Miscellaneous
Under his skin
While the new Fan is rooted in an interesting, provocative premise, it fully squanders that potential by the end, courtesy of a confused, poorly-conceived script that is uneven in tone and message, and riddled with plot holesPreena Shrestha
The ol’ ‘double role’ has been a Bollywood staple ever since filmmakers found they could chop and splice shots together to allow actors to play different versions of themselves at the same time on screen, and many mainstream stars in the industry (older ones, more specifically) have—at least once in their careers—indulged in this particular gimmick. For Shah Rukh Khan, that rite of passage occurred in 1998 with the rather unimaginatively-titled Duplicate. And now, at a time when the conceit has fallen more or less out of fashion, Khan has seen fit to reprise a dual part—albeit with a CGI twist—in the new Fan, this time playing a Bollywood megastar inspired clearly by himself, as well as a fan dangerously obsessed with the star. But while the film, directed by Maneesh Sharma (of Band Baaja Baaraat fame), is rooted in an interesting, provocative premise that could’ve made for a fascinating examination of the fan-star dynamic, it proceeds to fully squander that potential by the end, courtesy of a confused, poorly-conceived script that is uneven in tone and message, and riddled with so many plot holes you’re liable to lose count.
Another year, and it’s another win for twenty-something Delhi-resident and cyber-café owner Gaurav Chanana (Khan) in his neighbourhood Super Sitara contest, where he has been impersonating his favourite actor, Aryan Khanna (Khan again), for many years now. It helps that he bears an uncanny resemblance to the star, although there is little acknowledgement of this from anyone around him. These shows comprise a highlight in Gaurav’s life, a chance to step into Aryan’s skin, feel close to him; it’s a yearly culmination of manyhours spent poring over the actor’s films, learning all his lines and gestures, everything he can find about his life and career, and plastering his bedroom—a veritable shrine to his idol—with cutouts and posters.
This year, on Aryan’s birthday, Gaurav is determined to go to Mumbai, meet the man himself—who incidentally, also came from a humble Delhi background before making it big, a fact that Gaurav relishes as proof of a bond between them—and personally hand over his Super-Sitara trophy. But upon reaching Aryan’s house, he is surprised to find that he isn’t allowed to walk in, and is just one among the thousands gathered beyond the gates to catch a glimpse of the star. Gaurav realises he must take drastic measures if he is to draw Aryan’s notice—he succeeds, and soon receives a visit from the actor, although the encounter is nothing like what he had hoped for, and ends up setting him on a perilous course that alters both their lives forever.
There are some strong themes at work here, most apparent in the initial third of the film: the psyche of fandom, especially in the context of Indian audiences, known to bestow god-like statuses upon actors, is a fascinating vein on its own, particularly the belief obsessives tend to have that they are owed something by their idols, or that the connection they feel goes both ways—not to mention the dangerous implications of being let down when emotions are so highly charged. We see it in the way Gaurav continually asserts how Aryan is nothing without him, and how easily he tips over to the other side on being slighted. Much has been made of how the film has borrowed from Robert DeNiro’s almost identically-named feature from 1996, and there are some similarities, but I wouldn’t call it a straight-off copy; we’ve seen plenty more blatant rip-offs in our time to bother too much about this.
What should bother us, however, is the logic-defying wreck of a script conceived by Sharma and written by Habib Faisal, that suddenly changes track at one point, tossing off any possibility of real insight into the above-mentioned broad themes, and opting instead for a series of gratuitous, noisy action set-pieces that clash distinctly with the kind of tone that defined the earlier scenes. Indeed, the further we go, the less Fan makes sense: for instance, how does Gaurav, in a matter of months, gather the kind of resources and skills needed to pull off the kind of stunts he does, that too on an international scale? Why is it that, at times, he can look exactly like Aryan—to the point of tricking everyone
watching him, including, laughably, Aryan’s own wife—but at other times, the resemblance isn’t even commented upon, and he can blend easily into crowds (a false beard and parting the hair on the other side is apparently enough of a ‘disguise’)? And how come the entire world is so eager to believe in Aryan’s misdemeanours and condemn him for them when there exists security footage showing his doppleganger (besides, I think we’re all aware that the cult of the superstar is pretty much immune to most such real-life misdemeanors)? And why is someone as famous as Aryan always doing the running and chasing on his own sans entourage? The film doesn’t feel the need to explain any of this, which is downright insulting, so that by the time the prolonged final third comes rolling around, you’re simply too angry and exhausted to even ask any more questions.
I suppose Khan must be commended for stepping out of his comfort zone, which, of late, has comprised mostly of a slew of lazy, uninspired stints—each a slight variation on the other—in mega-commercial ‘entertainers’ such as Chennai Express or Happy New Year. So the fact that he actually indulges in a bit of method acting as the fan in Fan is a nice surprise—although, to even be saying this is an indication of the low, low standards we set for these Bollywood ‘superstars’. But the portrayal itself isn’t necessarily all that convincing—Khan often overdoes Gaurav’s excitement, getting extremely shrill and tiresome in a few places, and the CGI and prosthetics combo can be very distracting so that the character never looks fully human.
Fan also represents an attempt by the actor to critique his own larger-than-life image. The film has incorporated a number of clips from Khan’s real-life interviews and films, and also contains many references to his own story—one of the more amusing of these has to do with his dancing at weddings for pay; it’s pretty neat how willing he is to admit mercenary motives. But the film just doesn’t go far enough with this sort of demystifying, deconstructing commentary, and ultimately Khan’s original status is restored: Aryan is shown to be kind-hearted, intelligent and cool, with an arsenal of fighting moves and extraordinary parkour skills. This pretty much voids the film’s agenda; on one hand, it wants to be trendily “meta” by sending up narcissistic superstars, but on the other, it’s also afraid of messing up the actor’s profile to any substantial extent, rendering the whole exercise rather futile.
Fan is ultimately a film that’s neither here nor there, not able to commit fully to its satirical undertone or step into that latter action-thriller mode. Unlike Khan’s other recent and more frivolous outings, this project at least boasted promise in terms of theme—but that only makes Sharma and Faisal’s mishandling of the material all the more disappointing.