Abstract

Vishal Bhardwaj’s third remarkably brilliant endeavour to recreate William Shakespeare's texts, characters and plots for the Indian social and political realities, Haider is a visual treat, set against the violent insurgency in the snow-wrapped Kashmir of 1995. Mr Bhardwaj has earlier recreated two other freewheeling Shakespearean heroes, (or anti-heroes), both brilliant: Maqbool (2004), a Macbeth, who is part of the Bombay underworld, and yet suffers too intense a guilt and self-loathing for someone born into ruthlessness and complete autonomy over life, and Omkara, an Othello whose title character is a half-caste gangster general soiled in the heartland crime of Uttar Pradesh. However, in Haider, Bhardwaj, with co-writer Basharat Peer, more than simply translates and recreates the Bard’s work for and to an Indianised setting and audience – he adds resplendent shades of colour, texture, and context to them, what eventually make Haider not just the best film in his trilogy but  the finest film of his career.

Performances in Haider are so fine that slowly but steadily, we come to identify the characters as real flesh-and-blood people. However, instead of Haider, Bhardwaj might have considered calling his Indianised adaptation of Hamlet, Ghazala, after his beautifully recreated and spellbindingly enacted Gertrude. Painstakingly played by Tabu (whose melancholic eyes take your breath away), the character of Ghazala has such depths of intensity and mystery that she hijacks the movie, while by comparison, Haider (Shahid Kapoor) is a simple fellow. In an un-Hamletlike way, he knows exactly what he wants — to avenge his father — and determinedly goes after it. As for the rest of the cast, Kay Kay Menon is mesmerising as always in his menacing and conniving avatar. Narendra Jha is equally impressive as the doctor who in his selfless attempts at putting his profession before self, ends up being perceived by people as a militancy supporter. Even characters with miniscule roles are as impressive as the actors with full-fledged ones. Take for instance, that one scene in which Shahid meets an old woman at a government office where they have both come searching for their missing family members. They show pictures of their missing loved ones to each other. The pained, traumatised-and-yet-caring look on the woman's face as she touches Shahid's head in that brief but poignant scene is striking in the aftermath of emotions it leaves behind. In another chilling scene, a man, his face covered in a balaclava, plays judge and jury from a Jeep, as civilians are paraded in front of him. A movement of his eyes and their fates are decided: dismissed or detained. No words. Period.

The political backdrop of a violently torn Kashmir often overwhelms or even distorts the family drama. Yet, Mr Bhardwaj never fails to justify critics’ appreciation of how cinematically he can reconstruct Shakespearean moments. Haider is not just another stereotypical Bollywood movie but a brilliant cinematic experience that surpasses the melodrama, unrealistic fantasies and clichés that characterise Indian cinema.