offer the Raja military protection from neighboring feudal lords. When a cocky young farmer from Champaner named Bhuvan (played by Aamir Khan) catches the ire of snotty Captain Andrew Russell (Paul Blackthorne) from a nearby British cantonment, the stakes are raised. Russell, bored with the unadventurous status quo, makes a bet with the desperate villagers. He will forgo lagaan for three years - not only for Champaner, but for the entire province - if they are able to beat him and his seasoned teammates in a game of cricket ("gilli danda" for the villagers). If the Champaner contingent loses, they will have to pay three times lagaan to the regent, along with the rest of the accompanying villages in the region. Naturally, Bhuvan's fellow villagers are absolutely outraged at his agreement to these terms, but our hero has conviction in spades. Russell's kind-hearted sister Elizabeth (Rachel Shelley) opts to secretly help the Champaner team with learning the game, hoping to even the playing field between the two sides. The rest of the film explores how Bhuvan assembles a team of eccentrics, falls in love with the lovely village belle (a fesity Gracy Singh, making her screen debut) and negotiates oppression, prejudice and difference (in and outside of the village.)

Lest one forget, this is also a through-and-through musical, with six such interludes sprinkled throughout. However, these enchanting songs (composed by South Indian maestro A. R. Rahman) play an active role in pushing the narrative forward, and are not employed as burdensome time wasters. The stunningly choreographed "Ghanan Ghanan" is a show stopper in which the entire village celebrates in anticipation of a thirst-quenching and crop-saving rainstorm which never quite comes. In "Mitwa O Mitwa", Bhuvan sings a song of camaraderie, empowerment and hope in order to convince fellow villagers to join the gilli danda team (some choice lyrics: "Listen, O my friend, what is this fear you have? This earth is ours, and so is the sky!"). "Chale Chalo" is a rousing, percussion-heavy call-to-arms (or call-to-cricket-bats) in which the villagers prepare for the fateful game. And in my favourite song and dance sequence, "Radha Kaise Na Jale" (translated roughly as "How can Radha not be jealous?") Bhuvan and Gauri playfully act out the courtship of the goddess Radha by the Lord Krishna. She doubts his dedication due to his roaming eye for the gopis (cow-herding village girls), while he maintains that her jealousy is utterly unfounded. Of course, Gauri's invocation of Radha here is a thinly-veiled cover for her suspicion that Bhuvan has fallen in love with Elizabeth. It is not far-fetched to argue that deleting the songs for non-Indian audiences in an effort to lessen the running time (a rumour circulated during awards season of that year) would severely hurt the film. At many theatrical screenings, it was not uncommon to hear applause, cheers and whistles after each song.

While Lagaan certainly carries the baggage of a beat-all-odds "sports movie" (scenes of training for the big game, confronting obstacles from all directions, and the pre-climax threat of crippling defeat all follow in typical fashion), more fun is mined from picking up on Gowariker's sly winks at his audience: the man has obviously read his theory. True, there's something convenient about the all-inclusive policy of who can play on the Champaner gilli-danda team (Hindu men, a Muslim, a Sikh, and an untouchable are all represented), but Gowariker also understands how communal and religious tensions are informed, fueled and nurtured by colonial divide-and-rule policies, not by an a priori intolerance of difference. Moreover, Lagaan's conflict is not squarely characterized in a top-down structure (solely mustache-twirling Brits stamping on those poor, defenseless brown people), but in a Foucauldian network of power relations. The issue of caste is especially key here, and while Bhuvan's passionate plea to his fellow villagers to allow untouchable villager Kachra to integrate may seem like a stretch, the film makes an astonishing statement about the nature of modernity and how culture is fluid (not a fixed phenomenon.) Bhuvan even uses ancient Hindu scripture to bolster his argument, citing examples about how the Lord Ram once ate berries from the garden of a tribal woman, and that the boatman who ferries souls in the Afterlife lacks a varna himself. Moreover, throughout the film, Bhuvan not only faces the brunt of Russell's racism, but opposition from the Raja, his village elders, and Lakha, a conspiring jealous teammate in cahoots with Russell.

