Movie review 'Hawaizaada': A first in the Dinanath Batra genre of films
Movie name: Hawaizaada (U) 157 min
Cast: Ayushmann Khurrana, Mithun Chakraborty, Pallavi Sharda, Naman Jain
The release of writer-director Vibhu Virender Puri’s Hawaizaada marks the birth of a new genre: the Dinanath Batra genre of films.
Films in this genre, ignited as they are by Mr Batra’s passion for all things moral thus desi, must be singularly devoted to the concoction and propagation of a mythical Hindustan that was so virtuous and so gifted that it’s no wonder the whole world conspired against it.
This genre requires diligent research. Hence, suitable scientific facts are carefully collated from Mr Batra's seminal body of work as well as Amar Chitra Kathas, and plonked in a plot that’s an airborne flight of fancy.
The end result is a shining exhibit of not just first-rate smug saintliness, but a kind of genius that would irritate and wake up both Steve Jobs and Einstein. It's all, of course, set to rousing religious chants. Since Mr Batra burst into our lives, riding on the pages of Wendy Doniger’s obscene book, we have been treated to one marvel after another of Indian scientists and scholars they did in the Vedic and pre-Vedic ages what the white man is still pondering over. Stem cell research Tick; Complicated, cross-species plastic surgery — Tick; Nuclear weapons and high-speed missiles Tick; Colour television Tick; Concept and details of atom and the atom bomb Tick. In the service of the glories of Akhand Bharat, we also lay claim to having Pushpak Viman, an open-air plane, the precursor to Air India, that, if it did exist, should be Sri Lanka’s Exhibit A to discredit us. But those are a pedant’s woes. Not the stuff the Dinanath Batra genre of films are made of.
Hawaizaada doesn’t waste time in the specifics or technicalities. It just takes the bare facts that eight years before the Wright brothers took flight in 1903, a Sanskrit scholar in Bombay, Shivkar Bapuji Talpade, had designed an aircraft called Marutsakthi (the power of air), based on Vedic tips and technology, that took off before a gobsmacked audience on Chowpatty beach and strings together a fantasy that would have been bearable if it weren’t so incredibly boring.
Since there's little by way of fact on what Talpade achieved, V.V. Puri fills in the gaps with his own scintillating details. In a fairy-tale setting, pieced together with a challenging palette of blues and a splash of red, we meet Shivkar or Shivi (Ayushmann Khurrana). He is not a Sanskrit scholar but a class four student who hasn’t managed to get to class five for eight years, yet is a genius with progressive views on all things, from women’s rights to sundry social ills.
He wears shorts, red, and goofs around. But somewhere inside this bumbling creature is a grown man with sexual cravings. So the moment a drunk Shivi sets eyes on Sitara (Pallavi Sharda), a lowly item girl, he’s smitten. He climbs up and down pipes and sings so many songs that I had to struggle very hard to stay awake.
Sitara, however, enjoyed being serenaded.
Meanwhile, in a stranded ship which no one knows of, dwells a man with a secret plan to build an airplane. That’s Shastri (Mithun Chakraborty), an eccentric and unkempt man who, to my ears, spoke only gibberish. He’s forever on the run from the Crown police. The goras can’t have an Indian scientist spoil their carefully constructed story of Hindustan being a land of snake charmers. So they are determined to make sure he fails. Shivi, spurned by his family, moves in with Shastri and soon they are joined by little Narayan (Naman Jain) in the endeavour to build an airplane. It’s made clear that if it wasn’t for the lack of money and malevolent angrez log, we’d have been zipping across the world much before the Wright brothers got it right.
Whatever scientific secrets the Vedas may hold, in V.V. Puri’s telling it is all sleep inducing. For all its belief in Indian brilliance, the film is so short on facts and ideas that it substitutes substance with songs. Nothing much happens in the film for long spells of time. And the moment some jugadu gadgets go ting-tong-ting, the film breaks into yet another song.
If you must, you may deduce Hawaizaada's political and cultural context from the flimsy desh bhakti pronouncement. But the frames, composed by Savita Singh, have Christian deities lurking about. Now this may get you all confused and Mr Batra all worked up. He may not make Hawaizaada compulsory viewing, but he is very likely to make the film’s script compulsory reading in schools. After all, the film does tell us that hunting, a leisure sport, was brought to India by the Britishers.
You may, however, spend all your time admire the sets and clothes. The sets by Subrata Chakraborty and Amit Ray, complete with pretty pigeons, look like Sanjay Leela Bhansali once lived here. Sahil Kochhar's costumes are reminiscent of Sabyasachi. And therein lies the film's real connect.
Ayushmann, unfortunately, is just not able to hold our attention. His hair, in Gemini Ganesan style, has a bunch of curls falling over his forehead, giving the impression of a free spirit. That’s cute. But he is either in burlesque mode or just plaintive. His singing is far superior to his acting. Pallavi Sharda is pretty. I liked her when she was dancing with her sari tied very low. When she started ironing and stitching, she became a bore. Mithun Chakraborty is terrible, and is licked clean by little Naman Jain.
