Everything's Coming Up . . . Sharmila ! . . . and Raja Rani (1973)

Wait. Did I leave my keys on my mental dashboard again? 

Sharmila Tagore has been all over my mental dashboard (because in the age of the blogosphere, our mental desks have become mental dashboards).

• She gave a beautiful, funny, right-on-the-money speech at the India International Center a week and a half ago--all about the role of women in Indian society and how it relates to the ideals of Indian womanhood as portrayed in popular Hindi films.
• Conversations over Chai just did a lovely list of favorite Sharmila roles. 
• And I just finished Aavishkar, a middle cinema film about a troubled marriage, starring Rajesh and Sharmila. 

A cute moment from Aavishkar, 1973. 

So yeah, it's time to talk Sharmila. Most folks seem to think of her as either:

*Satyajit Ray's discovery and muse.
*The melancholic heroine of Amar Prem and Aradhana.

*Rajesh Khanna's very bankable co-star.
*The woman in the two-piece swimsuit that shocked India.
*For masala lovers, Shashi's estranged love interest in Desai's Aa Gale Lag Jaa.
*Or maybe they just think of her as Saif's mom, if they think of her at all.

In honor of Sharmila's ability to grow and grow, and grow upon one, until she is suddenly written all over one's mental space that should be dedicated to other things . . . I am going to actually write a full post about that one movie of hers I always prattle-on and rave about: Raja Rani (1973). 

Raja Rani is a love story between a courtesan and a thief. And unlike other weepy courtesan tales (Umrao Jaan, Gunghroo, Pakeezah), in which the naach girls are invariably rescued by a moony-eyed aristocrat, or "loved" and then left unceremoniously to continue in their lonely profession, this courtesan doesn't do much crying or need much saving. She's effing Sharmila Tagore.

The first thing you'll notice about Raja Rani, that is, if you've watched a lot of masala, is the classic childhood misery/injustice prologue. Thankfully (since this is my least favorite aspect of masala), it's fairly short. But it gets the point across . . .  that sometimes, who and what a person grows up to become is not their fault. In this case, Rajesh Khanna plays Raja, the adult child of the prologue's mistreated widow, who in the words of the amusing Wikipedia summary, "commits suicide when she was compelled to forgo her modesty to save her child from illness." Unlike his mother, Raja is not opposed to doing something "wrong" in order to survive, and he takes up thieving as profession.

Cut to adulthood, and we see Raja all bloodied and running from the police, to a rather fabulous song.

Realistically (or perhaps pointing to his own carelessness?), most of Raja's life is defined by trying to get away.  He gets pretty creative (and risky) in his attempts to escape the police who are ALWAYS hot on his tail . . . climbing walls, crossing roofs, jumping through windows into people's apartments. And then of course, he figures, as long as he's on location, why not steal MORE mid-escape?

Raja even has some amusing adventures "apartment hopping." Like when he happens upon Mumtaz's apartment . . . and leaves a fan note on the mirror.

But, one night, during an especially close shave with the men in blue shorts, he climbs through a window that changes his life.

Long story short, Sharmila and Rajesh's characters end up married to one another . . . without ever seeing each other's faces. Raja runs off as soon as the wedding is over, but unluckily for everyone, gets caught and sent to prison. Due to the general awfulness of her assumed in-laws (who think she has been the cause of their son' disappearance and death--an unfortunate coincidence) Sharmila's character (Nirmala) is thrown out on the street. Through the course of a devastating, grotesque and surreal song . . . we see Nirmala (literally) fall into the life of a courtesan . . . and become Rani, the naach girl.

After finishing his jail sentence, Raja tries to track down the family and their daughter-in-law who he accidently married. But they are nowhere to be found, and Raja has no idea what his bride even looked like. So, when he stumbles into a brothel (running from the police again), and is mesmerized (against his own will) by Rani's dance . . . he has no idea that he is watching his long lost "wife."

And from here on, the film began to surprise me, plot turn after filmi plot turn. 

I'm pretty sure this film won't disappoint. And I don't want to spoil it all for you (if I haven't already). So here are a few reasons why this is my favorite Sharmila film by far. And reasons why you should definitely see it sooner rather than later.

She is given the chance to be the nurturer, and be nurtured herself, all within the course of the same story. 

Sharmila is oft-remembered for her motherly roles (Amar Prem, Aradhana, Daag) . . . in which she sacrifices everything for her child, and if she's lucky, catches brief moments of happiness for herself here and there. But here, not only does she give, she also receives in kind. She is not the designated nurturer or martyr just because she happens to be female. It's fun to see her play a character free of that set of filmi expectations, especially given her activism/opinions about those expectations now.

She gets a rare chance to showcase her talent for humor:

Sharmila was usually the melodrama girl . . . and yet, she didn't have to be. She could totally carry tongue-in-cheek humor of a certain sort. And she certainly knew how to be other than serious. In fact, I think one reason I find Sharmila easier to watch in a melodrama than say, Meena Kumari, is that her long-suffering heroines are always buoyed up by an unspoken, conveyed ability to see the good and the bad together and still laugh about the irony of it all. 

This scene and song from Raja Rani is one of the best examples of her humor that I know of, outside Chupke, Chupke (1975). Besides the strength of the dialogue/camera work in this scene, it's funny and poignant because the director gives Sharmila and Rajesh a chance to capitalize on their strongly developed working relationship. And thus, you feel that you are watching a real friendship developing, complete with it's own secret code and inside jokes. 

The sensitive optimism in Raja-Rani's partnership:

A quick note on Rajesh in this film. Whoever the man might have been in real life, his roles are not as uniformly misogynistic as they are often painted by his detractors. Honestly, during the years of his superstardom, he took on a variety of characters, all with very different moral codes, ideals, and approaches to opposite-gender dynamics. I think he just did his best to play roles as written, without judging his character's modus operandi. We don't (usually) judge actors like Marlon Brando for playing misogynistic anti-heroes (like his role in A Streetcar Named Desire), nor are we surprised when those same actors take a sensitive turn (like Brando in Kazan's On the Waterfront). 

Raja Rani is written sensitively. It's characters are sensitive people. And not in a weepy way. Raja Rani is not the near-perfection of "On the Waterfront", but it certainly bears a resemblance in the way the characters . . .

1.  Partner up to try to rise above the constraints of the hand society has dealt them.  

No matter what they do, Raja and Rani are always being beset by people who think they are the scum of the earth. 

2. Hold each other accountable to become better people.  

3. Listen to one another and adapt to each other's needs. 

Their commitment to listen and learn from each other is the sweetest thing, and reminds me of this scene from OTW. 

4. Forgive one another for serious offenses, both past and present. 

And . . . because Sharmila is the real thief in this film . . . She steals every scene. 

I wish I could properly describe how much Sharmila upstages everyone in this film.

It's like she always knows something that no else knows--and is tickled pink about it. She's untamed and confident and a little bit terrifying in her unshakable self-awareness.

Sure this isn't a disposable part, and let's be honest, a lot of roles for women in cinema are hardly worth remembering. When that rare moment does come--when an indispensable actor meets an unusually powerful role--sparks fly. Sharmila is flint to Rani's flame . . . the second would not exist without the first.