Even more fascinating are the screenplay's flirtations with Occidentalist characterizations and reverse Other constructions. While Blackthorne's sneering Captain Russell essentially embodies colonial greed and violence, his sister Elizabeth is so committed to aiding Bhuvan and the villagers that she actually fantasizes about becoming a part of their community (prancing around in full gagra choli, no less!) In one of the film's winsome musical numbers "O Rey Chori", in which Bhuvan finally confesses his true feelings to Gauri, Elizabeth imagines a happy life as Bhuvan's wife and sings:

My heart, it speaks a thousand words, I feel eternal bliss/
The roses sprout their scarlet mouths, like offering a kiss/
No drop of rain, no glowing flame, has ever been so pure/
If being in love can feel like this, then I'm in love for sure!

The scene, replete with curtains flapping in the wind, white doves and loud emotions is intentionally meant to be ridiculous (much credit goes to Rachel Shelley for being such a good sport about the lyrics.) At every single screening I attended back in 2001 (three shows in total), the predominantly South Asian-Canadian audience never failed to break into embarrassed titters, and it was clear why - goras aren't supposed to sing in these movies! Gowariker in essence reverses the direction of the Gaze here; it is the white lady who is Othered here, not the exotic Indian woman. However, the degree of Elizabeth's love and admiration for Bhuvan is not trivialized as a result - in a Bollywood musical, it is only appropriate her love is articulated in song (and in English, for that matter.) At the close of her fantasy, Elizabeth even applies a bindi to her forehead, to mark herself as a Hindu woman. Rarely has the concept of hybridity and culture-crossing been dealt with so cleverly and complexly. When she and Bhuvan part for good at the end of the film, it is difficult not to feel sorrow for this romance that could not be.

Aamir Khan has always been a captivating and winsome performer, who had appeared in many late '80s and '90s romantic blockbusters prior to Lagaan. But until this collaboration with Gowariker, the steel in his eyes and the earnesty in his voice had never been showcased to such effective ends. Bhuvan, with his faultless personality, socially-progressive ideas and ever-good intentions, is not the most exciting or textured character on paper. However, Khan makes him a magnetic force, whether staring down his opponents or raising morale in his fellow teammates. In a lesser film with a less discerning actress, Gracy Singh's Gauri probably would have been relegated completely the sidelines, only appearing for a dance number when necessary. Thankfully, she is a constant presence throughout the entire film. Her character is the first to embrace Bhuvan's ambitious project, and she insists on attending all the training sessions to lend support and input. While there may be an element of misogyny in how she repeatedly falls into fits of jealousy every time Bhuvan interacts with Elizabeth ("Tell me Bhuvan, why is that White Witch willing to help you?"), Singh is able to amazingly evade caricature. She is also an expert comedian, and her full expressive eyes are certainly her greatest asset here: consider the hysterical scenes in which she worriedly spies on Bhuvan and Elizabeth discussing cricket rules.

Rachel Shelley is compassionate and moving as a British woman struggling with her allegiance and identity as an outsider wanting in. Much credit should go to the actor for convincing us that a powerful and elevated woman of status in that period, with its norms about racial hierarchy, could fall in love with an Indian peasant farmer. Paul Blackthorne's Captain Russell is not afforded much dimension beyond hatred of all things Indian, but he sneers and condescends fittingly. A cast of established character actors round out the Champaner gilli danda team, special notice going to Raghuvir Yadav as a frazzled chicken farmer and booming Rajesh Vivek as the opinionated village seer, who provides superb comic relief. Meanwhile, Rajendranath Zutshi hints at a fascinating back story as Muslim Ismayeel with his limited screen time, and Yashpal Sharma's expressions are always priceless. Also deserving of special mention is Javed Singh as conflicted Ram Singh, a servant in the Raja's palace, who allows us to understand how Indians placed in positions of authority over their fellow countrymen face complicated realities about loyalty and kinship.

As already mentioned, A. R. Rahman's work as composer contributes a great deal of information about this land and its people, seeking inspiration from rustic folk music and the structure of the classical Hindu epics. Costume designer Bhanu Athaiya, who won an Oscar for Gandhi, could have easily recycled her work from that epic film, but is nicely attuned to how the Gujurati agrarian community is varied in terms of dress itself (distinguished village leaders versus the constituents of the village, the Raja's golden fineries versus the dhotis of the farmers, the particulars of Muslim apparel versus Hindu garb, etc.) The finery of Russell and Elizabeth's ensembles are never overstated, while the redcoats of the British army look appropriately lived-in. Anil Mehta's cinematography does amazing things with the flat, dry landscape of the Bhuj desert, a pronounced departure from the bleeding crimsons and dazzling sapphire blues in 1999's Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, which he lensed just before this film. Art director Nitin Desai (another alumnus of Sanam) and his team traveled to Bhuj four months before shooting began in order to erect an authentically period township. Editor Ballu Saluja deserves special praise for making a four-hour-long film seem like half the length; his work assembling the cricket match is especially commendable. Interesting fact: to add an additional layer of authenticity, the screenplay was written and performed in the dialect of Avadhi.

