Atrangi Re

AR Rahman flavours this offbeat offering for a fresh spin on an old-fashioned genre…

Let’s just start by saying the obvious: The whole world loves A.R. Rahman. Seriously. Some parts of it have taken longer to realise that than others and some still never realised, as they all hear him behind the scenes in one place or another. But artists throughout the film and music worlds call him for every kind of project imaginable, trusting him with everything from the most lighthearted and jubilant topics to the most solemn and sensitive. The world became most familiar with that love for him through Britain’s love (2008’s Slumdog Millionaire and 2007’s Elizabeth: The Golden Age); but Hollywood also loves him (2009’s hit rom-com Couples Retreat); China loves him (2003’s Warriors of Heaven of Earth); Iran loves him (2015’s Muhammad: The Messenger of God); and of course, Bollywood loves him (all-time big hits in 2001’s Lagaan and 2006’s Rang De Basanti) — a distinction necessary to make since he’s actually Tamil and started his career with that industry and language.

Rahman also sings, plays a few instruments, and has composed for (so far) nearly 150 different languages. Nevertheless, the very unusual move to tagline his latest movie as “An A.R. Rahman Musical” — i.e. crediting his name over the director, producer, writer, and major stars both established and up-and-coming — begs the question: is his name really that overpowering? The answer lies in the movie.

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Bihar State. Village girl Rinku (Sara Ali Khan) has yet again run away from her oppressive family to elope with the man of her dreams, Sajjad (Akshay Kumar). As this instance involved a particularly troublesome chase with the feisty girl hurling bottles at the family heavies sent to take her back to have them trembling in fear, that’s the last straw for family matriarch/Rinku’s grandmother Naani (Seema Biswas, who many international film fans will remember as Phoolan Devi in 1993’s Bandit Queen). After Naani (literally “Grandma”) beats Rinku until she herself can’t take anymore (though still not enough to get a confession on who Rinku’s beau is — after all she has to be careful not to damage her desirability), she decides that it’s time to get Rinku married. Marrying her off to anyone they can find is ok “as long as he’s Indian” (but also from the same religion which rules out Sajjad and preferably from the same region).

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For this family, “find” of course is a euphemism. Rinku has a bad feeling noticing the lavish preparations and people rushing about all around her. The worst fears are confirmed when Rinku’s “arranged” partner arrives to great fanfare being carried by multiple people — not by palanquin or even out in the open, but gagged and tied up in a sack. Worse yet, upon hearing the marriage victim’s mostly-incoherent screams of protest, the heavies realise they screwed up and kidnapped a Tamil from the South. Their captive happens to be senior medicine student Vishu (Dhanush), who was just visiting and is actually engaged to Mandy (Dimple Hayathi); but Naani can live with the new couple not even knowing each others’ language — that’s for them to sort out! (Note: those not in the know, already finding this plot far-fetched or thinking only women are victims of significant gender-targeting crime can read about what is indeed Bihar’s very unique criminal enterprise).

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Even beyond the kidnapping, coercion and all, with Rinku only having eyes for Sajjad — actually a magician who performs around the world set to return soon — and Vishu set to marry Mandy at home in Chennai in a matter of days, it’s very much a marriage of inconvenience. But this is India, thus when it comes to matrimony, the rules are the rules! So Vishu has to keep it a total secret from Mandy and her family (don’t even try with any, “but I was forced/kidnapped/gassed” excuses — it doesn’t matter you’re still married!) while both parties agree to keep up appearances for the initial trip to Dehli before divorcing just as clandestinely as they married. While Vishu is desperately worried about carrying that out smoothly, Rinku proves to be dangerously coquettish and nonchalant (and attractive), just taking the whole thing as another part of the come-what-may ride that’s her life. Can the couple successfully decouple?

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One Big Forcibly Happy Family  

The first thing to really notice and like about Re is how lively and dynamic its storytelling is. Just looking from the surface it’s a very typical Bollywood masala film — which is actually increasingly atypical in recent years due to evolving and internationalising audience tastes among the youth in particular. But the plotting throws curveball after curveball, with even moments where it sets up perfectly clichéd developments and dialogue swerving to different directions. Slated for a 2021 Valentine’s Day release but moved way up to Christmas by COVID, Re is still at heart both a youth and family film, but subverts the standard edgy and conservative leanings of either. For that, it’s no surprise the film already managed to widely appeal both to the nostalgic and the modernists, breaking previous records for viewership on Hotstar (India’s foremost streaming service that’s bigger than Prime and Netflix combined).

