Maqbool, a study in guilt. Review on Maqbool

Maqbool is easily one of contemporary cinema’s most masterful creations. Today is the third time I saw it, and no other film ever has made me as much uncomfortable by the sheer intensity on the screen. Every masterly stroke, every look, every moan, every word of dialogue is accounted for. And gives back in ways that makes one afraid of the word ‘acting’. If one can enact such throttling emotions on screen, I can only kneel down in awe and be stunned.

In all discussions of this movie, the character played by Tabu, the don’s wife Nimma, the Lady Macbeth has always been discounted. In my humble opinion, I haven’t ever seen such an amazing portrayal of a fictional character by an Indian actor. She is absolutely mindblowing in every move. Especially every scene in between her and Irrfan Khan. Every time they get together for an affectionate moment, the screen smoulders, and one shudders in the normalcy. Her initial attempts to make him touch her, especially the one in which she pulls a gun at him and exhorts the poker faced Khan to call her “Jaan” is just amazing. Miyan’s reaction too, with expletives fuming from his mouth, his lashing slaps across her face, and her unswerving lust for him despite all he says,is a cinematic achievement! When he does touch her later, he does it through a white veil, with absolute veneration . The imagery inherent makes one gasp with the effort put in thinking and weaving up this creation.

Guilt is an emotion already too tagged up with discomfort to be understood. One rarely chooses to understand it in oneself. Making an effort to lay the bones off guilt in others is a Herculean, and discomforting task. I have found this very task fascinating in my dealings with people. The study of guilt. The hair on my spine rises up every time I am witness to a guilt-pained victim, despite my fascination with it. People deal with guilt very differently. Some absolutely can’t stomach a moment with it. Others plough on. In between these two extremities, there are a thousand shades inherent. One’s deepest, darkest side comes out to battle guilt, and in the process makes one see faces that one never knew existed, or for that matter wanted to know if they existed.

It is a perverse pleasure in training the camera on to someone else and watch them squirm with the absolute agony which guilt brings. However, whenever cinema attempts to do so, it comes out so very clichéd. Not to mention that just too many words are used. I am a firm believer that a script should come with silences. And the manner of silence be clearly communicated. The final scene in which Nimma gets off the bed in screaming angry fits to get a bucket of water and wash off the imagined blood stains off spotless white walls cannot be communicated in words. The slow sinking of Maqbool across the mirror finally taking his fate in, with nary a word spoken is a masterpiece, but well I am essentially belittling it by talking about it. The only other movie which even explores this tinge of guilt is Reservoir Dogs, but well, that essentially is another genre of film-making, though masterful in it’s own right.

I could not just leave this piece without talking about the performances by Pankaj Kapur, Naseeruddin Shah, and Om Puri. Nor could I lay justice by belaboring to put them in words. Just shows what an immaculate script can do for you.

Mr. Vishal Bharadwaj, you have created a classic. It shall stay on for years to come. Kudos to you.