It is of Benarsi sarees and fedoras, of Murphy radio sets, gramophones and vintage Chevorlet cars, of quiet restrained love, soft emotions and warm sepia shades, of an India in its early years as a free nation. Should you ask me how ‘Lootera’ is different from other love stories in Hindi cinema; I would perhaps tell you that it isn’t. In fine gossamer silk packaging lies an almost ordinary tale.
What does set it apart though is its depiction. Unlike other modern day romances, there is nothing garish or over expressive about Pakhi and Varun’s story. They don’t belong to larger than life, picture perfect families and are not excessively airbrushed. She is an overindulged only-child of a wealthy zamindar while he is a brooding albeit handsome (in a dark ‘Heathcliff’ kind of way) conman. They play their parts as star crossed lovers with oodles of grace and dignity despite the various shades of grey that colour their persona.
Shama, the housemaid and Dev, the best friend contribute their fair share to the story’s realism. There are other characters as well – the indulgent father, the cautious munim, the clever cop and the gang leader of the con-men – who form a cocoon within which love blossoms.
Amidst fishing expeditions and Ramleela enactments in a culturally rich Calcutta and poignant exchanges in a snow clad Dalhousie, one literally feels the peaks and troughs of Pakhi and Varun’s love for each other. With just a play of expressions on their faces and unsaid words reflecting in their eyes, the two protagonists tug at your heartstrings. You want them to find happiness. You wish you could do something to help ease their pain. It is almost as if they are your own.
Intense scenes pregnant with strong emotions are interspersed with slivers of light hearted humour as if to strike a balance of sorts. For instance, when an anguished Varun irritably shoves his revolver in Shama’s hand and quips – ‘rakh lijiye, masala kootne ke kaam aayegi’ or when an iffy Dev tries to explain to a handful of bewildered workers why they are being asked to dig at an excavation site – ‘kyun khodna hai….kyunki zameen hai’.
Laced with old melodies like ’Taqdeer se bigadi hui taqdeer bana le’ and a haunting soundtrack, the movie takes on a bewitching quality. Even though you know that the climax is picked up from O’Henry’s short story- ‘The Last Leaf’, you don’t mind because it blends in so beautifully. And before you know it the two hour twenty minute movie rolls by leaving you in a misty-eyed trance.
With movies like these, it is evident that Indian cinema is capable of churning out tasteful work which pleases the soul. It is no longer a prisoner of stereotypes and has broken the shackles of regression to move ahead towards creative liberation.
What does set it apart though is its depiction. Unlike other modern day romances, there is nothing garish or over expressive about Pakhi and Varun’s story. They don’t belong to larger than life, picture perfect families and are not excessively airbrushed. She is an overindulged only-child of a wealthy zamindar while he is a brooding albeit handsome (in a dark ‘Heathcliff’ kind of way) conman. They play their parts as star crossed lovers with oodles of grace and dignity despite the various shades of grey that colour their persona.
Shama, the housemaid and Dev, the best friend contribute their fair share to the story’s realism. There are other characters as well – the indulgent father, the cautious munim, the clever cop and the gang leader of the con-men – who form a cocoon within which love blossoms.
Amidst fishing expeditions and Ramleela enactments in a culturally rich Calcutta and poignant exchanges in a snow clad Dalhousie, one literally feels the peaks and troughs of Pakhi and Varun’s love for each other. With just a play of expressions on their faces and unsaid words reflecting in their eyes, the two protagonists tug at your heartstrings. You want them to find happiness. You wish you could do something to help ease their pain. It is almost as if they are your own.
Intense scenes pregnant with strong emotions are interspersed with slivers of light hearted humour as if to strike a balance of sorts. For instance, when an anguished Varun irritably shoves his revolver in Shama’s hand and quips – ‘rakh lijiye, masala kootne ke kaam aayegi’ or when an iffy Dev tries to explain to a handful of bewildered workers why they are being asked to dig at an excavation site – ‘kyun khodna hai….kyunki zameen hai’.
Laced with old melodies like ’Taqdeer se bigadi hui taqdeer bana le’ and a haunting soundtrack, the movie takes on a bewitching quality. Even though you know that the climax is picked up from O’Henry’s short story- ‘The Last Leaf’, you don’t mind because it blends in so beautifully. And before you know it the two hour twenty minute movie rolls by leaving you in a misty-eyed trance.
With movies like these, it is evident that Indian cinema is capable of churning out tasteful work which pleases the soul. It is no longer a prisoner of stereotypes and has broken the shackles of regression to move ahead towards creative liberation.
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