A screen grab of author Jai Arjun Singh (Pic: NDTV Good Times)
In 1983, a first time director made a film that introduced Indian audiences to the genre of absurdist, black comedy. Twenty seven years later a young journalist turned writer has set out to tell what made ‘Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro’ (JBDY) a cult classic which is more relevant now than ever before.
Kundan Shah’s film, which was at once a harrowing spoof on and serious indictment of corruption in public life and the media’s role as an enabler, has found a passionate chronicler in Delhi-based journalist and reviewer Jai Arjun Singh.
His monograph ‘Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro—Seriously funny since 1983’ (HarperCollins India, Rs. 250) has been described by the 33-year-old Singh as “the story of the making of the film, starting with the unusual career trajectory of Kundan Shah and the writing of the original English script, on to the assembling of the crew, the shooting, post-production, etc., with a bit of analysis thrown in here and there.”
Considering that Singh was barely six years old when the movie was released he came to it first as a child and again nearly two decades later as a professional reviewer. The movie has grown for him from just being chuckle-worthy to a subject worthy of serious analysis. “There was actually quite a big gap between the "before" and the "after" - I watched it numerous times on TV as a child in the 80s, and then saw it for the first time as an adult 18-20 years later, in 2008,” Singh told me in an interview. Here is part 1 of that interview:
Q: Describe the process of developing a structure for a book about a movie that seemed to break all the established Indian cinematic structures of its time.
A: I know what you mean - it was a bit daunting at first, because I was thinking "Readers will expect a book about JBDY to be as wacky in tone and structure as the film itself was", but eventually I had to set those thoughts aside and work with my own strengths as a journalist/reviewer. I decided to write this as a linear narrative with a beginning, a middle and an end (too many film books in India don't attempt a coherent narrative). It would be the story of the making of the film, starting with the unusual career trajectory of Kundan Shah and the writing of the original English script, on to the assembling of the crew, the shooting, post-production, etc., with a bit of analysis thrown in here and there.
Q: Would you share the difference between the way you responded to the movie when you saw it before and after you became a journalist and a professional critic?
A: There was actually quite a big gap between the "before" and the "after" - I watched it numerous times on TV as a child in the 80s, and then saw it for the first time as an adult 18-20 years later, in 2008! Some of the differences are obvious: as an adult, I was much more aware of the deeper undertones of scenes like "thoda khao, thoda phenko" (obscene wastage in a society where the gap between the rich and the poor is so wide) or the pointedness of the line "Aage jaake log iss flyover ke neeche apne ghar basaaenge".
In fact, I saw it as a very polemical, political film disguised as a comedy. As a child, one simply laughed a lot, though I should also say that my most vivid memory was of the startling final scene - the throat-cutting gesture, the association of a beloved inspirational song like "Hum Honge Kaamyaab" with such a bleak ending.
But also, from the critical perspective, watching it in 2008 I was more aware of the film's flaws: the little moments that were jarring and shoddy, the disjointedness of some shots, the sense that this film was put together on a very small budget by strugglers who weren't even sure it would come together. It’s a movie I admire much more for concept than for execution, though, of course, some elements in the execution are very good.
Q: It is more than a quarter century since the movie was made. Has the passage of time given the movie any extra artistic weight?
A: Well, it certainly seems more relevant than ever before. In post-liberalisation India, one takes corruption and inequality so much more for granted that if exactly the same film were made today, Vinod and Sudhir would seem hopelessly naive - even stupid - standing about singing "Hum Honge Kaamyaab". But there are so many times when one reads the daily newspapers and thinks instantly of Jaane bhi do Yaaro: news about that bridge collapse just before the Commonwealth Games in Delhi, for example, and the attendant fiascos that made it obvious that the bulk of the money was being siphoned away. Or even the controversies that media finds itself in - the collusion between journos and fixers. A lot of the more loony things in the JBDY script don't even seem exaggerated now! In any case, real life always manages to get a few steps ahead of satire.
But that's about the content. In terms of its form/execution, the film hasn't gained artistic weight with the passage of time - a young viewer watching it today is likely to find it very raw and shoddy, perhaps even a curio. That's inevitable, of course - it was a very resource-strapped production. But I hope that contemporary directors/scriptwriters with a Kundan Shah-like sensibility manage to make more such films that have similar content but are technically better made.
Q: Would it be correct to presume that you saw the film after it had already become a cult classic? If so, did that fact in any way shape your view of it?
A: My 2008 viewing of it was after it became a cult classic, yes. When I saw it as a child it was probably still in the process of becoming a cult - in fact, households like mine, watching it on Doordarshan and guffawing in their living rooms, were part of that nascent cult.
I don't think my viewing of it as an adult was particularly shaped by its reputation - I came to it with fresh eyes since I didn't remember most of it too well, just a few scattered scenes.
Q: Since I have not yet read the book, give me some idea about how you approached the subject matter. Is it a behind-the-scenes look describing what made it a cult classic?
A: This is partly answered in the first answer, but to add to that: the book is a mix of reportage and analysis. The formal structure chronicles the making of the film (with an early section that's a part-biography/profile of Kundan Shah, who in my mind was the book's protagonist), but there are also lots of asides: for instance, in one passage Ranjit Kapoor, the film's dialogue-writer, mentions R K Laxman. So immediately after that reference I put in a little insert (almost like a box in a feature story) containing Kundan's thoughts on Laxman, whom he admired greatly. It's in a different font since it briefly interrupts the main narrative. So there's a bit of experimenting of that sort. And at the end, yes, there is some analysis/speculation about its cult appeal - how it came along at the right time to strike a chord with an audience that was largely polarised between anything-goes commercial cinema and self-consciously arty cinema.
Q: JBDY was primarily a stinging indictment of corruption rendered in the form of an absurdist black comedy. Do you think it would have worked in any other way?
A: Oh, there are many different ways to tackle the same subject, but I think black comedy/absurdist comedy when done well is a particularly effective tool for social commentary. And men like Kundan and Ranjit Kapoor had the right sort of sensibility that enabled them to sustain something like this.
But yes, one reason that Jaane bhi do Yaaro got away with so much (its skewering of corruption and authority figures, its irreverence towards death) is that it wore the garb of an absurdist comedy. If it had treated the same subjects with a straight face or with a pedantic tone, it might never have got produced, or might have faced censorship problems. It's unfortunate that many people don't take comedy as a medium too seriously, but the upside is that you can get away with a lot! (Part 2 tomorrow)