The film is at its core a muscular yet delicate, livid but innocent, humorous yet solemn account of the life of Sanjay Singhania. Sanjay, played by Aamir Khan, has two starkly contrasting personalities through the course of the movie, one being told as a narrative of the past while we witness the present journey of the other. Asin’s character Kalpana, by the time the film has begun, has already died and is in fact the motive for Sanjay’s objective through the rest of the film. Though in large part a remake of its Tamil namesake that released in 2005 starring Asin and Surya in Aamir’s place, Ghajini certainly makes for a project that we haven’t recently seen the likes of from Aamir Khan, AR Rahman, or director AR Murugadoss.

Because Allu Arvind, the producer, and Asin were involved in the Tamil version of the film in largely similar roles, I hope that my conscientious decision not to discuss them in this review does not displace the reader. I intend to discuss solely what makes this particular film unique and in what way, and if I do so properly, it will prove to be quite extensive anyway. If it wasn’t obvious already, both of these individuals did outstanding work in the parts they played in getting this film out there and on top, Allu Arvind with his tremendous faith, and Asin with the beauty and class has yet again charmed a whole new set of viewers.

Aamir Khan

Both male and female audiences have exhibited curiosity as to how he came upon his tremendous physique. Aamir Khan began his video journal for Ghajini exactly 19 months ago, when he began training for his role in the film. That morning, he met his trainer and they measured his fat content and weight and conducted some diagnostic tests. From the next day onwards, exercise became a daily three-hour affair that took him right up to May of 2008: one year older, some 40 pounds heavier in pure muscle. His workout routine consisted generally of what has come to be called “functional exercise” - meaning doing things that you’d actually do in real life: certain stretches and motions that we are very familiar with but generally don’t require very much strength for. He didn’t escape without the givens, though: the pull-ups, the sit-ups, the bench presses, the squats, and the treadmill together took up about 75 percent of his everyday routine, roughly equally distributed within that time. This workout was sandwiched between about 10 percent of yoga to allow his body to recover from the intensity. Since May, however, he has stopped working out and restricted his diet so as to lose the weight he put on for Ghajini and accommodate for his upcoming role in 3 Idiots.

His performance has almost unanimously been acclaimed, both for its originality and its class. Especially after choosing to remake the film himself, Aamir Khan faced considerable pressure to play the role well. Only three years removed of Surya’s portrayal of the tormented lover, Aamir’s effort had to make a very unique mark to be seen as something truly new to the viewing public. This he successfully accomplished, though it would be unfair to both actors to compare their portrayals of the character. The important thing is that both interpretations, varied by subtleties as well as profundities, were embraced by their audiences, and both interpretations cooperated sufficiently with all the other artists involved in the films.

A.R. Rahman

The soundtrack for this film truly had a life of its own, and if the reader is not the type to appreciate “8-pack abs” or Jiah Khan in a skimpy outfit, then Rahman’s work on the film is your calling.

The first song in the film, “Aye Bachu”, introduces Asin’s character, the jovial, happy-go-lucky, somewhat arrogant, life-lover who is no stranger to getting into trouble. The song has the feel of a late 90’s stock Spice Girls number, but even after hearing it some thirty times during the winter break and twice before I sat down to write this, I still am finding new passages through the musical forests he’s constructed. This particular song was sung by Suzanne D’Mello, a relatively new and largely unknown singer in the Indian fraternity. After this film, Rahman called her back to sing two additional tracks in Slumdog Millionaire.

Rahman’s tendency towards this sort of favoritism is not undocumented, however. The second song in the film, “Behka” features the well known South Indian singer Karthik. With a career built largely on Tamil and Telugu songs, many of them composed by Rahman himself, Karthik was a familiar voice and a good bet for the risky sort of song that “Behka” is. Indeed he contributed with a masterstroke. Sung in a style that befits what could be called a hybridized jazz/rock/rap melody, Karthik’s part perfectly suited and dramatically enriched the piece. To consider the melody itself, we must refer both to musical theory as well as some musing. Strung in the minor key, the song sustains through much of its progression a slightly melancholy, dramatically restless tone which is furthered with the incorporation of momentary trumpet fanfares, saxophone solos, and breath choirs. The technique Rahman used in processing his rhythm is one that is commonly found in South Indian Carnatic music: the placement of the beat occurs between, not upon, the melodic order - a technique that conveys to me the sound of someone skipping with bowling shoes. In this rhythmic sense, it is even more restless, seemingly in a rush to get ahead of itself. The chorus of the song, though, is dramatically removed from these generalizations. Incorporating a jazz drum kit, bright trumpet trio, and a divergence from the minor key from before, the chorus sounds something more reminiscent of the Rang De Basanti days. If there is any reader who trusts not in the versatility of AR Rahman, this number will make you a believer. Slip on your dancing shoes.

