Why Agent Vinod is an important film

[NOTE: One of my non-Stunted posts, this. Do not worry guys, Chapter 5 is well on its way, just that this came across spontaneously, and I HAD to post this. I am not abandoning 'Stunted', it is very much on. The following write up is the closest  I can come to reviewing a film as of now. Do read it all, if your patience doesn't give way before that...]

It was only last week or roundabout that I found myself sitting in a fairly peopled movie hall (the occupancy was slightly measlier in the front rows, which is my natural turf as a frugal moviegoer, living under the illusion that I’m saving my parents’ hard-earned money by doing so, conveniently not factoring in the amount that I’m guzzling by watching the film in the first place), somewhat eagerly awaiting the screening of Sujoy Ghosh-directed ‘Kahaani’, what one of my most enthusiastic friends had labeled as an exemplary work of ‘evolving Indian cinema’. I was taken aback by the claim, I daresay, for I had made up rather modest preconceptions of the film owing to its hackneyed marketing image, which had made the film seem to me to be a run-off-the-mill, holier-than-thou yarn on female empowerment, with the poster girl for topical, ‘serious’ and society-challenging roles, Vidya Balan falling into the mould of stereotypically unidimensional roles that filmmakers love to cash in on. At best, I conjectured, this could be a politically-correct version of Anurag Kashyap’s fiercely indie ‘That Girl in Yellow Boots’, one that had impressed me both as a lover of films as well as a Kashyap fanboy (more latter than the former, I’ll acquiesce).

With this frame of mind did I go in for the film, seated there in the third row from front, the big screen looming right in front of me, big enough to fill my vision completely and at an angle enough for me to rest my neck to its full pivotal extent on the head-rest and make the proverbial sit-back-and-enjoy adage assume literal truth. The national anthem blared on for more than the endorsed 52-seconds (or did I get my obviously insignificant general knowledge wrong on that account?) the lights dimmed, the trailers came to a respectful fade-out, and with much fanfare, the real deal began. If anywhere there is heaven on earth, it is this…

The movie started from the word ‘go’, scampering nimbly from scene to scene at lighting fast pace, never for once stopping for so much as a breath. I did not have time to brace myself for the awesomeness, and from the generally discerning and scrutinizing viewer that I fancy myself to be, I transformed into the same awestruck, starry-eyed ninth-standard child who had fed on films like Gulaal, Memento and The Usual Suspects, never for once letting down the look of sheer glee from his eyes throughout the length of these cinematic Mona Lisas. The climax edged closer, and after many an edge-of-the-seat twist and turn and revelation abound, as the cinema gods would have it, the ominous, pre-assuming clouds in my heart gave way to the bright sunshine of filmmaking at its glorious, luminous best. I could not deny the fact that I had been utterly wrong about Kahaani to begin with; it was a top-notch thriller that came very close in class and content to motion pictures that had helped chisel the genre to the exalted state it is in today, such as The Departed, The Usual Suspects, Se7en and many more to enumerate. It is a winner in almost all departments of conventional movie-making: tight editing, almost-impeccable a script (almost, for I had minor reservations regarding one or two plot points, albeit forgiven in the long run), indulgent yet no-nonsense direction and a power-packed performance from an all round ensemble cast, with Balan adorning the central spot. I couldn’t help but second the eager friend of mine who had gone all out in her praise for the film. I myself had no qualms hailing it as one the few rare films made in India to have done gotten almost everything ‘right’, in terms of parameters I’ve listed above.

It was a week later (today, that is), that I decided to go in for the long-overdue Agent Vinod. Now, to all those readers who know me personally or are even remotely aware of my cinematic inclinations, would know that Sriram Raghavan is another man (along with Dibakar Banerjee, Kashyap and Vishal Bhardwaj) who I hold in deep reverence as a storyteller of the finest class. His two previous outings as writer-director had yielded great results, both as crowd-pleasers and intelligently unconventional cinematic treats (Ek Hasina Thi, starring Saif in a career-altering role, and Johnny Gaddaar, a gem of a neo-noir with a nod to the genre’s masters). With such lofty precedents, the weight of performance is bound to register on the shoulders of a director who is working, incidentally, with actor-producer Saif Ali Khan in his most ambitious project till date. Taking an unusually long time to be produced, the film opened to much hype and din on an unsuspecting Friday, only to be panned almost unanimously by the multitudes thronging to the movie theaters, and amassing middling to devastatingly poor responses from the film-criticism fraternity. I was very surprised with the critical verdict more than the audience’s verdict, partly because of my vainglorious assumption that I’m more intelligent and highly sensitized to non-conventional filmmaking than the general junta; their rejection to the film was not fractionally as unnerving as the snide write-off that the experts had dealt the film with. I was, to say the least, shocked. I wanted to see Agent Vinod for myself, rebuff the wisdom of others and be my own judge. This selective faith in critics to suit my own liking had started with films like Don 2, which I had thoroughly enjoyed, and so had been relished by film critics abroad, but the critics back home had been, let’s just say, a little less appreciative (read dourly contemptuous).

So there I was again, surrounded by the muffled, curtained, sound-cocooning walls of the movie theater, finding my seat close to the giant screen (as always), comfortably resting my neck and sitting back and enjoying myself in the most literal fashion. The same old rigmarole followed itself over: the national anthem came to a gradual close, the trailers came and went by, and a rather in-your-face statutory warning against cigarette smoking made way for the beginning of the film.

