Hichki
Back in 2008, I remember catching a late, late show on television of a Hallmark Hall of Fame feature titled Front of the Class, and being glued to the screen. At the time I had never heard of Tourette Syndrome, a neurological disorder that produces uncontrollable vocal and physical tics. I also hadn’t seen James Wolk, a newcomer at the time, who made me empathise with the protagonist’s life mission to teach in a school despite his handicap.
Front of the Class (based on the autobiography of Brad Cohen) is a masterpiece of sombre, engaging cinema. Brad’s story is powerful, worthwhile and very real, combining the finest elements of teacher-student dramas with a weepy, critical illness (think: Sophie’s Choice meets Dead Poets Society).
In Hichki, Rani Mukherjee steps in for Wolk while director Siddharth Malhotra transposes Cohen’s life story into a power vehicle for his star. Despite one’s instant, uncompromised surrender to the story (the premise is powerful enough on its own), Hichki is embedded with that unmistakable superficial Bollywood aura — which, at times, becomes an impediment.
Unlike Front of the Class, where the audience feels for Cohen’s affliction, here we applaud Mukherjee’s brilliant role-reversal. It’s a concoction made for award season.
Hichki is craftily designed as a vehicle for a Bollywood star while Rangroot chooses melodrama over genuineness… and both films leave much to be desired
Malhotra, who previously directed We Are Family (an official remake of Stepmom), is smart enough to swing the weight away from Mukherjee’s character in the latter half of the film. The focus shift to an unruly class of underprivileged children ready to be kicked out by the school grounds the narrative when Mukherjee’s story runs out of juice.
The children (too many to name here) are as good as the veteran actress, and the additional subplots — including that of a rule-bound, evil teacher played by Neeraj Kabi — holds the film well until the climax.
Hichki is craftily designed to support its star, but chances are you’ll forget all about Tourette Syndrome the moment you leave the cinema.
Sajjan Singh Rangroot
Two menacing Land Rovers stop in front of a family of refugees on the Iraq-Syria border. A handful of middle-aged Sikhs wearing Khalsa Aid T-shirts disembark the vehicles, assuring the refugees they’ve come in peace with food, water and shelter.
Later, when one of them enquires about the nature of their hosts’ goodwill, one of them goes into a two-and-a-half-hour-long flashback. The story he tells is of Sajjan Singh Rangroot, a fictional character who gives us the Sikh point-of-view of the First World War.
Sajjan is a hot-blooded man from a small village, who joins the British Indian army in 1912 at his father’s dogged insistence. As the First World War starts, Sajjan, set to marry his childhood fiancée (Sunanda Sharma), leaves for Britain as a member of the Sikh regiment. There he sees Indian cinemas’ version of the British — the pompous, debasing villains of pre-Partition India who aren’t all that different from evil German soldiers.
British women are kinder, fancying the broad-shouldered, bearded men from India. One of them hugs Sajjan out of the blue on the street for his services to the Queen; another, a waitress in a cafeteria (Caroline Wilde), puts herself up for rejection — twice. Sajjan, though, isn’t enticed by the fairer sex. He’s still smitten by his betrothed — a true man of character, or so we’re led to believe.
Sajjan is painted in broad strokes. His only function in the story is to add and support certain elements in the narrative, without actually contributing to anything substantial or original.
Diljit Doshanjh, who recently starred in Welcome to New York with Sonakshi Sinha, is fine in the role of the good guy with principles. His superior (played by Yograj Singh) has more authority and appeal as the father figure Subedar who keeps his regiment in check.
Pankaj Batra, the director, chooses melodrama over genuineness, imposing on the screenplay seen-it-all-before moments of camaraderie and chivalry. Although shot well with a lot of visual effects, the overlong running time coaxes one to take a brief nap because the story doesn’t go anywhere.
By the time the film wraps up we’ve all but forgotten about Khalsa Aid, whose message of goodwill towards mankind doesn’t really gel with Sajjan’s or the Sikhs’ struggles in history.
Published in Dawn, ICON, April 1st, 2018
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