Dubiety, awakening, catechism, exhilaration, emancipation, illusion – this is no rhyme for any reason but this gamut defines the riff raff of Gandu – The Asshole as it pays raffish homage to the free-spirited, the existentialist ( Are you listening Nietszche and Kierkegaard!) and screams non-conformist.
Quashik Mukherjee, aka Q, weaves the story of two no-hopers, Gandu (Anubrata) - the self-proclaimed ‘next-big-thing’ to hit rap and Ricksha (Joyraj) – a Bruce Lee devotee, suffocating in a rickshaw puller’s garb, against the moral and societal fabric of archetypal Kolkata. An accidental collision and the two begin their rides (What perversity! We are (not) talking sex here) fuelled by drugs, debauchery, larceny and the occasional hallucination.
With full-frontal sex scenes, excessive on detailing, the film attacks the pseudo nature of Indian sexuality and morality, which climaxes in a dingy room and 5x5 cubicles but looks at its ugly toes or squirms in its seat when the same is addressed in open. While the Occidental venerates India as the land of Kamasutra, (This will be the only mention) shame shrouds the Indian sensibility but Q and the Five Little Indians beg to differ through their thrash metal Bengali rap music that is an ‘overdose joint’ of unabashed voluptuous lyrics.
Though the music is often cacophonous, it does not call for a willing suspension of disbelief and does not meander through snowy mountains and multi-hued gardens thankfully. Breaking the dogma of filmmaking is the exchange of the beginning-rising action-conflict-resolution-climax (there’s plenty of it alone) routine for an erratic and erotic timeline that resonates with the shiftless and devil-may-care attitude of the protagonist.
Shot by a camera that appears to have a mind of its own, the jittery visuals project the angst of a generation on edge and earn no laurels technically but serve the larger purpose of storytelling. Black and white dominate the narrative as the story of the nameless underdogs unspools with Gandu’s romp with Rii (the hooker) adding the only colour to his life and our screens.
With the odd penny to Goddess Durga, a fleeting shot of the Hooghly and ample servings of Bengali poetry and egg chowmein, Q adds local flavour to the reel but the non-Bengali is flummoxed with the barrage of an alien language and subtitles don’t do justice. This one will make you love thy Bong neighbour!
Calling a spade a spade, Gandu’s fare of hardcore porn (delightful propaganda) is difficult to digest but talking about destroying the conditioning and sexual hypocrisy, shock value does the trick. If the purpose of Q’s experiment with paradigm shift and abstinence from self-censorship was to tell an honest story, kudos to the cast for pulling out all the stops to make this one anything but a ‘losing’ affair. Though Gandu, the word and the character, are pariahs, the film legitimizes and acknowledges the existence of Gandu in each one of us. Gandu is no one yet he is every one.
Give Gandu a chance but leave the kiddies, the nannies, the puppies and more importantly, your inhibitions behind.
(Image courtesy : torrent.dl4all.com)
