The new Sarkar Raj  is a love letter from Ramu to the triple-A Bachchan trio.  

If triple-X connotes slimy, sleazy and anything-goes nangi antics, then triple-A here is the highest of star heights, fullest of full-on media attention to every Karva Chauth, barefoot temple pilgrimage, phoren fillum festival, product endorsement, movie launch, music launch, etc etc etc that any of three (Amitabh, Abhishek, Aishwarya) attend solo or in any combination of duos, or even better, as the whole threesome (or the three wholesome).  

RGV’s paen goes like this:   How do I love ye three?   Let me count the ways”¦.I love thee through smoky sunlight, pouring into the room and bathing you in a milky, full-body halo.   I love thee shot from under a glass-topped coffee table, as my cameraman teases the audience, allowing glimpses of father and son when they’re not obscured by the undersides of various tchochkes laying on said tabletop.   I love thee in tight, tight close-ups filmed at tilted angles, or so far in that we can only see part of thine heavenly face and the stray scar left by childhood chicken pox.   And I even love thine feet, as my cameraman places the equipment ground-level to record thine beauteous tootsies as they exit the tank-like SUV or the jeep or the white Merc when it pulls up at the home / five-star hotel / hospital / villain’s lair.

Don’t get me wrong.   None of this is bad.   I mean that sincerely.   (Well, ok, the glass-top coffee table shots were frustrating, like when you’re at a dinner and the floral arrangement gets in the way of you making proper eye contact with the person across the table from you.)   For any of us who receive much enjoyment from gazing on the oversized celluloid countenances (and hands, and arms, and so on) of the Bachchan père et fils, and even though we prefer the opposite sex are still, regardless, spellbound as we look at the former Miss World and marvel at the color of her eyes, the set of her mouth, the perfect teeth, the flawless makeup (what shade of pink is that lipstick  and where can I find it?), there is much in this two-hour film to enjoy.

For everyone else?   Well, the story is interesting to begin with, as we observe the shifting dynamic between father and son Shining India dons carrying out their roles.   One is aging and one is growing in confidence and influence.   Anita (Aishwarya Rai Bachchan) arrives from London with the intent to build a maha power plant in rural Maharashtra, and needs the Nagre men’s blessing, as the project will displace several tens of thousands of villagers.  

Initially the men disagree.   Dad feels bad for those who would be displaced, the son sees further ahead and reasons that the plant will be for the greater good.   The father is won over, but around them, several bad guys (politicians and businessmen) are holding various grudges, grinding various axes and conspiring to do them harm.  

This is where I lose a little bit of patience, as the villains are (save my beloved Victor Banerjee who is urbane and ice cold) cartoonish and grotesque.   In Sarkar, we had Silver Mani, here it’s the Nagre-appointed CM who’s got some serious Freudian issues (this guy is always eating, drinking or sucking on his thumb), or the slippery Qazi with his throwback-to-the-good-ol-days obligatory pencil-thin moustache,

 

or the two-Thackereys-rolled-into-one rabble-rousing rural politico with the oversized eyeglasses always sipping bottled water.  

 

Maybe Ramu feels that these are the kind of villains Indian audiences want and expect in their movies, but I personally wouldn’t have minded a little more subtlety.

The action shifts away from Bombay to (supposedly) rural Maharashtra.   (If you notice a few of the shop signs in two scenes you will glimpse a wee bit of Telugu script.)    We get to see Sarkar’s aged guru and mentor, and we get to watch Shankar (Abhishek Bachchan) and Anita talk – a lot – and get to know each other.

Hats off to RGV for writing such a strong role for Aishwarya as the corporate doyenne, and one that she embodies well.   Unlike many other flics where the lady boss is all veneer and the minute one thing goes wrong she returns to type and crumples into a puddle of tears, here Anita is written so that she holds her own when she’s with the menfolk, and the only scene that requires her to cry is because of something going on outside the sphere of bijness.   Well done.

One other female surprise was Tanisha Mukerjee, returning from Sarkar, where she again plays Avantika.   I had forgotten whatever became of Katrina Kaif’s character in the first movie, but one glimpse of Ms. Chatterjee in her lovely saris and small spot of sindhoor, and it was plain that the chatty girl who was a fixture in the first film, has now managed to get what she had set her sights on, marrying Shankar.

 

Abhishek here is on equal footing with his father, in terms of his role’s prominence in the film, and in his acting.   One complaint I had of Sarkar was that Abhi’s part was paper thin, especially compared to the intensity of the scene-stealing Vishnu (Kay Kay Menon).  

But here, he’s strong and imposing (and mighty fine on the eyes in his French cuffs and suits), though a little more soft-and-squishy emotion might not have been bad, especially right before the Interval.

So the Bad Guys inflict pain and mayhem on the Nagre parivar, there’s a move afoot to shift the plant from Maharashtra to Gujurat, there’s some speechifying on the purpose of business (to make money or to do good) until the end, where, in the final scene, Amitabh is saddled with a LONG, expository soliloquy and his real-life daughter-in-law is forced to just sit there and listen, without even an “Ah ha” scripted in to allow her to react.

Although there were some surprises in the film, and I won’t give them away here, I did feel as though the blood really drained from the picture in the 2nd hour.   I am normally able to surrender myself  to what I’m watching in a cinema hall and lose track of time, but here, in the last 50 minutes of the movie, I actually checked my phone for the time on three occasions.   It seemed to me that, except when they were hopping in and out of cars, the lead actors were, for the most part, stationary as the cameras spun about them, and that last hour of Sarkar Raj dragged.

The snake-like flute has returned to herald the arrival of anyone malevolent, as has that bloody GovindaGovindaGovinDAH! chorus.   The musical score is so present and so overpowering that it’s an annoyance rather than another tool the director could use to heighten the emotional intensity of a scene.   I was amazed to hear that there was recent a launch for the CD of the background score, as I really can’t imagine chilling out at home listening to that flute or driving while that GovindaGovindaGovinDAH! pounds out through my car’s speakers.

For any angrezis who don’t understand Hindi, be forewarned that there are temporary subtitle lapses, usually when you most need them, when Papa Bachchan is doing his  heavy-duty speeches.   (Can anyone fluent in Hindi who’s seen the movie tell me, was he speaking some very, very shud Hindi, or was it Marathi-laced, or Sanskritized?   To my ears, that have admittedly been corrupted by so much Hinglish on TV and in movies, it sounded to me like what Old English or Shakespeare must sound to someone who’s not a native English-speaker.)

See it or skip it

See it, though I have a few reservations saying that to anyone who’s not a big Bachchan or RGV fan.  

But, indeed, it is a big summer release, it does star the triumvirate of Hindi movie royalty, and it is made by the man who gave us Company and Satya.   Also, as Hindi cinema does try other ways to tell stories, that don’t involve mujras or rap and multiple costume changes, it is interesting to see how directors are doing that.

I like that Ramu’s got his characters thinking out loud about power, and force and pondering their motivations, I just wish that more of the oomph in the film was allowed to come from the actors, rather than the cameras and the soundtrack.