By presenting a village of peasants as political beings struggling against imperial exploitation through non-violent means, Gowariker writes back into history the voices that elitist historiography has overlooked or silenced. Nationalism then, Guha and Gowariker remind us, is not an exclusive pursuit by personalities such as Mohandas Gandhi, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, and others who are often credited with "leading" the Indian people to Independence. As the narrator informs us at the close, "Even after this historic victory, Bhuvan's name was lost somewhere in the pages of history." What other stories of native resistance have been suffocated by master narratives over the decades? Yes, Lagaan is an endearing film about overcoming the greatest of odds, but look closer at how Gowariker has also played the conventions of commercial Hindi cinema to his advantage. Working both as a populist crowd pleaser and scholarly dissertation, Lagaan is magical Bollywood cinema at its most winsome. A

Movie thoughts going through my head today

I'm thinking of making this a regular (weekly? bi-monthly?) feature on the blog, if only to provide self-motivation for posting more often. What say? The first one I did (way back in January) can be found here, and I had a lot of fun writing it. It's a way to get out a lot of disparate opinions , ideas and reactions without feeling the need to prattle on for the length of an entire blog entry.

1. Ryan Gosling out, Mark Wahlberg in. The internet is abuzz with news that just a day before principal photography began on Peter Jackson's The Lovely Bones, Gosling left the project over creative differences. Wahlberg stepped in only a day after and arrived today in Pennsylvania, where he will be joining a cast comprising of Rachel Weisz, Saoirse Ronan (presently receiving Oscar buzz for Atonement), Susan Sarandon and Stanley Tucci. The news is all the more surprising considering the actor has spent months preparing for the part, presumably attempting to age himself (by gaining weight, growing a beard) in order to play a father of two young teenage girls. The headline particularly held my attention because I'm in the middle of the Alice Sebold novel right now. (BTW, it's quite good.) The casting change isn't altogether an unwelcome one for me, although I'll always wonder what Gosling would have done with the part. But Wahlberg looks to be on a career upswing right now, and this role presents a welcome change from the crusty police officers, bad ass vigilantes and all-around tough guys he's been channeling.

2. I've had this catchy, toe-tapping YouTube video on continuous repeat for the last day or so. It's a musical trailer for Aaja Nachle, the Madhuri Dixit vehicle opening next month. I figure that most readers of this blog are not very familiar with Bollywood trivia, so I'll try to give some background to bring you all up to speed. Simply put, this film arrives with a lot of hype precisely because of the presence of that woman in the lead role. Throughout the late 80s and early 90s, this actress reigned high over the industry - no one could match her in terms of popularity and acclaim. Aspiring starlets collectively sighed in relief when Dixit went into semi-retirement in 1999, deciding to settle down and raise a family with her husband Sriram Nene in Colorado. She has starred in only two films since - Lajja and Sanjay Leela Bhansali's remake of Devdas (for which she won buckets of Best Supporting Actress awards.) I was never a huge fan of the actress until I saw her performances in these last two films; unfortunately, this revelation occurred after she decided to leave the profession. It's sort of like what Nathaniel went through during the Pfeiffer dry spell, when she disappeared for a good five years.

Anyways, I will get my fix soon enough. Even if the movie stinks (which is probably will), Dixit still looks like she's having a ball dancing and emoting to the max, and that's good enough for me. Isn't she luminous? For past Dixit love on the blog, click here and scroll to the bottom-ish.

3. I caught Ang Lee's Lust, Caution a couple of days ago, and while my initial reaction was mixed at best, the film has really been appreciating in my mind since then. I'm thinking a second trip to the theatre is in order, although perhaps not until I've caught up on other titles first. What felt "off"? For starters, it's not the length that bothered me, but Lee's overly guarded and (forgive me) "cautious" direction. I suppose this approach is intentional, so that the bursts of gruesome violence and the infamously explicit sex scenes especially stand out, but they feel at odds with the material. I feel the same way about the gory Turkish bath throw down in Cronenberg's Eastern Promises; in both cases, the results are rather spectacular as standalone pieces of filmmaking, but feel like desperate shifts for shock value and attention nonetheless. Am I making sense?

