POPCORN REVIEWSS

Based on a book titled ‘Jis Lahore Nai Dekhya O Jamyai Nai’ by Asghar Wajahat, and written by Rajkumar Santoshi, the one thing that Batwara 1947 gets right is the politics of the drama. Mounting itself on the fundamentals of humanity upstaging the concept of religion, the subject matter itself forms a sliver of relevance, particularly in times today. This is particularly true even when you witness the struggles with regards to the partition for Mirza and his family – firstly who are separated in the wake of communal violence at the railway station, only to reunite in the city of Lahore.

There is a matter of convenience, but it forms a few of the more meaningful moments in the narrative, given how the underlying subtext doesn’t allow the characters to simmer in hatred, despite the damages during the partition. Sadly though, it is the former that slowly begins to find a voice – something that deeply impacts the drama, going forward.

At its core, one of the key driving themes remains that of humanity triumphing against all odds. And the same is explored through the character of Mai (Shabana Azmi) – an elderly Hindu woman who continues to await for the news regarding her missing son and his family, even while continuing to live in her mansion that is now allotted to Mirza. It is a crucial face-off that forms their fleeting dynamic – even as Mirza and his wife Hamida (Preity Zinta) look for ways to send her packing. And I say fleeting cautiously, because the focus doesn’t always remain on this dynamic that in my opinion was the core of the film. You only get occasional momenta of love bringing people with differing faiths together, even as Mai chooses to address Mirza and Hamida as her own children, or the latter choosing to look after her and cook for her, after initial bouts of resistance.

The focus instead shifts to a repulsive character in the form of Yakoob (Abhimanyu Singh) – a local Muslim extremist, who wishes to bump off the sole elderly veteran of an opposing faith. And this is also when the drama loses its tone – almost dipping the antagonist in stereotypical waters, often giving him room to don glares just to reiterate his evil intentions. Or even the theatrics around his character, that often results in ‘dialogue-baazi’ (exchange of high-pitched dialogues), meant to dramatize the situation. The pitch of the character is so high that it nullifies the understated mood of the drama, while increasingly pushing it towards a massy template.

The same holds true for a character like Mirza – a noble protagonist who initially resists the stay of Mai, before slowly accepting it, and later warming up to her. The tropes remain typical too – equating the elderly lady to his own mother whom he had lost when he was a child. Or miraculously having a change of heart, even as the latter offers her piece of land for the protagonist to start his business. The issue remains that every incident unfolds in isolation, seldom forming a thread that would seamlessly connect to the main plot.

The bigger issue remains the pressure of serving a massy entertainer too – even as you witness Mirza turning a Desi Hulk, and upstaging goons at will, or miraculously appearing just in the nick of time to avoid an attack on his Mai, or in another scene also saving her by making those goons fly in the air (after they are struck by his ‘dhai-kilo ke haath’). Or even equating his Mai as an emblem of humanity in a local Town Hall, that is a scene designed for claps, more than allowing the larger sentiment to stay with you in the moment. In all of it, the larger messaging becomes all the more louder and preachy, even as the protagonist doesn’t miss a single moment in reminding the antagonist and the viewers, on how humanity is greater than all religion – virtually by explaining the quotes from the Quran, or providing his unfiltered opinion on the teachings of his own religion. Again the intentions are great, but the tone goes for a toss.

It doesn’t help either that the proceedings are adapted from a play – a medium that thrives on its one acts. The same one acts that would appear seamless on stage, do not always work cinematically – often being equated to convenience in writing more than anything else. For instance, you notice Mirza’s son Javed (Karan Deol) randomly appearing at his doorstep in Lahore, when he was separated and nearly killed in India (and we don’t get an explanation on how he survived too when everyone around him had died). Likewise, you notice a character like Habib Anwar (Ali Fazal), appearing at pivotal moments to bail out the protagonist and his Mai, also providing his backstory to an extremist side of a specific character, only for the character to later transform. Both of these instances amount to convenience.

There is an endearing quality in the drama, something that briefly shines every now and then. Be it a scene wherein the characters of a specific faith come together to celebrate Diwali with Mai, or a resounding moment involving people joining a funeral procession that formulated the visual dynamic of the film, both in film and in spirit. But these moments are fleeting, almost brushed under the carpet that wishes to present itself as an expensive massy accessory. Ultimately, the tone deaf moments outweigh the understated messaging of the drama, resulting in the screenplay to be preachy, loud and an utterly missed opportunity.