Fitting issues of socio-political relevance within the Bollywood frame is challenging, no doubt. But one that Prakash Jha has effortlessly mastered through his many movies.
Although Jha’s earlier movies, like ‘Mrityudand’, ‘Gangaajal’ and ‘Apaharan’, were far superior in texture and treatment than his latest ‘Rajneeti’ and ‘Aarakshan’, which were guilty of being adulterated with Bollywood jingoism, Jha attempts to set right those blunders with ‘Chakravyuh’.
But even here, he’s weighed down by his earnestness to stay commercially viable and politically correct. It’s this lack of insight that stops him from lending authenticity to a power struggle that ensues between the affluent and the deprived.
The pointless skin-show that centres on Sameera Reddy’s item jig ‘Kunda Khol’ further reduces Jha’s social crusade into mere Bollywood fluff.
Even though his intentions remain respectable, Jha is unable to lend any credibility to the civil conflict.
‘Chakravyuh’ is predominately about how a friendship crumbles under the impact of their differing socio-economic backgrounds. It focuses less on the political nuances and more on the dramatics of this relationship.
The insecurities between best buds Adil Khan and Kabir are evident even before ‘Chakravyuh’ sinks into political mayhem, with the two reuniting after a seven-year squabble. Nevertheless, there’s no love lost, and the men pick up from where they left.
While Adil ends up as a cop, Kabir abandons his police duty to indulge in his impulsive, anti-establishment streak. It’s when Adil voluntarily heads out to man the notorious Nandighat from the ruthless rebels that his friend steps in to help him out.
However, Jha doesn’t give us any real sense of how thick they are, until Adil shows reluctance to tell his wife, and police officer, Rhea about their secret mission.
So, Kabir prods along and infiltrates the rebel camp, with unimaginable ease, only to sneak information to his buddy who works tirelessly to stop the rebels from growing in strength and power.
The dynamics of the situation shifts only when the fight for equality suddenly entices the orphaned Kabir to shift allegiance, and turn him against his friend in the bloody guerilla warfare.
Jha offers both sides to voice their reasons, with officer Adil elaborating on how men with guns lack any real purpose, and rebel leader Rajan accentuating how the law is made only to protect the rich, but he never explores their struggles.
Barring lines penned by writers Jha, Anjum Rajabali and Sagar Pandya that highlight how the rebels and cops are mere puppets at the hands of scheming politicians, with the revolution just posing as a power-winning tactic, there are no incidents that validate that claim. Even the horrific terrain and living conditions that could expose the gun men to killer diseases like malaria are paid mere lip service.
Despite trying to exercise restraint in taking sides in the conflict, Jha’s use of political manipulators, corrupt cops and wealthy industrialists makes it evident where his loyalty lie.
As the righteous, macho cop, who also sports aviators like his other Bollywood peers, Arjun Rampal’s baritone act is imposing. But, the script doesn’t allow us to invest our loyalties with him. Even Abhay nails Kabir’s wavering sentiments, but we never quite empathize with him because he appears lost in the social turmoil mainly because he skips his heart for rebel leader Juhi.
It is veterans Om Puri and Manoj Bajpai whose campaign for egalitarianism that’s most striking. The screenplay, however, doesn’t explore their true worth, with Abhay and Arjun pushed to the fore-front most often.
For first-timer, Anjali Patil essays comrade Juhi’s angst with gusto. It’s a particular tussle with a crooked cop that’s notably hard-hitting.
There’s also glam doll Esha Gupta who goes deglam as Adil’s officer wife Rhea. Despite many questioning Jha’s decision to cast her, it’s a role that doesn’t merit the need for a seasoned actress. Any woman, who could grimace and run, could’ve made the cut.
The narrative is further peppered with song, and it’s only post interval that you sense how Jha struggles to draw out a reasonably, logical conclusion.
And, like most filmmakers, especially Mani Ratnam, who falter in giving real conflicts a befitting reel conclusion, Jha too ends muddling it up.
So, here’s a classic case of how a power-packed story fails to ignite the big screen.
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