Our cinema is so verbose and over-saturated with dialogues that just the idea of a film that does away words completely is a treat to our agitated senses.
Gandhi Talks has a lot more going for itself than its mute mode. It is a perky, twinkle-eyed, tongue-in-cheek homage to the dinosaur named honesty. It…, well, not a diatribe but something far less noisy on corruption. The two main protagonists, played by Vijay Sethupathi and Arvind Swamy, are both down on their luck, one by birth, the other by inheritance.
Writer-director Kishor Pandurang Belekar is in no hurry to bring the two unvanquished losers together. The first time Sethupathi and Arvind Swamy come face to face is a moment of profound celebration, and not only for the two capable actors. Jobless and desperate to feed his mother(Usha Nadkarni), Sethupathi’s Everyman (here called Mahadev) poses as Lord Krishna at a wedding, blue mood, blue hue, and all. When a boy mischievously throws food at ‘Bhagwan Krishna’, a guest, Arvind Swamy comes forward to gently wipe his face.
This exceptionally evocative interlude helps us, the audience, get over some of the clunkier moments in a mansion which Arvind Swami is about to burn down while two thieves try to get their hands on whatever they can. The incendiary situation never quite attains the Chaplinesque glory it strives for.
But there is much more to find and cherish in the silences. Sethupathi’s balcony romance with the lovely Aditi Roy Hydari is delightful. Every time she is on screen, she makes the dark clouds of Sethupathi’s life (it can’t get any worse than the dabbawalla sending threatening notes about stopping the food in the dabba) simply disperse.
The sunshine never evaporates, even when happiness and hope do. This is a film that tells us to stay afloat even when your fortunes are drowning. Or in this case, burning.
At a time when everyone in the cinema is shooting personal and political guns, Gandhi Talks gets contagiously Gandhian on us without resorting to mush or melodrama. Sethupathi, who has always maintained that the dialogues are the least essential component of cinema, proves it here. His silences are filled with humour and hope, even when the next meal is uncertain.
Karan B Rawat lenses the chawls of Mumbai and their eccentric characters (the retired older man who does nothing except fiddle with a rundown transistor, the overweight aunty who frowns forever) with an austere luminosity that respects the city while admonishing its cruelty.
A word on A R Rahman’s music. Since no one is speaking, the background score does all the talking. After the deplorable job he did in the background in Chaava, Rahman redeems himself in this one. This redemption seems in harmony with work that nurtures and heals the wounded soul of Mumbai, as fate frowns at the most vulnerable, and laughter is the best medicine.