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Furthermore, the lighthearted presentation and generally comedic tone carry far heavier themes and subject matter. While the way Rinku whispers her love’s name to Vishu in public with an eager smile underlines her fetchingly kittenish nature, it also acutely alludes to the more harsh realities of communalism not only still persisting in India but in fact exacerbating in recent years. Through that plot, the movie more universally acknowledges a common psychological phenomenon throughout the world: Women who are significantly repressed/oppressed/victimized by their own families/communities will often be more likely to look to outsiders (or those who they’re told are the outsiders) as romantic instruments of liberation or at least rebellion (which of course will only make their circles yet angrier).

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It must be noted that there’s a lot of “regional” content here and some of it is esoteric — humour revolving around differences between Hindi and Tamil, Bihar and Tamil Nadu. But for those put off by esoteric elements Re fully compensates by also quite noticeably (even if not intentionally) catering to far more familiar images of India quite well — both the Taj Mahal and an elephant end up playing prominent roles in a scene apiece (and more troublingly for multiple scenes, some serious shoe violence). But the regionality of the story is much of the point and heart of the film, as the leads travel across several parts of India rural and urban with their differences just as punctuated as those between the characters and their misunderstandings.

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In addition to and above their challenges, the beauty of those differences are highlighted from several more areas than the script. Excellent cinematography from Pankaj Kumar (Tumbbad) follows a ride through the chaotic roads of Dehli with the same gusto as Rinku’s dazzling dances and attire. The “costumes” (not that they need to be called such for a movie like this) also play their part, with Rinku’s impending wedding treated as a thriller moment — slow motion, spinning camera, musical crescendo and all — as she fights off makeup preparations; a shawl is once used for a daring escape.

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Unfortunately (at least for this reviewer), going towards the second half the plot gets increasingly outlandish (a bit like a certain popular Hong Kong movie but even more so — if I even said which one it would be a spoiler, for the few who actually bother closely following both industries). The biggest twist does help to make the romantic stakes higher and the comedy more crowd-pleasingly zany, but marks a large shift in focus that ends up being at the expense of the more grounded and pertinent themes. But that can’t be complained about too much, as Re is primarily about having fun amid rich visuals and audio which it does very well. There’s also a big but humorously simple sense of relief to the climax that neither the characters nor the audience really think about until it’s brought up.

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Sara Ali (many get accustomed not to just use the surname “Khan” because there are so many other famous Khans in the industry including [just in her family!] her father Saif Ali and aunt Soha Ali) gets her biggest spotlight yet here. She was never the most subtle among actresses but certainly is (and partially for that very reason) one of the more vivacious, with similar to be said about her robust dance skills. This performance carries off a kind of insurmountable proudness [sort of stereotypically] becoming of her character’s Thakur lineage or better yet, the real-life Princess she is. Saying such is not flattery, as her grandfather and great-grandfather were indeed Nawabs (Princes) and the family even has their own palace. She still comes across some rocky patches when asked to emote more intensely — with her crying in particular not too convincing yet — but has certainly shown the improvement needed in becoming a leading lady by pulling off Re’s toughest role.

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Then there’s Dhanush, one of Tamil cinema’s biggest stars. The multitalented actor, singer, screenwriter, songwriter (who penned lyrics for the Tamil version of this movie) and more recently director is similarly branching out amongst industries, with a handful of roles outside his Kollywood headquarters for Bollywood, Mollywood, Tollywood, France (Pollywood?), and soon to be even Hollywood with the Russo brothers’ The Gray Man. For most of this performance the actor confidently portrays his character being at a loss, seldom having any idea what to do whether faced with the groom-grooming thugs of Bihar, Mandy’s family or the ever-mixed messages of Rinku. He brings his character’s shyness to a most endearing effect in a hilarious scene where he’s nervously trying to request Rinku’s companionship on a trip but within the parameters of a properly loveless marriage. The result is what may be the world record for Longest Continuous Indian Head Bobble.

