Chaman Bahar - Review

This is a movie review of Chaman Bahaar lets start with a scene , at one point in Chaman Bahaar, Billu the paanwala asks a shopkeeper, where greeting cards which say, 'I love you' are kept. The man looks surprised, like he can’t imagine how this meek wallflower could even consider love. Who could possibly be the recipient of his devotion? Which is additionally our first impression of Billu. He’s painfully ordinary. But because he’s played with practiced ease by Jitendra Kumar, we immediately care about him. I think of Jitendra as a saltier, more prickly version of Amol Palekar. Like the veteran actor, Jitendra is instantly relatable. We can easily imagine him struggling with his job, relationships, desires. His ability to be one amongst us makes him endearing. But Jitendra is additionally a fine performer who can locate that delicate balance, between the comedy and tragedy of his character’s anguish. He’s done this with aplomb in his first film Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan and more recently within the superb streaming show Panchayat. Even as you sorrow his character’s predicament, you’re smiling because his seething has this sort of in-built comical streak. In Chaman Bahaar, he everywhere again finds this sweet spot. Sadly, the film doesn’t. Chaman Bahaar has been written and directed by debutant director Apurva Dhar Badgaiyann. The film, made in 2018, was meant to be Jitendra’s feature debut. The story is about in Lormi, a region in Chhattisgarh. Billu could also be a person determinedly and dreams. He is a disruptor, who breaks the family tradition of working within the forest department and sets up a paan shop called Chaman Bahaar. Sadly, the district limits change and his shop, on the outskirts of Lormi, has barely any customers. Until a family moves into the house opposite the road. Their teenage daughter Rinku sets Lormi aflame. Dozens of young men start driving past, only to have a look at Rinku who famously wears shorts. Billu’s shop starts thriving, but he gets more miserable, because he can’t resist Rinku’s charms either. As a personality aptly puts it: Shah Rukh ka picture dekh dekh ke chocolatey ho gaye hain sab. What Apurva gets right are these settlement textures – you know the atmosphere, the language, these conversational styles. Everybody, these young men keep calling each other Daddy. The biggest daddies here are the youth politician Shila, who chews paan and swaggers even while spitting. And Ashu, the local rich kid. The District Forest Officer’s son also comes by – his father’s position gives him the clout to try and do for Rinku. The other boys understand that they have no chance, so they start to position bets, on who among these will get the girl. And the circus is orchestrated by Somu and Chotu, a jugaadu twosome, who effectively function as Lormi’s Narad Munnis, prodding the action, hustling and doing idhar ki baat udhar. These characters and their interactions are the foremost vibrant an element of the film. The display of outsized egos and low IQs is amusing. Apurva also constructs some lovely grace notes – like Billu posing for a shave with Gillette, once he’s fallen smitten with Rinku and this lovely moment within the climax which, post climax actually, which brings him some solace. But Apurva isn’t able to build on the promise of his premise. He doesn’t spend enough time, fleshing out these characters or the story-line. The plot is simply too thin and beyond the first hour, the antics of these hordes of men in pursuit of a fille start to deteriorate. The situation is additionally inherently uncomfortable. In one scene, Shila and his gang during a jeep are chasing Rinku who is on a scooter. He tells the driver to drive faster, so she is at least aware that she is being chased. Honestly, I couldn’t find the humor during this. Her school teacher also features a crush on her, which is just hell for leather creepy. Rinku, played by Ritika Badiani, isn’t most a personality as a plan. She barely speaks within the film which we all know little about her, but the particular proven fact that she loves her dog, who she walks outside their home. When she does this, time stands still for Billu. But neither he, nor any of the alternative boys know her and neither can we. She symbolizes modernity, romance and each one that's sparkling during this dusty, testosterone-filled landscape. The film also keeps shifting tonally, from comic vein to serious and later, satirical. The background score keeps prodding us to laugh – when a tough cop enters the story, we get Sholay-like sound effects. Which i feel is supposed to be funny. But we go from this to full-blown emotional drama, which feels out of place. The subtitles are barely distracting – does Lafandar really translate into 'town bitch'? I don’t know, but it’s such a decent word, that I think we should all just add it to our vocabulary. You can see Chaman Bahaar on Netflix.