Still, I've been mulling over the Lee movie nonstop ever since I walked out of the theatre. Whether it's the inconspicuous, delicate score by the always-dependable Alexandre Desplat or the spellbinding performance by Wei Tang (a star is born; someone cast her in something now, now NOW), I can't get Lust, Caution off the brain. A full review to follow (hopefully) after a second try. B- for now.

4. A question for you guys: do you take notes during screenings? Ever since I began writing reviews (first for personal reference, then for the blog), I've had inconsistent results with it. I can be dedicated for weeks at a time, and then stop altogether for months on end (even up to a year or beyond.) Do you find them helpful? To jog your memory while typing up thoughts, or even just for personal reference?

I made it a point to take notes throughout the festival, and I am glad that I did; the notes (illegible, small and barely comprehensible) came in handy when my sleep-deprived brain refused to retrieve certain threads of information. At the same time however, it's easy to become distracted - concentrating on what is happening on-screen while attempting to commit your last thought to paper is challenging, at least for this critic.

All in all, I suppose it's useful to have some tangible, accessible collection of data to use when writing reviews (formal or not.) But I also find that I must compose the entry while the film is fresh in my mind (so that the notes make sense and I can still make connections); once too much time has passed, they are more or less worthless. e.g. - "What did I mean there?", "What the hell is that word?", and so on...

Thoughts?

Zubeidaa

As a historian, I often find myself attuned to the problem of narrative itself - the specificity of voice, location, and accessibility. After spending four years immersed in theory about how history is written and deployed, particularly in the South Asian context (a framework unavoidably intertwined with the rise of English empire-building), I find myself unable to look at any representation of the past and its subjects in quite the same way. Within that politics, the question of the marginalized is raised, and how one can make an attempt towards uncovering silenced voices in the ongoing construction of the past. As I try and find ways to merge my two interests - the study of history and my love for the cinema - I find myself constantly aware of these issues. Shyam Benegal's revisionist "biography" Zubeidaa: The Story of a Princess (2001) fits nicely alongside Ashutosh Gowariker's Lagaan: Once Upon a Time in India (2001) and Mira Nair's Vanity Fair (2004) as films that explore this issue in relation to "India" and its not-so-recent transition towards independence. In the former film, Gowariker turns his eye to a group of village peasants who revolt in their own special way against the British raj (not violently with swords, but passionately with cricket bats), while Nair ingeniously re-inserts the story of colonialism alongside Thackery's epic novel about class hierarchy and greed during the Napoleonic wars. All three films have been extremely invaluable resources for my work in exploring these themes, and I hope to present my "findings" in a scholarly/academic medium at some point in the future.

Shyam Benegal's film, penned by screenwriter Khalid Mohamed as a tribute to his late mother, is equally subversive in making an absolute claim towards authenticity. Mirroring her son Riyaz's quest to "find" his mother in tattered remnants of oral and written history, we are constantly aware that we are not seeing Zubeidaa as she really was. She has now entered the realm of myth and what person can explain on conclusive terms who this woman was? Celebrated by some as an actress and cursed by others who saw her as a traitor to her position, by the end of the film we are left with more questions than answers. Zubeidaa forms the third chapter in an unofficial trilogy created by Benegal and Mohamed that began in 1993 with Mammo. The second film, Sardari Begum (1996), has little to do with this family, but the cinematic bookends specifically chronicle Mohamed's early life growing up without a mother. Part fairy-tale, part homage, the final installment Zubeidaa draws on several sources to weave together a complex story - the woman's diary, relatives' reminiscing and even archival documents that have been confiscated as a result of a cover-up. As the title character Zubeidaa is "seen" through various perspectives, Benegal and Mohamed offer us an endless list of possibilities about who she was, and why she left behind only shame and controversy for those who knew her.

The existing "facts" known about Mohamed's mother are these few: Zubeidaa was born sometime in the 1930s into a position of great wealth and influence, the daughter of a powerful film industry mogul. After dabbling in Hindi-language cinema in small roles and a failed marriage that produced solely one son (Khalid Mohamed himself, or his stand-in "Riyaz" in the film), she quickly captured the attention of a Hindu Rajput prince. Much to the anger of her father, who consequently disowned her, the Muslim-born Zubeidaa wed the the Maharaja of Jodhpur and moved into his palace in Gujurat as his second wife (he is the ruler of Fatehpur in Utter Pradesh in the film.) Tragically, both Zubeidaa and her husband soon were killed in a mysterious air plane crash that wiped her record clean from the royal family's history books altogether. Due to her disinheritance from both her own family and her in-laws', the specifics of Zubeidaa's life have been largely rendered invisible over the decades. Consequently, Mohamed spent his formative years raised by his grandmother and thirsting for concrete knowledge about his biological mother, and the reason why she seemingly abandoned him. This film is the result of that period of research and inquiry.

