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| Banal
Dreams |
By
Shekhar Deshpande |
| Bombay Dreams is a
hodge-podge of clichéd, uninspiring
lines meshed together to punctuate one dance
number from the next. |
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| Broadway is that great
New York institution. Like everything
else, and unlike Disney World, it is a
mixed bag. There are some shows and some
theater.
The shows are nothing but a tourist attraction.
It is a thing to do along with an expensive
meal, a trip around town, preferably with
a date of your choice and often a ritual
with someone who needs to be courted for
one reason or another.
Theater on the other hand, such as it
is in the age of mass produced media,
is a rare and small art form that thrives
in some corners. |
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Theater
is self-conscious; Broadway shows are
not. The latter are a shameless exercise
in showmanship. But some people like it.
It is hard to figure out the reaction
of the audience to Bombay Dreams. They
seem to be responsive, mostly people of
European origins. They were laughing,
clapping and generally quite engaged with
the production. So when one writes about
Bombay Dreams, this becomes an essential
ingredient. Perhaps Bombay Dreams, that
celebrated production that arrived here
from the U.K. with inspiration and guidance
from Andrew Lloyd Webber and Shekhar Kapoor,
serves the needs of tourists. It offers
a good example of the kind of showmanship
they expect, an exotic stop on their tourist
route and perhaps a palatable taste of
what we have come to call Bollywood.
Bombay Dreams begins with an invocation
of the magic of Bollywood. It is a story
that promises to be about Bollywood and
it attempts to show Bollywood itself.
The media publicity raves about the many
"special effects," including
a water fountain. It has the components
of a Bollywood dream: dance sequences
with bouncing flesh, melodramatic twists
and turns that are within your limits
of expectations, villains and heroes and
a measured and mild dose of some social
lesson. Yes, it is boy meets the girl
story. The girl who bounces around, it
turns out, is not the morally desired
one, but the one who still believes in
Black and White films and whose films
do not have happy endings.
A.R. Rahman's score has a crescendo that
simply overwhelms the poor Western spectators.
It is sufficiently and conveniently cross
cultural so as to be placed between belly
dancers, Michael and Janet Jackson inspired
choreography (which sadly has taken root
in Bollywood) and blends the fusion between
the Eastern visuals and Western beat.
The gifted master sure could do better,
but a combination of his populist talents
and Andrew Lloyd Webber's syrupy inspiration
leaves this score at the level of the
lowest common denominator. |
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| The script and the storyline
are meshed with the clichés that
even the uninitiated are used to. One of
the major breaks in laughter was reserved
for a comment by a Hijra that Indian men
last longer. Well, they do, don't they!
Sitting through a Bollywood film for two
and a half hour certainly means you got
to last longer. But it is this hybridity
that makes the show a dismal failure.
It is neither Indian nor is it anything
else. It is a hodge-podge of clichéd,
uninspiring lines meshed together to punctuate
one dance number from the next.
One of the criticisms about the film, Casablanca,
it turned out, was one of its biggest compliments.
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When a critic pointed out
that in that film all the archetypes hold
a reunion, it was meant to be an insult,
a shot at the simplicity and banality of
the plot and its dialog. But the film did
it so well, it was admirable.
One could furnish a similar compliment
toward Bombay Dreams except that it is not
even a commendable imitation of Bollywood,
even for stage. It could easily bring together
all the essentials of Bollywood and parade
them in a spectacular fashion so as to provide
a shock and awe experience to the uninitiated
and to the trained. It is a cheap imitation,
the kind that our is created at the Bollywood
Awards or the kind that you can witness
at Nassau Coliseum when some of the stars
or their inexpensive look-alikes come to
visit.
This could have served another purpose,
that of a social critique of Bollywood.
It could have been a parody, a satire, a
self-conscious commentary on the banality
or profoundness of Bollywood. The only critique
comes in the line that belongs to the protagonist
when he says that poverty is made to look
beautiful in films. How true! That is a
good transition for getting to the Bollywood
fare and also the so called art cinema.
Alas, the audiences have to look to the
some esoteric academic sources to serve
that function and that is why it never gets
addressed. |
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It becomes clear by the
time the intermission arrives why the
reviews in mainstream press have been
less than glowing, at times deservedly
brutal. If the show was a success in the
U.K., it has managed to get less of critical
acclaim here. And as spectators of Bollywood
films know quite well, just because people
like something, it doesn't mean it has
to be good. It is instructive, no doubt,
that the crowds have seen something entirely
different than those who have some critical
eye have discovered with great effort.
When The New York Times glowed about
the "dangerous curves" of Ayesha
Dharkar (a major holdover from the London
cast), it offered clues.
Ms. Dharkar exhibits her ample assets
with an untiring energy and an implanted
broad smile that cannot be erased. |
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| As it turns out, the attractive
woman always has a wicked and selfish
heart, a lesson in morality that is so
common in Bollywood that it should have
been offered with some emphasis while
we were focused on her curves.
The scope offered by the opportunity
to act is limited here as much as it is
in Bollywood. But as we know, an average
Bollywood film is expected to be saved
by the playback singers. When you place
that burden on stage actors, it is not
an easy calling. Manu Narayan demonstrates
this with great ease as he stops short
of the demands placed by the ballads and
the rocking singing numbers. The saving
grace is the character of Sweetie, the
central Hijra with a conscience. The common
person with a reasoned mind comes from
a Hijra community. This motif is used
well although to the novices in the audience
the script provides little explanation
of what a Hijra is and what are they doing
in Bombay. |
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The final question one
leaves the show with is this: Why bother?
In many of the folklorish stories promoted
by the arrival of Starbucks culture is
the formula of "why bother?"
When you order a decaf latte with skim
milk, it is often called "why bother?"
latte.
What can you get with a combination of
non-ingredients? Now we know we get Bombay
Dreams.
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| The curiosity of the audience
may be better served with a Bollywood
DVD rental from any of the grocery stores.
In fact, a trip to Lexington Avenue or
Jackson Heights for the tourist-minded
would do more justice. They may not get
to see the real curves, but they are not
for touching anyway. |
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..- End
Of Article..... |
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