Gun with the wind

Apaharan
Cast: Ajay Devgan, Nana Patekar
Direction: Prakash Jha
Rating: ***

What a fright. A cloth trader is kidnapped in broad daylight. And that’s business as usual in the badlands of Bihar. Practically everyone  from the state’s home minister and the lawforce to a pasha-like jailbird will now feast on the slice of the ransom cake.

Quake? For sure, even the most news-savvy viewer will be startled by Prakash Jha’s expose of the Apaharan trade in his homeland, which no other film maker has visited with such relentless concern.

Right from the raw Damul to the more polished Gangaajal, Jha’s agenda has been to report on the state’s rampant corruption, political savagery and the absence of social justice.

Bracingly, the first hour of the kidnap story is a hard slap on the face of the nation’s body politic, recalling in a way the uptempo 1970s films of Costa-Gavras (Z and State of Siege).

Not that Jha is imitative. He has his own gritty, indigenous style, recreating the ambience of Bihar with palpable authenticity in the Maharahstrian township of Satara. Indeed, the locations, décor, dialogue and the cast of performers are as real as life itself.

So,you’re hooked. Ajay, a medical rep (Ajay Devgan), aspires to join the police force. The Gandhian ideals of his stubborn father (Mohan Agashe) prevent the use of short-cuts like bribing the babus-that-be.

Shoved into a corner, though, the desperate son has to play the game of corruption, only to land in a hell from which there’s no exit. Tough.

Idealistic Jr, now, connives his way into the mafia of politician, Tabrez Alam (Nana Patekar), a virtual Don Corleone of all he surveys. So far, so power-packed. It’s in the ensuing conflict between the don and his new blue-eyed boy that the plot thickens into an inedible porridge. Oof.

The dramaturgy becomes obsessive about those yuck gun-in-the-mouth killings, much to-and-froing from prison cells and heavy-duty double- and triple-crosses. Also, the surprise reappearance of Ajay’s sweetheart (Bipasha Basu in two-and-a-half scenes), to deliver a remember-thy-conscience sermon is quite a giggle.

Unintentional, of course. Perhaps in one film, Jha tries to say too much. So, he goes around in circles for 18 long reels (where was the editor, pray?) till a finale that’s painfully self-defeating. No hope seems to be his mantra.

As for the depiction of the minority community, it could be interpreted as reactionary, if it were not for the inclusion of  a clean-cut cop (Mukesh Tiwari, first-rate). Note the scene where the cop’s wife sobs that he has paid the price of being a Muslim in the Hindu heartland. A clear case of a balancing act.

Plus, there are echoes of Sunny Deol’s Arjun (innocent turns vengeful) and Shakti (the dad being asked, Why didn’t you ever love me?). Neither do you know what to make of stray kinky moments like the rope-skipping scene between Tabrez and Ajay. Heavens.

Although some characters are sketchy (like Ajay’s devoted friend) and some overwritten (the incredibly obstinate father), there are still quite a few terrific supporting performances: Yashpal Sharma as the bumptuous prisoner, Ehsaan Khan as a wily police officer and Chetan Pandit as a Machiavellian minister.

At best, Nana Patekar as the cool baddie is passable. He’s been seen to better advantage in Parinda and Angaar. On the other hand, Ajay Devgan is excellent. Alternately, vulnerable and invincible, he gives the picture an extra dimension. His breakdown in a public square is, alone, worth the price of a ticket.

Apaharan is  strong stuff but not without its weaknesses. But then who’s perfect nowadaze at the movies?