Working as an investigative journalist in the early 1980s, Riyaz (played by Benegal regular Rajit Kapoor) draws upon many sources to piece together a fabric detailing his mother's life. Zubeidaa's elderly mother (character actress Surekha Sikri-Rege, another Benegal favourite) refuses to divulge any information to her grandson, while others such as Zubeidaa's dance instructor (Shakti Kapoor, in an amusing cameo) and her father's mistress Rose (Monsoon Wedding's Lillete Dubey) are not so reluctant to revisit that period in their lives. Perhaps Riyaz's most valuable source of information is provided by the prince's first wife, Mandira Devi, who retains mixed feelings about her rival-friend but may provide the key to his biggest questions. Throughout the film, Benegal's editors Avinash Walzade and Praveen Angre artfully move back and forth across concurrent timelines without any glaring hiccups in the difficult transitions, achieving moments of tapestry-like brilliance. By drawing on a several number of perspectives, the film consequently asks its audience to reconsider how we ourselves remember, filter and etch the past. The plot is not exactly Rashoman-like in its trajectory, but there is a definite sense that each character adds various textures and layers to the tale. Yet as Riyaz draws closer and closer to the cover-up regarding his mother's life and unresolved passing, there is still an open-ended element to the closing scenes. Although one suspects Mohamed has his own opinion about his mother's suspicious death, there is room to see it from many different angles. Just as every participant has a particular spin on Zubeidaa as a character, veering from outright denial of her existence to loving and fond remembrances of her fiery personality, we as the audience are encouraged to form our own conclusions.

The film is also aware of its post-colonial context; the Rajput princes are faced with a dilemma in the wake of independence from imperial England. What is their place as antiquated aristocratic rulers in a country increasingly calling for democratic principles and voting rights of the people? The Union government in Delhi is posited against the Rajput coalition of royalty, who wish to retain their status as a clan of rulers. Zubeidaa's husband, Maharaja Vijayendra "Victor" Singh, is confident in trusting his farmer subjects to support him as a representative in the new state apparatus, while his fellow kings push for the autonomy of their own states. Benegal is also quick to point out that this discussion was largely held between men in elevated positions of power; it is no convenient plot point that Zubeidaa demands to be part of the political process herself. That India's narrative of decolonization is one "written" by an elite male subjectivity is significant; agency and ability is clearly restricted a privileged few. The issue of Zubeidaa's religious background is also of particular note; it is perhaps no surprise that the prince's family was rather eager to erase her identity from the record books. That Muslim-Hindu tensions are just as pronounced today speaks to the debate over her position as Rajput Hindu royalty. Partition itself is one of the reasons for the breakdown of Zubeidaa's first marriage, as her former in-laws decide to leave India for the Muslim-majority Pakistan.

Benegal's attention to period is masterful; barring some funny anachronisms littered throughout, the film looks as though it could have been produced during Bollywood's golden age. Often in period pieces, there is more effort placed upon providing eye candy than staying true to the time and setting (see 2002's Devdas remake.) Thankfully, art/set directors Narendra Rahurikar and Ravi Chauhan expertly support the era recreation, diversely furnishing decrepit shacks and ornate palaces alike without drawing attention to their work. The costume designers' creations are divine (by Mitali Dutta and Regina Pius); every tailor-made sari is worthy of notice, and Kapoor has never looked more majestic on-screen. Rajan Kothari's cinematography is always aware of characters as well as their surroundings, avoiding the most obvious moments to capture close-ups and instead keeping a distance when necessary. The makeup team does a marvelous job contrasting youthful exuberance and the physical marks of experience that come along with age and experience. But the true standout here is the haunting musical score by A.R. Rahman; each song is memorable, despite being utilized strictly in the background (only one song - "Dheeme Dheeme", celebrating Zubeidaa's newfound romance - is played out in its entirety.) Rahman's soundtrack overall is a masterpiece in itself - it has been in continuous play on my music player over the past few years and will likely continue to be in the future. It too seems like it was written decades ago, easily comparable to the likes of Naushad, who provided the industry with standard-setting tracks from the 1940s onwards.