The third song to appear in the film was “Latoo.” Picturized on Jiah Khan at a dance show, “Latoo” is a risqué collaboration complete with skimpy outfits and sensual intent, neither of which are intuitively characteristic of the medical student Jiah plays in the film, but neither of which, also, most audiences are ready to complain about. Translating loosely to “spinning top”, the word latoo means to convey a sort of ecstasy and autonomy. Though I’m not sure whether these emotions were extremely relevant to the plotline, figuring out what the word really meant was a sigh of relief for me and many of my friends who thought she was singing “ladoo.”  As far as Rahman goes, the song is yet another bunny from the hat in that the styles, instruments, and voices he uses come together to form something we’ve not seen before. The perfect example of this is in the song’s chorus, wherein Shreya Ghoshal ascends into an almost shrill rendition of “yaar yaar yaar.” When she reaches the end of this, we feel from the slow, deliberate method of her ascent that she has reached an extremely high note, and it thus adds a very palpable crest of passion to the song whenever the chorus comes in. In actuality, the highest note in the song (excluding an ambient rendition of the former lyric towards the end of the song) occurs almost imperceptibly in the lyric “khushboon saa chaaya,” and is a testament to Ghoshal’s skill as well as her artisanship in making such difficult pieces feel natural to the listener. And though she has been singing for young actresses since she began her career, Ghoshal has never exhibited the freeness of body and spirit we can feel in her voice here - not even, in my opinion, in “Jaadu Hai Nasha Hai” (Jism). Such well-executed novelty and grace gives this song all it needs, I think.

“Guzarish” was the fourth song to appear. Famously played on many TV promos and radio campaigns prior to the film’s release, it was easily the most eagerly anticipated number among the five, and in my view it fulfilled this expectation by plenty. Picturised mostly on sand dunes, “Guzarish” incorporated vibrantly contrasting primary colors in the designation of costumes and the background. The peak of the song’s visual aesthetics is achieved through a magnificent shot in which Aamir Khan stands at the tip of a sand dune that descends directly into the sea below it - truly an unbelievable juxtaposition of nature. This method of contrast was just as powerfully depicted in the song itself: a delicate vocalization on the part of Javed Ali, another Rahman favorite whose work can be found in Jodha-Akbar’s “Jashn-E-Bahaara”, paired with a muscular bass loop and percussion line. With a chord progression that discretely goes back and forth between major and minor keys every few seconds, the song is seemingly serene, even though it pulses with the sort of restless tension that comes with guzarish (waiting). Consistently charming everyone who hears it, the song needs little else said about it, besides maybe some trivia: The vocals at the beginning, middle, and end in this song are done by none other than Sonu Nigam.

If restless rhythms, jazz, and rocking femininity are not for the reader, then “Kaise Mujhe” is. Set in the midst of a highly unusual mood for a typical Bollywood song, this lulling melody that seems to vocalize precisely both the woes of guilt and the tug of a budding love truly conveys Rahman’s keen grasp of human emotion. By the time the song has finished, the listener does not recall that there was no clear chorus and verse, rather just a free-flowing, cathartic sort of musical prose that embodies all of the inconclusiveness and spontaneity of a confused lover. Complete with an instrumental version of itself, this number is Rahman’s signature reflective piece for the film of the sort that “Yeh Jo Des Hai Tera” (Swades) and “Uyire” (Bombay) were in yesteryears.

AR Murugadoss

Though I’ve described to some extent the picturization of the songs in the film, there is much to be said about the technique of Murugadoss’s direction. Shot in a way that is not entirely unfamiliar to a South Indian who watches Tamil or Telugu films, Ghajini puts Aamir Khan in a place he’s never before ventured to go: the shoes of our beloved Rajinikanth and Chiranjeevi. The absolutely unreal strength and heroic circumstance seems almost to be intended for humor rather than for any real sense of tension or superiority, and if this is the case, why, then Murugadoss is a genius, because most of the fighting scenes were profoundly hysterical in one way or another while still aptly conveying the livid anger so essential to Aamir’s character.

The film has proven already to be a study of contrasts, but let’s examine the most powerful one: the unrelenting beast that is Aamir Khan one minute and the disoriented amnesia patient that he is 15 minutes later. This particular contrast is explored with intrigue, humor, and finally suspense, as Sanjay Singhania fights with all he has for all he had at one time in his life. Certain small things give the cinematography of Ghajini a strident charm: the artificial wind that lifts leaves and outlines our hero’s body while he’s fighting, the darting camera angles to show different points of view in single shot, the zoomed-in face frames alternated each second for dramatic effect. All of these things come from Murugadoss’s South Indian perspective and have meshed beautifully with Aamir Khan’s northern style and suavity to create what Ghajini is today.

Altogether a superb film, as I hope I’ve proved to the reader without ruining too much of the experience, Ghajini demands a chance - if not two or three. Get on the chase today.

Sources:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghajini_(2008_film)

http://bollywoodlens.blogspot.com/2009/01/aamir-khans-gym-workout-schedule.html

Photo Courtesy: Mella’s, Nachophoto

Related Articles:

• Bad Enough For Bollywood
• Riyaaz for AID - A Review
• Creating through Creativity
• Religions and Relationships
• Missing the Mark