This is not a review of the movie- because the movie felt like a personal experience, rather than a conventional drama. In the first flush of viewing it, i found myself speaking almost compulsively about it, in short fragmented sentences - constantly stopping short of complete paragraphs; In some instances, because the matter did not seem conveyable in any finished sentence, and in others because my voice was shaking as i spoke of some aspect of it. A part of me was bemused by the strong reaction I evinced; a day or two later, and I’m not yet rid of the need to speak of the movie, while balking at it simultaneously. So, here goes.
You know how Dickens’ minor characters have a way of leaving an imprint on your mind that is only partly explained by the quirks and eccentricities? His worlds emanate strong waves of love for the characters he creates; he is more often that not routing them along the path to joy or salvation, tenderly. Now i cant complete that analogy because suddenly, it feels like im comparing one misty impression to another, but the characters in Dhobi Ghat felt like they had just such a loving author.
It was a delight to watch Munna in his journey through life’s vicissitudes, through love and loss. I would say the actor has done a fine job with this simple and real character, has given a nuanced and impressive performance, but i dont want it to sound like a critic’s conclusion. He was the best part of the movie, for me.
Aamir Khan was rather stiff in his painter’s garb, and yet the redeeming part of the character was the unexpectedly intimate acquaintance with the newly-wed small-town girl, Yasmin, whose tapes form a connection between them. Its just the sort of half-voyeuristic half-honest intimacy that we ought to be familiar with in our age of social networking. Its far more comfortable than real-life contact, and its very unintentional nature gives it a strong impact.
The style of shooting came with its own happy merits. As Munna and Shai, an unlikely pair, sit talking on a terrace overlooking Old Mumbai, we see some hanger-ons, some peeping-toms, people who would probably have been cut out of a more scripted and strictly directed movie, but who definitely belong in the scene simply because this is what would be present given the environment.
The characters we see very briefly, like the real estate agent and the maid also add to the right notes the movie strikes. They look and speak just as they ought. There is no attempt to point out to the gags and the ironies, no broad brush strokes. Everything is just presented to the viewer to take or leave, to appreciate or ignore. This draws the audience in like nothing else and makes this visual narrative just as personal as a good book.
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