Karisma Kapoor, just off her searing performance the year before in Khalid Mohamed's own earnest-but-spotty directorial debut Fiza (2000), proved to the Bollywood industry once again that she had more to her than playing romantic afterthoughts in candy-floss commercial fare. As the title character, Kapoor is able to play upon the various shades each participant in the narrative has brought to light - her childish stubbornness, the heartbreak she felt at leaving behind Riyaz, and her refusal to stay within the boundaries drawn around her as a daughter, wife and princess. Although Zubeidaa features a stellar ensemble of character actors, Kapoor manages to remain the focal point of the film throughout. Coupled with her work in Fiza, the performance is Kapoor's most impressive to date; the actress soon went into semi-retirement after a highly-publicized marriage and divorce, but hopefully she will appear in a film of this caliber again in her still-young career. The film also features three excellent supporting performances by female actors, the most impressive being Surekha Sikri-Rege's. As Zubeidaa's mother Fayyazi, Sikri-Rege is sympathetic as a conflicted mother in the flashback scenes, and marvelously cantankerous as a crotchety old woman in the "present". Equally good is Lillete Dubey as an actress past her prime; the juxtaposition between her youthful years as a friend to Zubeidaa, and her fate as a sad cat lady is striking to say the least.

Rekha is appropriately evasive as Victor's first wife; the actress seems to smartly mask her true feelings behind a dedication to proper etiquette and formality. Just as Riyaz seems on edge while interviewing her about his mother, we feel equally torn about this woman's motivations and alliances. Manoj Bajpai is charming as the Maharaja; the prince is clearly devoted to Zubeidaa, but still regards her as decorative property. The actor is able to draw out both of these characteristics, sketching a three-dimensional figure as opposed to fulfilling a mere plot device. The late Amrish Puri does as expected in his portrayal of Suleiman Seth, having now carved a niche in Bollywood playing domineering, abusive fathers; however, there are a few moments where the actor hints at regret for his harmful decisions regarding Zubeidaa's life. Rajit Kapoor only appears in a few scenes as the adult Riyaz, but is entirely believable as a intuitive, intelligent young man able to see through manipulative agendas in his quest for the truth. Other bit parts are filled in by Benegal regulars such as Seema Bhargava as Riyaz's loving childhood nurse Zainab, and Ravi Jhankar as Victor's corrupt brother who round out the cast. Worthy of special mention is Farida Jalal, who briefly reprises her role from Benegal's Mammo in this film as Fayyazi's sister who attends Zubeidaa's first wedding.

This production is admittedly an anomaly of sorts; it's not quite the hard-hitting Indian "parallel cinema" Benegal is typically known and acclaimed for. And despite its musical numbers by maestro A.R. Rahman and the casting of Kapoor in the title role, it's not a full-out Bollywood production either (its poor performance at the box office is surely proof of that, despite winning a National Award for Best Picture in the Hindi language.) As such, it exists in another space altogether, which makes it one of the most exciting cinematic ventures to emerge from India in the new millennium. Although I am usually reluctant to label anything a "feminist" piece due to the multiplicity of definitions attributed to that word, it's impossible to overlook the complexity of Zubeidaa's characterization here. She is not a perfect figure; she is prone to impulsiveness, to impatience and selfishness, but she is nonetheless endearing in her flaws and shortcomings. Her demands to be seen as more than a trophy wife are quite advanced for her time, and she gives a voice to those women who refused to remain silent in an era and culture that called for their complete omission from men's dealings (politics, money, and household decision-making.)

One of the film's most devastating sequences depicts Zubeidaa's first marriage as Rahman's cheerful "Mendhi Hai Rachnewali" (a song celebrating marriage and familial harmony) ironically plays over the desperate proceedings. Despite her ongoing resistance to apply henna to her hands and agree to the match forged by her father, she is forced to go through with the alliance. As the mullah asks repeatedly for her assent as per the specifics of the Islamic marriage nikaah ceremony, she remains chillingly silent as the crowd uncomfortably looks on. Her defiant glare from beneath her beautiful gold-threaded headdress is breathtaking in its non-conformity. Her father Suleiman Seth obnoxiously accepts the proposal on her behalf, but Zubeidaa never bows down to this aggressive attempt to control her, always true to her insistence on doing things on her own terms. A