Director: Nitesh Tiwari
Actors: Ranbir Kapoor, Yash
Rating: 4 stars
Ranbir Kapoor plays Lord Ram in Nitesh Tiwari’s Ramayana, as you’d know. But he also plays a double role in the film. This is when Ram and his wedding party is returning from Sita’s home in Mithila — somehow shown to be in the mountains; it’s in the Gangetic plains now.
Lord Parshuram (Ranbir) intercepts Ram, a fellow avatar of Vishnu — for having broken Lord Shiva’s bow, in order to marry Sita at the swayamvar.
Not that I’m an expert on the epic, but I mention this, because I had no idea about this episode from the Ramayana. And that’s also a reason the film draws you in, with several nuggets and perspective that may have escaped the lay viewer (like me).
Take the bit, for instance, where Ram’s brother Lakshman (Ravie Dubey) cuts off the gorgeous Surpanakha’s (Rakul Preet Singh) nose, for seducing the Lord, after all.
But she had only recently been left hanging as a widow, by her own brother Ravan (Yash), who’d killed off her husband (Vivek Oberoi), out of sheer ego.
This ‘naak katana’ moment is what primarily triggers Ravan to abduct Sita. And that was beyond wrong. But Lakshman’s own actions were wrong, to begin with. That’s the fine balance on which this battle of good versus evil precariously hangs, thence.
I don’t know to what extent you can fact/fiction-check mythology, even when viewed as history. As it is, there are multiple versions of the Ramayan. I see one, Dr Boddhisatva, credited as this film’s researcher. I’d love to hear more on several such aspects from those who have gone deeper into the text.
Consider still the film’s supremely special-effect heavy opening sequence, with a thumping bass line. Wherein the narrator places the entire story within the context of the Hindu trinity, i.e. Brahma (creator), Vishnu (preserver), Shiva (destroyer), and an everlasting battle between devas and asuras. Of which, Ravan belonged to the latter tribe.
So swiftly, seamlessly every moment, thereafter, in Ramayana, including the existence of Lord Ram himself, feels predetermined, premeditated — with a larger purpose, rather than simply a plot for its own sake.
This is stellar screenwriting (by Nitesh, Shridhar Raghavan). Which, as anyone who’s written a half-decent paragraph in his life — arguably the toughest job in the world — will know, hinges on structure, foremost.
That the writer-director Nitesh (Dangal, Chhichhore), beautifully tying in the beginning, middle, and end, had a God-level prototype in his hands, anyway, is a given.
The fact that you follow that adapted screenplay, loaded with emotions, from a succinct scene into another — what would be kaands/chapters in the original Ramayan — speaks well of how the filmmakers continuously keep their calm, composed eyes on the ball.
Even as this is, rightly, meant to be the grandest mirror/aaina to the Ramayana that you’ve ever seen!
At the centre of this Coliseum is, actually, Ravan — easily the most captivating character, born from the unlikely union of a saint/rishi, and asur — blessed, therefore, with both bal (brawn) and buddhi (brain), plus special powers, gifted by Brahma, for his deepest devotion.
Yash plays this toxic tyrant to a T! Here’s a ruler, also an insurmountable villain, with his own insecurities and low self-esteem, promising his subjects gold and greatness, in exchange for pure evil, and license for violence. Do you sense a parallel with modern politics? Why not!
At the opposite end, of course, is Lord Ram. Maybe it’s the role, but you find Ranbir far too subdued, even bland; mostly expressionless, while emoting the divine. Not that anybody has met Lord Ram in life. Maybe some sorta switch, subsequently, occurs in the sequel.
But, I suspect, Ranbir may have modelled this part more on the man who plays his father (King Dasharath) in the film, i.e. Arun Govil, the OG Ram, from Ramanand Sagar’s iconic, traffic-stopper TV series from the late 1980s.
In fact, Ravie as Lakshman looks like the man with more character, even humour. He stands out. Sai Pallavi as Sita is simply onscreen purity personified.
But are these characters, or for that matter the story, really the reason you stepped into the giant IMAX theatre, with thick 3D glasses?
Well — most Indians know the twists and the tale, and they can hear it in a ‘paath’, or religious retelling, in their homes, already. What’s there not to love about this lore on the Lord.
You go in hoping to be overwhelmed into submission by the scale and special effect, frankly. Do you? You do! I watched in fair amazement, wondering on occasion, how much effort must’ve gone into getting every grain of each shot right.
The set-pieces hold water, down to tears dripping from Jatayu’s eyes, ending that crackerjack action block with Ravan on Pushpak Viman. Or, indeed, that cyclone sequence, where Ram first reveals himself as the superhero, or the Lord, as it were.
God knows, Indians have spent decades straining their ears to foreign accents over films of such spectacular sweep. We deserved one of our own. The producer, Namit Malhotra (Prime Focus, DNEG), himself a special effect czar of sorts, had to be the one to pull off that brave punt.
Ramayana is three hours, 15 minutes. It’s equally intended for a global/wider, read whiter, audience. I don’t know if there’s a shorter international version. But I guess Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey, earlier in the year, must’ve warmed up western audiences to such a running time.
Yet, comparisons are immaterial. This is only the first part of the film. Two years (Diwali, 2028) is, perhaps, too long a wait for the finale.
But just think about it. Ramayana, IMHO, is not even the most thrillingly complex Indian epic. Mahabharat is. Guess what these filmmakers could achieve with that? This looks like a small step, but a giant leap, nonetheless.
