Behind the brainteaser of a title ‘Har kisse ke hisse kamyaab’ lies a delightful little tale that is an ode to the oft forgotten, yet much loved supporting actor of yesteryear’s Bollywood. Roles that anyone born on the wrong side of the eighties would be intimately familiar with…the best friend, the girl next door, the perennial drunkard, the moustachioed potbellied (because, obviously, six packs weren’t a thing back then) henchman, the suave suited gangster…the list goes on. Characters that occupied a fraction of the screen time, playing stereotypical roles that were dished out unashamedly as a prop to the leading stars, or at best, to provide an interesting but brief diversion, and yet managed to carve out moments of cinematic magic that haven’t been dulled by the passage of time.
Even if the quirky title didn’t hint at the atypical nature of the film, the mention of Sanjay Mishra as the protagonist surely does. In a typically effortless performance, essaying a role that could well have been written with him in mind, he plays a washed-up character actor, one who discovers he’s appeared in 499 films and goes about trying to make his 500th on-screen appearance.
His tragicomic attempts to achieve this feat, with one foot firmly in the past while operating in a world that no longer values his performances, forms the gist of the film. While he’s ably supported by an ensemble cast, notable among them Deepak Dobriyal as a greasy casting agent and the beautiful Isha Talwar as a friendly neighbour and kindred spirit, the weight of the movie rests on Mishra’s shoulders and his alone. And he tugs at your heartstrings with a typically effortless, fluent performance as the down-on-his-luck, ageing movie veteran struggling to fulfil a dream that only he cares about while trying to reconcile his relationship with a family that genuinely loves him, without really believing in him. In a world dominated by CGI and prosthetics, his frequent transformations from the world weary Babulal to evergreen actor Sudheer, aided by nothing more than a wig and flamboyant, tight fitting clothes are nothing short of magical. As is the little Easter egg of a scene where he struggles with retake after retake, which I later discovered was modelled on an actual event in Mishra’s life.
What really made the movie stand apart for me though, was the disquieting thought that seeped into my skin and grew on me as I watched, that it could just as easily have been any one of us nameless masses going about our lives on screen. For while the narrative is ostensibly about the Bollywood side-actor, it transcends professions and applies just as much to any person trying to stay relevant while harbouring a dream that’s his alone. For example, as a 40-something IT professional trying to progress in a world of code-spewing millennials, and also as an occasional blogger in a world that’s moved on from the written form, and who yet harbours a pipe dream of writing a book without quite wanting to give it up, I could personally relate to nearly all of Sudheer’s travails. And it really is that universal. A world that idolises stardom is, by definition, a world filled with the ordinary. Except, in their own minds, nobody really is. All of us, we’re the Sudheers of this world, running dreamy eyed after our own 500th knowing full well it makes a difference to nobody except us, not really. And yet we labour on because it’s all we can do, its who we are. Or, in the words of a certain burned out actor, “Aur option hi kya hai”
Even if the quirky title didn’t hint at the atypical nature of the film, the mention of Sanjay Mishra as the protagonist surely does. In a typically effortless performance, essaying a role that could well have been written with him in mind, he plays a washed-up character actor, one who discovers he’s appeared in 499 films and goes about trying to make his 500th on-screen appearance.
His tragicomic attempts to achieve this feat, with one foot firmly in the past while operating in a world that no longer values his performances, forms the gist of the film. While he’s ably supported by an ensemble cast, notable among them Deepak Dobriyal as a greasy casting agent and the beautiful Isha Talwar as a friendly neighbour and kindred spirit, the weight of the movie rests on Mishra’s shoulders and his alone. And he tugs at your heartstrings with a typically effortless, fluent performance as the down-on-his-luck, ageing movie veteran struggling to fulfil a dream that only he cares about while trying to reconcile his relationship with a family that genuinely loves him, without really believing in him. In a world dominated by CGI and prosthetics, his frequent transformations from the world weary Babulal to evergreen actor Sudheer, aided by nothing more than a wig and flamboyant, tight fitting clothes are nothing short of magical. As is the little Easter egg of a scene where he struggles with retake after retake, which I later discovered was modelled on an actual event in Mishra’s life.
What really made the movie stand apart for me though, was the disquieting thought that seeped into my skin and grew on me as I watched, that it could just as easily have been any one of us nameless masses going about our lives on screen. For while the narrative is ostensibly about the Bollywood side-actor, it transcends professions and applies just as much to any person trying to stay relevant while harbouring a dream that’s his alone. For example, as a 40-something IT professional trying to progress in a world of code-spewing millennials, and also as an occasional blogger in a world that’s moved on from the written form, and who yet harbours a pipe dream of writing a book without quite wanting to give it up, I could personally relate to nearly all of Sudheer’s travails. And it really is that universal. A world that idolises stardom is, by definition, a world filled with the ordinary. Except, in their own minds, nobody really is. All of us, we’re the Sudheers of this world, running dreamy eyed after our own 500th knowing full well it makes a difference to nobody except us, not really. And yet we labour on because it’s all we can do, its who we are. Or, in the words of a certain burned out actor, “Aur option hi kya hai”
Comments
The last scene where he entertains the school audience and keeps them rapt putting his body , mind and soul in the performance...but the moment the hero who has belatedly appears, (reflecting his true feelings for the event) the curtains are drawn on the side actor.aptly matches with the core expression of the review