Notes on Haider

Some stray thoughts on the film after I decided to re-watch it on the big screen (the first viewing was a screener print with dodgy sound, mutilating the beauty of the translations and the lyricism of dialogues), meant mainly for people who’ve seen the film. Yeah, I know I’m late.

• A few words on the nature of the adaptation first. Bharadwaj has managed to open up an unusually interior play, shifting a chunk of the focus from individuals to the greater political realities of its setting, Kashmir. An epitome of inaction is turned into a politically charged youth, provoking and rising up against authorities at every available opportunity (he refers to Anantnag as Islamabad to Army personnel during his introductory scene). Numerous redundant questions concerning “Why Hamlet?” or “How much Hamlet?” have been put forth by commentators on the film. Any worthwhile adaptation, crossing the barrier of mediums, is an unfaithful one, to me. Going by the censor board’s dictat of forty one cuts to facilitate the release, one can safely assume that the film would never have seen the light of day, if not supported by the crutches of the Bard.
  
• An observation regarding the hyper-rationalizing nature of Bharadwaj and Basharat Peer’s screenplay is almost inevitable. As Baradwaj Rangan has pointed out, the sheer amount of background information fed to the viewer crosses the line eventually, turning into heavy-handed footnotes. I was intrigued by the spectral introduction of Roohdaar (an intelligent reworking of the ghost in the play), especially when he mysteriously proclaimed - “Main doctor ki rooh hoon”. But VB had to go ahead and ruin it with a protracted & exhaustive backstory, attuned to the realist aesthetic that he had chosen. And that remains the case throughout. Even Haider’s descent into madness has a medical term ascribed to it (post-traumatic stress disorder).
  
• I absolutely loved the post-modern riff of the two Salmans (Bhai-tards, to use the lexicon of the interwebz). Them and the scenes at the theater where the Army personnel while away their free time, serve as a rebuke to the slimy, inordinate preeminence and sovereignty of the behemoth called Bollywood.
• The film is interspersed with some of the most competent translations of lines from the play as well as original dialogues. Sporadic bursts of refined lyricisms (Haider’s grandfather laments, “Hamara aasmaan kaale parindon se bhara hua hai”) left me pining for more. The concerted effort to stick to a realist aesthetic hinders the film from attaining its full political potential.
  
• The stupendous performance delivered by Tabu as Ghazala/Gertrude deserves a special mention along with a nod towards the screenwriters. She becomes Kashmir itself; dazzlingly alluring, an object of desire, her body turned into a battleground (quite literally during the climactic sequence). Like Kashmir, she too fails in her attempts to protect her son(s) from the vicious traps of violence. Also, compared to Gertrude, she has considerably more agency during the denouement. Shades from Tabu’s portrayal as Lady Macbeth in Maqbool is clearly evident, with emotional blackmail as her preferred choice of weapon here. In hindsight, the film could very well have been named “Ghazala”.
• Constant harping on the Gandhian lines of Haider’s grandfather, “Inteqaam se sirf inteqaam paida hota hai”, almost reduces the film into a cautionary tale by offering the people of Kashmir with a moral choice, only to create a false equivalence between the systematic violence perpetrated by the state to continue its military occupation, and the resistance movement by the people against the regime which has succeeded to block almost all channels of non-violent dissent. Then again, this is a work of fiction, not a documentary.
• I thought that the film would have been better served by an ending wherein an agonized Haider points the gun at his incapacitated uncle’s head, cogitating on whether to pull the trigger or not, followed by a fade-out; which, in my view, would’ve perfectly exemplified the  suspended state of Kashmir’s existence.
• VB missed out on using Faiz’s “Gulon mein rang bhare” as a full-fledged song in the film, albeit, a stunning rendition is present in the soundtrack. Although, “Aaj ke naam” (Faiz, again, beautifully sung by Rekha Bharadwaj) provides a perfect finishing touch after a nihilistic finale.
• Hardly ever does a mainstream film come out of India which fails to please (or rather, chooses not to please) either of the parties involved in a conflict that it deals with. The usual knee-jerk reaction of the ultra-nationalist right, protesting (even calling for a ban) the portrayal of the Indian Army (the expectation is to show them as cherubic angels of mercy and fairness), along with the refusal of the Pakistan censor board to allow the film into its theatres (on grounds of it being “against the ideology of Pakistan”- due to cursory mentions of Operation Gibraltar), proves that the film has succeeded on that front – which is no mean feat.

Also, issued in public interest, chutzpah is pronounced as ‘hoot-spuh’ or ‘khoot-spuh’.