No good in being good

By collapsing the differences between bipolarities such as old and new, right and wrong, art and commercial, postmodern theory has given agency to narratives of the oppressed — those whom the politics of hate or discrimination have hitherto kept invisible and/or inaudible.

In recent times, films such as Dor, Chak De India, and Taare Zameen Par have explicitly or implicitly invoked postmodern thought to create space and acceptability for newer/broader identities, to challenge stereotypes and to subvert unjust power structures.

But there is also a negative outcome of postmodern theory: if there is no difference between good and bad, some have contended, if all worldviews are arbitrary and therefore equal, then it is all right not to take a political position on anything because the world is morally relativistic, if not ethically bankrupt.

This self-destructive nihilism has gained ground in contemporary Hindi cinema under the guise of “radical and chic”. Zoya Akhtar’s Luck By Chance is a case in point. The film tries to demolish the differences between luck and manipulation. Both its protagonists —one male, one female — use guile and make compromises to get ahead in the Hindi film industry.

But while one goes on to achieve worldly success, the other settles for a life in television and tells herself she is happy because she has finally accepted her lot in life. At no point does the film or its characters — all of who are equally unscrupulous — try to rise above their circumstances to empower themselves. Both the film and its characters choose to “adjust” to their destiny instead of fighting injustices to make the film industry a better place for the next generation.

The only moment of dignity displayed by Konkana’s character is when despite the opportunity cost, she decides she deserves better than a man as selfish as Farhan’s character. 

Although not an Indian/Hindi film per se, the problem with Slumdog Millionaire (not the novel Q and A) is similar. In it, Mumbai is oversimplified as a city of evil where terrible things are done without hesitation or compunction. The city is shown to have no empathy and no heroes who take personal risks for the sake of justice. Patronisingly, the film seems to tell us that we’re too far gone to apprehend our own injustices, and too apathetic to do something about it.

Vishal Bhardwaj’s Kaminey, albeit intelligent, is equally amoral. Here, the doppelganger motif is presented with an avant-garde twist: instead of twins who love each other, Kaminey’s brothers are indifferent to each other but, paradoxically, exactly like each other.

In postmodern terms, Kaminey collapses the rigid hierarchies that separate binary opposites and demonstrates that the differences between the two brothers — as well as the other dramatis personae, all of who are equally kamina — are as constructed as the cultural context that defines them.

In short, Kaminey sets up a series of mystifying mirror images where each character is a reflection of the other and, therefore, devoid of the moral authority to fight the other. Or Kaminey implicitly demonstrates that the differences between Ram and Shyam were absolute only because they were made so by Hindi film convention, an intellectual and cultural space that itself is neither constant nor infallible. 

Yet, in doing this, Kaminey undermines its own meaning and relevance. After all, Ram’s raison d’etre is to restore justice by setting right the inhumane brutalities suffered by Shyam, as well as to empower the latter to stand up to bullies.

Shyam’s raison d’etre is to transform Ram into a more compassionate, caring and responsible person. Guddu and Charlie, however, are presented as equal victims of a hypercompetitive dystopia where everyone must shed their ideals to survival. But if every kamina is presented as an equal victim of circumstances, Guddu and Charlie are reduced to the level of drug peddlers or hate-mongers like Bhope Bhau. 

The desire for self-respect, the need to help others, or the ability to wrest agency and overturn injustices is as inherent a human trait as is the need to be evil. Absent in these three films, however, is the complexity and ethical dilemmas that plague the characters of, say, Deewar.

Poverty does not justify crime or ruthless opportunism — that is the lesson Deewar’s Ravi learns from AK Hangal’s school teacher. To portray a world that is sweepingly selfish, merciless and corrupt and suppress depictions of the forces of good is to overlook this reality. And that is what renders these otherwise clever and technically brilliant films hollow.

The writer is Mumbai-based journalist