Film: Himmatwala
Cast: Ajay Devgn, Tamannaah Bhatia, Mahesh Manjrekar, Paresh Rawal, Zarina Wahab, Vindu Dara Singh and others
Director: Sajid Khan
We all know the blockbuster films of the early Eighties were ridiculous. It was an era that yielded superstars, because it was an era of escapism. Every film was a tearjerker, a romance, an action flick and thriller rolled into one. Every film had so many twists you could see the end from the start. When we go back to these films now, it’s like going back to love letters that were passed to us when we were teenagers. We react with nostalgia-tinged amusement, and amusement-tinged nostalgia.
To remake those films is somewhat like rewriting one of those juvenile love-letters, with necessary alterations that remove their charm. Scratch “Your smile reminds me of Madhuri Dixit” and write “Your smile reminds me of Vidya Balan.” Eh?! Yeah, that’s exactly what happens with Sajid Khan’s Himmatwala.
So, we find ourselves back in 1983, stuck between tribute and spoof. This was, of course, that point in Bollywood history when South Indians handed over the butt-of-all-jokes mantle to Bengalis. And so, Narayan Das (Paresh Rawal) is a dhoti-clad sidekick to the bad guy, Sher Singh (Mahesh Manjrekar). He speaks in a painfully high-pitched shriek, with an indeterminate accent, and sports a steel-grey wig with carefully upturned ends. Apparently, he’s married to all of Sher Singh’s sisters, and when Sher Singh asks him to “Ja, yahaan se!” he goes, “Ji...jaa...ji, jijaji!” Oh, you haven’t heard the worst. Sher Singh wants to know what the link between two people is, and Das croons, “Main vaasta nahin doonga, lekin raasta doonga.” Facepalm.
Ravi aka Himmatwala (Ajay Devgn) is completely confident in the brilliance of this film, and the box office might of his presence. He even takes a couple of digs at the lameness of the dialogue. In one painful scene where Sher Singh’s goondas threaten him in various languages, Das mumbles about their sounding like All India Radio. Himmatwala beats them all up, replies to their challenges in their respective languages, and says to the camera, “Mazaa nahin aaya, na? Ab aayega.” He goes on to scream. A series of “Ey!”s later, he says he’s bored with “A” and says, “B”.
Naturally, when the comedy track fails, the tragic scenes turn comic. And so, when Maa (Zarina Wahab) weeps, “Ek baar tumhe main kho chuki hoon. Doosri baar khona nahin chahti”, the audience is already imitating her wails. The filmmakers don’t appear to have intended for this to be funny. However, every time the hero delivers a punchline, he calls for applause. Somebody says, “May I be afflicted with swine flu!” and when his son points out there is no such disease, he replies that there will be one in 20-30 years.
With the director unsure of whether he’s making a parody or a remake, the actors don’t seem to know what route to take. The characters appear unctuous and officious in turn, often with the same person. And we don’t know whether to laugh or roll our eyes. So we simply get bored.
The Verdict: Unless Tamannaah’s tiny dresses or Paresh Rawal’s brand of comedy excites you, you might as well watch the 1983 Himmatwala again.