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| Ashchorjyo Prodeep Running time: 120 minutes |
In a refreshingly remarkable tweak to the original Aladdin tale, director Anik Datta conjures up his latest offering, Ashchorjyo Prodeep. The time is 21st century. Aladdin, no more a little tramp, makes his reappearance as a ‘bheto Bangali babu’. In spite of his western attire the protagonist remains essentially rooted to his Bechu Dutta lane, small-time para culture. He’s a man of small desires, an occasional nip behind his wife’s back, an odd erotic dream and the company of his office chums. Even when he asks for a ‘personal’ cut on a financial transaction, it’s for a measly two percent. Life is good, but for his nagging, ambitious wife.
Using this minute opening of discontent, now enter the genie in the ‘babu’s’ life. Careful not to arouse fear, the genie too has undergone a smart turnover. So much so that our bheto Bangali babu is initially reluctant to believe in the bona fide of the genie. But once convinced, this unlikely pair actually have a romp through life. This, then, is the broad contour of the story. Of course, there is a twist in the tale, which you don’t wish me to divulge.
On this basic story, Anik Datta weaves a modern day parable of his own that is at once hilarious and sad. What catches your eye here is the constant subtle changes taking place in the relationship between the genie and his master. Notwithstanding the genie’s assertion, “Aami apnar anugoto daash”, it doesn’t take time to figure out who the actual master in this situation is. Under the guile of the self-effacing servant, the genie controls and manipulates the life of his master, enticing him to forbidden, hedonistic pleasures. As a mentor, he even assumes the role of a Professor Higgins, teaching this bungling Bangali babu the art of being smart. But the chilling fact is, in whatever the genie does, he remains totally amoral.
There are standout features in Ashchorjyo Prodeep — uniform technical excellence that lends the movie an overall mahogany finish; attention to minute location details, as in the auction house on Russell Street. The dream dance sequence is awesome. The appearance of an ice-cream coloured limo (where on earth did it surface from?), the ungorging of the lovely, luscious Miss Mala Maal in a minuscule scarlet dress, a sultry voice belting out “zyada aur zyada”. Showbiz couldn’t possibly be better than this.
Largely retro in character, music composed by Raja Narayan Deb is a huge add-on. A desi dholak keeps syncopated beat to lilting Arabian music. A duet transports you to the genre of western musicals, epitomised by My Fair Lady and Fiddler On The Roof. A remix of an old Kishore Kumar song is sung by none other than his son, Amit Kumar. One can scent even a whiff of Mozart somewhere. For me though, the most poignant number is Haayere emon nithur… sung by Raghab. Art direction, superbly handled by Goutam Bose, combines seamlessly with Avik Mukhopadhyay’s highly imaginative cinematography, to give the movie a distinctive texture. Arghyakamal Mitra does wonders with editing, making the magic lamp come virtually alive on the title cards.
In acting, while Saswata Chatterjee, as the protagonist, is his usual irrepressible self, the man who steals the show is Rajatava Dutta. Cat stone rivetting eyes, a 1,000-watt smile, deadpan, poker face, he exudes a magnetic presence on screen. Bravo Rajatavo! Sreelekha Mitra as the attractive, but shrewish wife, reveals surprising depth and pathos, hiding her dark little secret in the recesses of her soul. Mumtaz Sorcar, as Miss Mala Maal, is simply sizzling. How she manages to execute those fancy steps, in seven-inch tall stiletto heels, is beyond one’s belief. Making cameo appearances are the ‘usual suspects’ — Paran Bandopadhyay, Kharaj Mukherjee (such a good voice even when he simply hums), Mir and several others who are by now a part of Anik’s entourage. Impressive new entries include Arindam Sil, Manoj Mitra and Biswanath Bose, proving however brief the on-screen appearance, you can never keep a good actor down.
So, what’s the last word on Ashchorjyo Prodeep? How is it different from Bhooter Bhobishyot? The dialogues are still as witty as ever. Wordplay, puns and double entendres come flying at you thick and fast like Quick Gun Murugan. But beneath its apparent gaiety, Ashchorjyo Prodeep is actually a sad commentary on today’s human condition. Our mindless consumerism, the mad rush for material goods, the mall, multiplex, iPod, smartphone culture. Agreed. You need a minimum amount of money for basic human comforts. But more money and more goodies do not necessarily into more happiness translate.
