Mirzya Movie Review

 

Mirzya Movie

Critic's Rating:

3.0/5

Story: Mohnish/Aadil (Harshvardhan) and Suchitra (Saiyami) are schoolmates, who care deeply for one another. An untoward incident that occurs in their hometown, Jodhpur, separates them. Years later, their paths cross. But this time around, Suchitra is on the verge of getting married.

Review: Mirzya is inspired by the story of the star-crossed lovers Mirza-Sahiban, a popular folklore from Punjab. In this screen adaptation, the scenario plays out in Rajasthan, shot mesmerizingly by cinematographer, Pawel Dyllus.

At the core of the story are Mohnish and Suchi, who were separated when the pre-teen boy is sent to a juvenile correction home for murder. Years later, Suchi returns from London to marry Prince Karan (Anuj). By a quirk of fate, she discovers her childhood friend, who now calls himself Aadil, in the palace stable. During her riding lessons, the curly-haired to-be princess discovers that the embers of her love for the stable-hand have not really died down.

On his part, Aadil realises that if he must win his childhood sweetheart over, he has to cross swords with the Prince and Suchi’s father (Art Malik), who is hell-bent on her wedlock to royalty. In the hands of the astute Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra (Rang De Basanti, Bhaag Milkha Bhaag), this musical, which has a melodious score by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy with additional tracks by Daler Mehndi, unfolds languidly in a Broadway-style format. Interspersing the present-day track with a period folklore, Mehra and Gulzar (credited with screenplay and lyrics) give viewers an engaging and lavish big-screen experience.

Though not a musical in the literal sense, the songs take the story forward in ballet style. The visuals of the chorus dancers dressed in bright Rajasthani costumes is breath-taking. The downside, though, is that the passion between the lead players doesn’t really set the screen ablaze. Also, there is absence of real conflict and suspense as the folklore is quite known.

Harshvardhan and Saiyami come from good acting stock. But they’re still rough around the edges. Harsh manages to give glimpses of his vulnerability and intensity as a performer. And, also his physical strength (the shirtless scene). While Saiyami, who withholds emotions in a few scenes, sparkles, Anuj makes an impressive debut.

If you are drawn to stories that are high on aesthetics with lyrical narratives, Mirzya is a portrait that deserves a long look.

In the valleys of Ladakh, a strange game on horseback, of arrows and CGI clay pigeons, is taking place. The landscape is shot through a filter, people are in dramatic lighting, riding horses, splashing water, shooting arrows in glorious slow-motion. It’s visually stunning. And remarkably unreal.

Authenticity is a frequent casualty in Bollywood retellings. And Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra’s version of the Punjabi folk tale of Mirza-Sahiban aims to be anything but real. The central complexity of the original tale is that Mirza and Sahibaan’s parents were brought up by the same woman. It’s critical to why their love defies social norms.

Mehra tells two versions: one, a contemporary story set in Rajasthan. The other, the one with most of the CGI and slow-mo, in a fictional past where the men have hipster buzz cuts, and the women wear leather bodices, winged eyeliner, and layers of foundation. It’s less Mirza Sahiban, more 300, or the Dothraki clan from Game of Thrones.

You could argue that folklore is the stuff of legends, and justify the visual extravagance. But Mehra does away with the crucial angle of related protagonists. And that rips the heart out of the story.

Instead, the principal story is about two childhood sweethearts. In a little segment, of a passionate young friendship in Jodhpur, Mehra seems the most at home. The narrow lanes, the low-roof houses remind you of Delhi 6, where Mehra turned Old Dilli into a character. Unfortunately, that’s the shortest segment, thwarted violently by a murder that lacks sufficient cinematic motivation.

Such is the focus on effect that even a murder scene is made to look pretty. A moment that perhaps called for tenderness, or silence, to let the audience absorb the shock, is drowned out in thumping music.