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Perhaps the most refreshing thing of all to see here, however, is Akshay Kumar — with little doubt India’s biggest star of 2021 for the combined degree of activeness and success — finally taking a break from increasingly chauvinistic and one-dimensional action/thriller movies. After all, this came out right after he pretty much single-handedly defeated Muslim terrorists in Sooryavanshi (August) and Sikh terrorists in Bell Bottom (November) back-to-back — with both movies claiming Pakistan the invisible hand causing everything wrong with the help of traitors. (That record still wasn’t enough to appease some right-wing fans angry about his role here though….) So Kumar’s Re character and performance equally refreshingly act as an amusing send-up of the overblown “superman” nature of many of his recent roles, which also seemed to keep intensifying lately. Sajjad is shown to have surprising imperfections and insecurities while still staying generally likeable.

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It turns out that calling this the “A.R. Rahman Musical” wasn’t just because of and testament to how big the composer is; he really does play at least as large a role as anyone else. The functions of the music go beyond BGM and music numbers (although Rahman puts a lot into those too) to help communicate much of the atmospheric and key content alike; mostly Indian flavours though anything’s liable to pop up (from Hollywood-esque romantic string music to bossa nova). That adds up to one of his more encompassing soundtracks of the Lagaan mould, though I doubt this will be as well-remembered as that ones. The songs have a similar aim to the movie in updating largely traditional varieties of Indian music and spotlighting different regional varieties of it, to the point that it’s easy to tell how cohesive of a team effort it was to keep story, characters and soundtrack in lockstep.

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So as is usually the case with Rahman but even more so this time, none of the songs are here just for the sake of being here. In fact, the centrepiece “item” song (the kind that tends to be tacked on to movies), “Chaka Chak” (So Amazing) both marks and is the primary pivotal point of the plot. As appealingly flashy as it is from every angle (music, performance, attire, camera), I still find the lyrics and concept a mite too simple to be among his best. The English-peppered “Little Little” has another kind of pleasant simplicity that makes it more cute than memorable. On that note, throughout his entire career, I’ve found a common pattern for Rahman’s centrepiece songs (even ones he didn’t write) from his biggest movies to be relying on easy and heavy but catchy repetition of lyrics, sound and melody — hamma, hamma, hamma hamma hamma (Bombay); chaiyya chaiyya chaiyya chaiyya chaiyya (Dil Se); and now you can also add haaye chaka chak chaka chak and love me little little little little little little too.

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The end result is a laudable team effort that can work agreeably for insiders, outsiders and any in between. The sum of its parts (quite necessarily) goes beyond the main story as a fun traverse through India and Indian culture that also touches touchy issues with a humanistically humorous touch. It’s conversely difficult to feel that full potential is reached in most any given department, but Atrangi Re lives up to its name all too well (in the good way!) with too many delights to dwell on what’s missing.

“What’s the big deal if — just this once — a girl has a lover and a husband?”

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Side note

Despite the technically glowing introduction of Rahman in this review (though I was really just stating the facts!) I actually think him to be overrated. I am indeed part of the aforementioned whole world that loves his overall contribution to film music and the incredible range of styles he can work with, but still don’t think he warrants the unmatched and outright exclusive degree of attention he gets internationally among South Asian composers. I don’t even quite find him the best Tamil film composer (2nd to Ilaiyaraaja); but as he composes in a style fully congruent to “world music” conventions as Western markets think of them, I understand why he rather than anyone else was elevated to that status.

Regarding his name, it’s long been common practice for Indian figures in music, other arts and politics (but not among stars) to initialize all but their surnames, to the point that they’re seldom seen otherwise. Even most of A.R. Rahman’s fans wouldn’t be able to tell you his name stands for Allah Rakha if asked, though the practice goes back for generations as with R.D. Burman and his father S.D. But sometimes that’s just done for the sake of convenience, so people won’t always have to write/speak out Koduri Marakathamani Keeravaani for M.M. Keeravaani; let alone the several famous composer duos like Shankar-Jaikishan (for Jaikishan Dayabhai Panchal and Shankar Singh Ram Singh Raghuvanshi).