Entertainment
Feisty in pink
Gulaab Gang is less a thought-provoking social drama than it is a Rowdy Rathore-style action flick—albeit one starring women, for a changePreena Shrestha
While exploits of the gang have already been chronicled in the print media and in documentaries like Kim Longinotto’s Pink Saris in 2010 and Nishtha Jain’s much-lauded Gulabi Gang in 2012, the new film by Soumik Sen, although sharing some broad similarities—aesthetic, for the most part—with the original story, has Bollywoodified the facts to an almost unrecognisable degree. Gulaab Gang is then less a thought-provoking social drama than it is a Rowdy Rathore-style action flick—albeit one starring women, for a change. It is a muddled entity, trying as it does on the one hand to explore and reveal the very real challenges faced by Indian women, especially in less-developed areas where patriarchal values are more deep-set, in fighting for equal standing, but also pandering, on the other hand, to the exhausting conventions of the ‘masala’ film, ending up a disjointed and none-too-impactful take.
Gulaab Gang opens in a village in North India, where little Rajjo has just been forbidden from taking up the books by her bully of a stepmother. But Rajjo is determined to learn her letters, and defies her stepmamma’s orders, braving punishment instead. Fast forward many years, and an adult Rajjo (played by Madhuri Dixit) now runs a village refuge, where young girls come to learn the bare basics of reading and writing, and where women who’ve suffered injustice can seek shelter—and vengeance. They become part of Rajjo’s Gulaab Gang, a group of pink-clad ladies who are always ready to dole out justice with their crude weapons and fists. Effective though they might be, Rajjo wants more: Her dream is to establish a proper girls’ school, and it’s a dream that will no doubt require her to forgo vigilantism at some point.
That point arrives sooner than expected when the village is consumed by election fever, and Rajjo’s support is sought for a female politician, Sumitra Devi (Juhi Chawla). Being that Sumitra is a woman and all, Rajjo is inclined to hope that she will be sympathetic to the gang’s cause, but that hope is dashed in their first encounter, when Sumitra proves no better than her male counterparts—perhaps even more callous. The lines are soon drawn: Our lady in pink and her champions on one side and Sumitra and her infinite resources on the other.
We watch as the two sides collide again and again in a battle that takes up the rest of the film, encompassing bloodied hands and broken hearts, battered bodies and bruised egos alike.
A huge part of Gulaab Gang’s pre-launch hype had to do with the fact that it would be the first time Dixit and Chawla—two of Bollywood’s biggest female icons from the early 90s, and so-called rivals to boot—would be working together. And it hasn’t been an empty promise; the two actors definitely create chemistry when they’re in the same frame, and add a certain ‘superstar’ element to the proceedings, which the film works to amplify with frequent slow-motion shots of them walking or brooding to dramatic, ‘epic’ music. They’re well supported by the second-tier actors, too—such as Priyanka Bose, Tannishtha Chatterjee and Divya Jagdale—who banter enjoyably on occasion, drumming up a nice sense of camaraderie.
Any good the film could have accomplished courtesy of the cast, however, is nipped in the bud by a disappointing and inconsistent script. The first half, for instance, meant to introduce us to the gang and its workings, is structured in what feels like episodes—Scene 1: Save woman from evil dowry-seekers, Scene 2: Avenge young girl’s rapist, and so on—very contrived. And while I’m not one to insist on realism, the fight sequences (again, slowed down for effect) here
are much too ridiculously logic-defying and not nearly entertaining enough to work; Dixit, who partakes in most of these, just looks plain uncomfortable.
Perhaps it was to offset that discomfort then that the director decided to alternate the action scenes with lengthy, repetitive song-and-dance numbers that give Mrs Nene and the others a chance to strut their stuff. But these have the effect of diluting the feminist statement the film is otherwise trying to make. As far as the viewer is concerned, these women do little but fight and make merry—little time is devoted to examining their pasts or their motivations, let alone the moral dilemmas associated with vigilantism—making it difficult to relate to their crusade.
At almost two-and-a-half hours, Gulaab Gang can feel very long indeed—especially given that it is too superficial to be moving, and takes itself much too seriously to qualify as an escapist entertainer. While it’s refreshing to have a woman-centric film sans the requisite romantic angle, this is a story that could’ve and should’ve been told better. At least Sampat Pal can rest easy knowing that few people will mistake the impossible onscreen antics of Dixit & Co as having happened to her in real life.