Pact with the devil
I am not in India, so I could not go see Vishal Bharadwaj’s new film in a theatre; instead, I have braved through a bad cam rip, dark and often inaudible, superimposed with voices and shadows of people watching the film. Of the little that I was able to make out, I have formed some impressions that might significantly alter when I see a better print.
I wish I had seen in a cinema hall the hunt for a man-eating panther; the part set in Kashmir; the Darling song; the dwarf’s duel with Major Neil Nitin Mukesh; the ghostly killing of Vronsky. The songs, especially ‘Girje ka gajar sunte ho Yeshu?’, are still tolling in my head. Wasiullah, dressed like Ghalib, reciting poetry that Hindi cinema hasn’t heard since the days of Sahir. Only Gulzar saab’s songs and Vishal Bharadwaj’s dialogues can match the genius of Ruskin Bond’s writing. 7 Khoon Maaf is to cinema what literature is to writing: its highest, purest form.
No gimmick, no allowance for commercial viability; 7 Khoon Maaf resolutely defends the creative artist’s claim on the universality of his vision. The story, the telling of the story, is enough to draw interest; you take the audience for granted, for you know the audience, you know that some stories will always find listeners because audiences change, the nature of audiences does not. The creative artist then devotes himself to his craft: polishing material, raising it to the highest level, creating a thing of beauty, a joy forever. In times when marketing inanities are overruning the world, such painstaking craft and self-assurance in the artist is priceless.
The intriguing plot is only a peg to hang the larger picture; the murders are a narrative hook, a spell cast on the audience to keep them bewitched till the end. The hypnotised audience will then see what you show, and Vishal shows us some magic that we cinephiles always craved. The film’s mood builds up into ominous, foreboding bleakness; then it falls into the abyss of disillusion; and finally it slips into a mystic affirmation of life and death. Relieving the persistent sadness are moments of humour, adventure, passion. Susanna’s relationships are attempts to fill the emptiness she feels is overwhelming her; it is because she is aware of the emptiness that she can kill her husbands. Her heart is broken because the world is not for her. She cannot find peace anywhere; every happiness and hope is temporary; everything ends in tragedy. So she seeks diversions, hopes against hope, learns to live on small mercies. And once she discovers that she can keep changing her husbands, that she can play several roles, live different lives, she pounces on the opportunity.
Susanna is, however, Bond’s character. The film is Vishal’s, and he peoples it with his own characters. Susanna’s household staff reminds you of a set of witches in one scene, which I think is because of the fascination with witchcraft that Vishal has in common with Bond, Shakespeare, Poe and other such figures, though Ram Gopal Varma is certainly not one of them; Varma is a superstitious ignoramus in comparison. Vishal’s literary sensibility, coupled with Gulzar’s, also lies behind Wasiullah’s sexual sadism, which is the sadism of a refined intellect trapped in a lustful body. The rage against the body is a philosopher’s specialty, and Susanna, when she is old and wise and tired of the body, returns to the whirling dance of the mystic that she had danced with Wasiullah.
It is with the figure of Christ that the film ends, Susanna’s seventh husband. She has killed Christ, too, by being human; she is among those who put Christ on the Cross because his message of love was unreal, impossible. He asked too much of men and women; he made tall claims; he chose martyrdom. Susanna only helped him die, but it filled her with guilt, and she seeks his forgiveness.
7 Khoon Maaf is a reflective film in which each moment, each event, is delved into to unearth some pearl of joy, wisdom or love. It is a film that demands attention, patience, intelligence. That the film critics have not been able to understand it is natural, for they are utterly devoid of these abilities. They complain that Susanna is not etched out in detail. They have no idea that little details — like Susanna’s fondness for liquor — are what the story is all about. A woman who kills seven husbands — what else is there to etch?
When I heard Vivaan Shah’s voice, commenting on the rocker Jimmy’s voice, I thought it was Imaad Shah’s. That Naseeruddin Shah’s sons possess a similar voice is one of the little revelations of the film. Just as the Christian theme in Ruskin Bond’s writing came as a surprise. The film is about many things, not just a racy narrative that keeps viewers hooked; as I mentioned, the plot is enough for that. The story gives Vishal an opportunity to expand his themes, to pace the scenes variously, to knit music into the film’s fabric; the songs are one of the building blocks, almost part of the screenplay, Gulzar’s lyrics merging with Bond’s story. But the two rock songs are a disgrace. Vishal should, if better sense prevails, put a halt to these experiments and nurture what is his own special talent.
7 Khoon Maaf is consummate filmmaking, cinema that aspires to high culture. Only Vishal among the current filmmakers is capable of disdaining commercial pressures, though his next film on Chetan Bhagat’s book with Shah Rukh Khan seems a bad idea. But the world is coming to pieces; I can only be grateful for a film like 7 Khoon Maaf; as long as there are small mercies, the world can be lived with.
Susanna's six husbands
