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Humour by Rehana Munir: Ready, steady, action!
From raging boxers to unlikely bikers, a victory lap of sporting heroes on film. And these on-screen heroes are also expanding to regional languages
Twenty years after Lagaan’s Aamir Khan hit the most important six in Indian cricketing history, Ranveer Singh is twirling his moustache in the pavilion, waiting to unleash his 83 on the world even as Farhan Akhtar invites one to admire his pectoral perfection in the recently released Toofaan. The evolution of our sports movies notwithstanding, Awwal Number (1990) will forever remain my favourite in the arena.
The helicopter shot
There are many reasons why, but I guess none comes close to the fact that Dev Anand, in all his directorial wisdom, cast an unwitting Cindy Crawford in the role of his dead stepmother. Though the supermodel with arguably the world’s most famous beauty spot only graces a picture frame in the classic, she leaves in her wake a hundred questions about consent, copyright and context. Also worth mentioning is a blue ribbon hanging from the frame instead of the traditional garland of flowers. She doesn’t know it, but apart from having been a popular teenage fantasy for millions, she will always remain a film semiotician’s dream, thanks to Dev Saab.
Crawford’s fleeting presence in the film easily overshadows the fact that Dev Anand plays a big time cop, Vikram Singh – also older brother of a current cricketer and chairman of the cricket board – who ultimately saves a stadium from being blown up by terrorists firing from a helicopter during a cricket match. (Dhoni’s helicopter shot comes nowhere close.) Apparently, Imran Khan, former Pakistan captain and current President, was approached for the role of Dev Anand’s villainous younger brother, eventually played by Aditya Pancholi. A film that keeps on giving.
Ageing bull
We are, of course, in the era of Toofaan. But I seem to have seriously scuppered my chances of enjoying the film by recently watching another boxing movie, which comes highly recommended. Martin’s Scorsese’s Raging Bull (1980) is one of those classics that I’ve neglected to watch all these years, with typical indifference. Something about it turning forty around the same time as me drew me to it. This could be a long and clunky tribute to a film that doesn’t need it, but I’ll say this: for all its visual glory and acting brilliance, it’s the dialogue that hit me hard. ‘Show, don’t tell’, goes one of the cardinal rules of narrative, and almost every line spoken in this emotional drama set in a hypermasculine retro New York hits like a sudden uppercut that leaves you reeling.
Boxer Jake LaMotta’s alcoholic decline made me seek out the personal conviction of Muhammad Ali. And so I watched as Will Smith swaggered into the ring in Michel Mann’s Ali (2001). A well-crafted tribute to the chronically arrogant and exhilaratingly principled icon, with some excellent music choices. I do not envy the position Farhan and Toofaan find themselves when it comes to this viewer’s current frame of reference for pugilistic biopics.
“Show me the money!”
Dozens of popular sporting movies occupy podium finishes in collective memory, like the inspiring Chariots of Fire (1981), about two British athletes at the 1924 Olympics; the anachronistic electronic soundtrack from Vangelis – with the popular title theme lending itself to both tribute and parody – has been a pop cultural phenomenon for decades now. (It even has its very own desi rip-off in the unforgettable Khoon Bhari Maang (1988), featuring a very angry crocodile. The next time I encountered the reptile in a Hindi film was in Ashutosh Gowariker’s Mohenjo Daro (2016), soon to be declared the biggest blot on the Indus Valley Civilisation by UNESCO, but I digress.)
Then there was Chak De! India (2007), in which SRK immortalised himself as a hockey coach whose pristine white shirt was in such glorious conversation with his multi-coloured facial hair blazing in the sun, I had to remind myself there was an Australian team to hate in the mix. Jerry Maguire (1996) had me at hello, but the film that wheeled its way into my tacky ’90s heart was Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar (1992). With the right mix of freshness, humour and sentimentality, its larger message – it’s not about the bike – has aged well, too. The ultimate underdog-beats-the-wolf sports film, in the unlikely scenario of hill station cycling rivalries, it’s still in top gear after all these years.
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From HT Brunch, July 25, 2021
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