Director: Anindo Bandhopadhyay
Bangshi – Rudranil Ghosh
Rina – Rachita Bhattacharya
Nimua – Sohum Maitra
Zafar – Mir Afsar Ali
A few too many people hold sympathy for struggling mime artist Bangshi’s Tramp. The original Tramp, immortalized by actor-director Charlie Chaplin in silent feature films such as ‘City Lights’ (a testament to his mastery over both comedy and pathos), ‘The Kid’, ‘Modern Times’ and countless short skits during the earliest days of cinema, persistently remained an outcast. Legendary critic Roger Ebert cogently remarked in his essay, while adding City Lights to his ‘Great Movies’ collection, that “…his shabby appearance sets him apart and cues people to avoid and stereotype him; a tramp is not … one of us…the Tramp is an outcast, an onlooker, a loner”.
Hence any slapstick or dramatic incident involving him treats us with an altogether special form of happiness or pain; the same applies for reclusive poet Emily Dickinson’s works, which are tinged with universally recognized emotions yet made distinctively special with her individualistic writing style. Dickinson was a real person, while the Tramp exists in a fictional world, where “he exists somehow on a different plane than the other characters; he stands outside their lives and realities, is judged on his appearance, is homeless and without true friends or family, and interacts with the world mostly through his actions” (Ebert). A few who do care or support him are usually in similar situations themselves or perhaps, as in case of City Lights, drunk or sightless. In the end, he may attain little joy, little respite, little or no companionship but we’re touched by his ability to smile alone in the face of adversities. He may not speak a word, and yet his emotions ring true.
Padmanabha Dasgupta, one of Chaplin’s screenplay writers, was apparently inspired to pen the draft (later reshaped by Anindo Bandhopadhyay, also the film’s director) after witnessing a nondescript Chaplin impersonator stuffing the only Cadbury bar given to him by the hosts into his pockets so he could carry it for his entire family. I’m aware of the immense struggle faced by local artistes, many who put in hours of hard-work only to find their work going unnoticed and/or unappreciated. I knew a man who would spend his mornings and afternoons practicing Bharatnatyam, an Indian classical dance form, his evenings in drama rehearsals, and work as security guard during night shift, along with earning some cash as an auto-rickshaw driver during weekends. He was ghostly pale, and you heard a strain of unhealthiness in his voice, like it hurt him even to speak after endless grueling. I saw him at a seminar a couple of days ago. He seemed healthier and happier.
Bangshi (played by Rudranil Ghosh), the film’s hero, performs as a Chaplin impersonator at birthday parties and events but has no other source of income, despite persuasions from Rina (Rachita Bhattacharya), a well-to-do social worker who’s also his son Nimua’s (Sohum Maitra) teacher in school. Bangshi and Nimua are a happy-go-lucky father-and-son duo who survive on little income, and yet find out ways to remain happy and get love and support from within their community. Close ones include Bangshi’s companion Zafar (Mir Afsar Ali), who’s compelled to borrow money from Bangshi after his previous owner cruelly refuses to pay him his dues, and Bangshi’s landlord, who dons a muffler around his head and fixes a stern landlord-y look but has love in his heart both for Bangshi and Nimua. Both latch onto optimism, even when their heart’s desires are unmet; Nimua is so eager to have a grand birthday party hosted for him, just like the ones he watches from a distance when accompanying his dad to work, but he knows his wish won’t come true when all he gets for meals is bread dipped in water.
And yet, his unfulfilled desires find some respite in his dreams. Bangshi’s own dreams may be realized, after he gets an opportunity to participate in a talent hunt for the ‘Great Indian Comedian’. But there’s a major shocker when Bangshi’s son diagnosed with brain tumor. Tears are shed and with days running out, Bangshi needs to set his life straight and pursue to fulfill his son’s dream.
The film begins with a private close up shot of Bangshi applying make-up to transform into (a fractured version of) Tramp. He has got a wider mouth with prominent set of teeth, and fuller cheeks. The first skit, perhaps a dream sequence, involves Tramp, a heroine and a tough guy chasing them, but it plays at such rapid speed it doesn’t register in our heads. In fact, except for the final sequence involving Tramp, there isn’t a single scene that draws laughs and, in a particular moment involving him getting slapped hard by an annoyed guest, we unfortunately empathize with the latter; the guy playing the trumpet, who only gets a scene or two, is funnier and less irksome.
Another issue is that although we assume from the opening sequence that the film will be restricted to Charlie’s perspective, it constantly shifts to behind-the-scene activities of the guys conducting the reality show, which includes Rina’s boyfriend. When their hearts melt eventually for this ersatz Tramp, we get sappy close up shots of literally everyone clapping and tearing up for the protagonist’s plight. Instead, if Bandhopadhyay had worked on drawing parallel between dad Bangshi’s desires and son Nimua’s dreams through camerawork (say, having scenes where we see from Banshi’s (first-person) point-of-view as he enters the unfamiliar environment of the television show auditions, just as we’re shown Nimua dreaming about his birthday from a first-person view), and left us audience members (and maybe just a few supporting characters who’ve remained supportive) to cheer for the two at the end, the film would’ve put a genuine smile on our faces. What happens is that when you add in too many people to indicate that a scene is supposed to tug your heartstrings or inspire you, it ends up losing impact. Just yesterday, spurious India TV reporter Rajat Sharma interviewed Prime Ministerial candidate Narendra Modi on his show ‘Aap Ki Adaalat’; Modi maintained his composure and gave dignified, well-formed responses for every question raised. The channel could’ve done without all the audience members fervently screaming ‘Modi! Modi’, almost to a cultish extent which really got on my nerves. Some silence would’ve helped.