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An Anurag Kashyap social media post disconcerting a particular section is not unprecedented. It is a recurring occurrence.
Yet, his Instagram post on 13 January was a deviation from the rudimentary. There – posing with Sandeep Reddy Vanga, the director of Animal – Kashyap, often India’s summa cum laude representative in prestigious film festivals, had defended the filmmaker (who has been criticised for his problematic scripts) with adjectives such as ‘misunderstood’, ‘judged’, ‘vulnerable’ and ‘reviled’.
Tables had turned, and this post irked not the anti-Kashyap, anti-woke, anti-everything-under-the-sun gang, but his own fans and collaborators.
“Cringe” – wrote Neeraj Ghaywan.
“No” – said Varun Grover.
Another user commented “Two privileged men celebrating misogyny isn’t new. But what the (expletives redacted) Anurag?”
‘Does this mean Kashyap will now narrate stories like Vanga?’ – feared many.
Reason?
Like Vanga, Kashyap portrayed male machismo on the screen. His protagonist, like Vanga’s, is a kill-at-will psychopath. Except, Kashyap ensured his treatment of the character provoked vexation instead of empathy and adulation, bringing us to the point of this article – should you portray masculine braggadocio in movies, do it the Kashyap style, not the Vanga style.
Here’s the sum and substance – there isn’t any.
That, in isolation, is fine, for it mirrors the mood of the era.
The 1970s saw the peak of frustration among the Indian youth. Engulfed in unemployment and inflation, the disillusioned section screamed for a digression in cinema, resulting in the emergence of the highly successful ‘Angry Young Man’ era.
In contrast to the era of the Shashi Kapoors, ruled by charmers and romantics, the Amitabh Bachchans were rugged and valorous, serving the purpose of fighting societal injustice, as opposed to merely wooing the opposite sex.
Turns out, we should.
Stories of the seventies and eighties, despite being driven by masculine machismo, resonated with the collective struggles of the society. Salim Khan, who co-wrote most of the successful ‘Angry Young Man’ films like Deewaar and Zanjeer, stated that they were crafting protagonists who were rebels with causes.
Consider the 2019 Shahid Kapoor-starrer, Kabir Singh. In a scene, Kabir is shown brandishing a knife in a bid to threaten a girl, asking her to undress. Whilst the scene in itself is problematic, it is accompanied by heroic background music, leading the audience to believe it was an endorsement of the undisputed male dominance.
Scenes of the protagonist slapping his seemingly dumb and meek love interest – apparently out of love, per the director – and marking her as his territorial achievement, among other things, have been condemned by many.
The director takes it a step further, as in addition to music, he also offers a justifying dialogue – “If you didn’t have a problem with me killing so many men, you shouldn’t have a problem with me sleeping with a woman.”
Having set the premise, let’s return to Kennedy, a film yet to have its theatrical release in India.
The plot revolves around Uday Shetty – an ex-cop, portrayed by Rahul Bhat, who officially has ceased to exist. Deceased. Except, he is very much alive, in every frame and action, flexing his machismo muscles.
Now a clandestine aide for the powerful, Shetty goes about eliminating whoever he is asked to. Having once been ousted from the ‘force’ for his excessive use of it – killing an innocent man – Shetty goes about killing at will, and with alarming ease.
The major difference, however, is that Shetty has to deal with the consequences of his actions. With each act of violence, we see him spiralling further down a dark spiral, before he eventually reaches the proverbial point of no return – both metaphorically and literally. Ranvijay, on the contrary, walks scot-free after killing a gazillion, intimidating a woman about to give birth, and cheating on his wife.
Post the screening of Kennedy, Kashyap further confirms that he was telling the story of an irredeemable psychopath, not a heroic braveheart.
Shetty is not a one-off, but an idealistic example from the Kashyap handbook. In the Gangs of Wasseypur duology, the characters of Sardar Khan (portrayed by Manoj Bajpayee) and Faizal Khan (portrayed by Nawazuddin Siddique) embody the archetypal kill-at-will lunatics, but their actions had fatal repercussions.
Another notable distinction lies in Vanga's protagonists' propensity for flaunting an anti-feminist, misogynistic aura. Both Kabir and Ranvijay take pride in denigrating their love interests – the latter does that even in front of his kid (no prizes for guessing this kid is a boy).
Hell-bent on avenging his 'baap ka, dada ka, bhai ka' deaths, Faizal is usually intimidating, unless he is with his wife, Mohsina Hamid (played by Huma Quraishi). The same character who has an abject disregard for consent and boundaries, is timid whilst being confronted by Mohsina for touching her hand without 'permission.'
Uday Shetty, a savage ruffian indifferent to fear, is meek whilst conversing with wife. The bravado is noticeably numbed when his wife and daughter leave him, as Shetty could barely hush a word.
Fair enough.
Curbing artistic expression might equate to unwarranted censorship, and hence, demanding the complete eradication of violent protagonists is unfounded. Yet, ensuring the audience is not inspired by psychopaths can be expected from the filmmakers, who bear the responsibility of knowing about the societal implications of their work.
(The author now runs the risk of being called ‘uneducated’ and ‘illiterate’ by the filmmaker.)
(At The Quint, we question everything. Play an active role in shaping our journalism by becoming a member today.)
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