I will be very cautious not to give out any spoilers as I go about discussing the film, and merely skim over the unimportant tid-bids that shall only appetize and tease, not spoil. First things first: the opening quotation to the film is quick to come and go, without idling much to have its full impact registered on the audience. It is a quote from The Good, The Bad, The Ugly that said something about real identities and names not mattering much (I will not do injustice to this write-up by quoting the exact dialogue with the help of Google, because I want to understand how much of it would an unsuspecting viewer be able to retain hours after the movie, and this is exactly how much). This is followed by a gritty introduction to the character of Agent Vinod, a swashbuckling start to a film that maintains the tempo it sets in these initial action scenes and loquacious dialogue exchanges. So far, so yum.

Going all guns blazing: Agent Vinod in action.

I expected the film to taper into boredom as the first half wanes because as much had been suggested by the critics; that doesn’t happen. As scene after delightful scene unfolds, I mark an evident experimental style: the quirky, idiosyncratic use of music to lubricate proceedings. The BGM is literally non-existent at places where conventional filmy wisdom would have it going into dramatic undertones and muffled beats to further the build-up to an explosive fight scene, whereas it is arbitrarily loud and retro, even multi-lingual at places where convention will deem it sacrilegious to be so. I found a similar oddity in David Fincher’s understated masterpiece, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, an adaptation of Late Steig Larsson’s ingenious crime novel. The most chilling scenes (such as the one where the killer takes the protagonist-detective by surprise and tries to choke them to death with a polyethene) have the most innocuous-sounding background numbers, while intense conversations and other dramatic scenarios having no music cover at all! The point is, it is masterful only as long as it doesn’t seem shoddy; to elevate it from the level of a gimmick to an effective plot device is something which both Fincher and Raghavan succeed in doing, in their respective films.

As the first half drew to a close, I was already admiring the painstaking detail that the filmmaker had put into everything, right from the witty dialogues laced in James Bond-esque cheesiness to the well choreographed fight and chase sequences (one of the most memorable of which had a rapidly switching non-linear fistfight between Vinod and a villain he has earlier had a fight with, both of the fights intercutting each other to produce a visual chutney), that promised thrills scarcely seen before in Indian cinema. The film opened up not as a whodunit or whydunit or who-dies-in-the-end conundrum, but as a Herge-esque adventure of sorts, with protagonists often at loggerheads, trotting the globe to bring down a common enemy, revealing a conspiracy that threatens a common, larger goal. The duo of Tintin and Captain Haddock comes to mind when we see Saifeena sizzle the screen with their good-looking selves and smooth-talking, fast-thinking, double-crossing ways. Add to this unrelenting duo of protagonist an ensemble cast of veteran baddies (and minor characters) including Gulshan Grover, Prem Chopra, Shahbaz Khan Zakir Hussain, Rajat Kapoor, Ravi Kishen and Ram Kapoor, and there’s enough great acting to chew on for the length of the film.

The highlight of the second half is surely the Raabta song sequence, which is in accordance with the idiosyncratic music sensibilities of the film, with a single shot fight sequence that stretches on for more than what seems like 5 minutes! That single sequence is worth everything you pay for the movie, and then more. Added to the blend is some more globe-trotting (closer home this time with saadi Dilli and its cramped, overcrowded bylanes captured beautifully in the frame) and a climax that could have been better, and less long-drawn. It is only towards the end that one realizes what is wrong with Agent Vinod: it ends up being too self-indulgent to see itself end soon enough, and it goes on and on for more than half an hour in excess. I believe this to be the burden of the lavishness and hugeness of the scope the film sets out to capture: one gets flown away into many scenes and scenarios of digressions, which, when seen individually, are flawless, but do not add much to the whole of the film. It is for this reason why ambitious films take years to be completed; their makers get everything right and time the film to be just as epic as their efforts that have gone into making it. And here, they falter.

This brings me to the central point of what I’m saying. In India, while small-scale or independent films on the lines of Kahaani, Paan Singh Tomar, That Girl in Yellow Boots, Soch Lo, etc. are coming-of-age in terms of handing and execution of their content, experimentation is also being ushered in by these movies made on shoestring budgets. It has, however, been very less to see large-budget films delving in any form of experimentation on a grander, more global level. Agent Vinod breaks this barrier; Raghavan remains ever-consistent with his desperate will to break conventions and aim for bigger, better avenues. Whether one succeeds or fails in doing so is another story, but the fact that such audacity is nurtured and supported is of utmost importance. A case in point would be the recent, post-fame works of auteurs like Tarantino or Nolan: Inglourious Basterds and The Prestige. We have seen both of their iconoclastic abilities in their completely self sufficient and independent projects such as Reservoir Dogs and The Following, and with their later films, not only have they not degenerated into mainstream bullshit but have also charted new courses for filmmakers to come, by challenging norms on a higher, bigger scale. In their case, money has not corrupted, but invigorated. Such is the case, as I see it, with Agent Vinod. It aims at something higher than any Hindi movie till date, something that movies like Kahaani and Johnny Gaddaar can hardly even envisage. The fact that it almost succeeds (if it were only for slightly better editing) in this experimentation is what underlines the vitality of such films. We must make it a point to support, encourage and appreciate works that are not afraid to experiment even when big money is at stake. For this, I think, we have all but Sriram Raghavan and Saif Ali Khan to thank.

It is in this regard that I salute and bow to Raghavan and his genius as a teller of stories and as an able craftsman bold enough to be undeterred in his urge to non-conform in all that he does.

As for Indian cinema per se: so far, so yum!