Cinema may have come leaps and bounds but certain principles within the world of celluloid continue to hold. One of them is the perpetual production and yet lack of evolution of the war film. Morality switches depending on sides, and nowhere else does the maxim ‘to each his own’ apply better when it comes to interpreting victories, where there generally exists only loss. A handful of films like Waltz with Bashir and The Hurt Locker have tried to bring nuance to the notion that patriotism alone drives individuals to conflict and that there are victories to be had. But similar exceptions, except for Haqeeqat are difficult to find in India’s cinematic history. There is too much pride to be able to consider the costs of war. What has, thankfully changed over the last few years, however, is that the patriotic film is no longer the domain of men alone. And because of that, a starkly gendered view of patriotism has begun to emerge, with some telling inferences to hold onto.
While the idea of what qualifies as patriotic and what doesn’t itself is debatable, when it comes to war films India hasn’t produced an awful lot around women that can be considered. Templated, the role of the woman in a war film is limited to showering love when cued and to forlornly long for the return of her partner when he is away. Only Meghna Gulzar’s Raazi and Sharan Sharma’s Gunjan Saxena can be counted as films that have ushered in the era of the female protagonist. This minor shift, though, has also offered a two-fold lens that patriotism can and probably is seen through. Consider Prime Video’s latest release Shershaah, based on the indomitably magnetic Captain Vikram Batra. In a scene, Batra played by the likeable yet single-note Siddharth Malhotra, tells his fellow soldiers “If you’re a fauji you live by chance, love by choice, and kill by profession”. Such flamboyance is not afforded to both Sehmat and Gunjan in their respective films.
Most war films are obviously dripping with masculinity, most of it toxic. In any other context, such violent exuberance would be regarded as foolhardy or criminally insensitive. Within the bracket of the war film, however, the range of masculinity stretches beyond what may usually be considered civil or acceptable. In Uri, Vicky Kaushal’s Vihan though staggered by an ailing mother at home is prone to superhuman bouts of machoism and bravado. That no-look-walk away from a pending explosion is the signature of a war film too consumed by the masculine impression of victory rather than the human idea of perseverance. Style, therefore, overtakes substance in narratives that mime the racy visuals of terror rather than the grounding and lasting qualities of its aftermath.
The female protagonist of the war film is more sensitive to the larger realities of the world. They carry with them a social lens that seems redundant in films overflowing with testosterone. In Raazi, Sehmat, alongside the challenges of essaying an insincere wife must also deal with the intimate struggles of affection and conflicted love. In Gunjan Saxena, Gunjan must rally around a presumptuous social and military establishment, that is the site of both, opportunity and trauma to an extent. Both films believe that heroism comes at a cost and that courage is no substitute to the conflicts inside our hearts and minds. The battlefield may naturally paint things black and white, but ultimately, it’s where your heart pains the most, that conflict lies.
Uri, Shershaah and countless other films on the other hand are so focussed on the swashbuckling nature of competing masculinities that they fail to reach out and touch the social fibre of the social and political backgrounds their characters are born out of.
Men walk into our war-time films with swagger and a smirk that establishes their alpha-dog qualities. Women arrive as skilled yet nervous wrecks, perpetually uncertain of the journeys they wish to undertake. A woman’s journey to the frontline of war is as mentally longer and complicated as a man’s candid strut along the fence is short. Women solve their problems tactically, relying on intelligence, while the belligerent man usually just channels his inner bravado. Men are naturally charismatic and confident, while women are reluctant and naïve. Lakshya and Prahaar might stand out for seeking vulnerabilities in their protagonists but eventually give into the populist idea of the ideal soldier.
A lot of these inferences, to an extent, reflect the country’s structural disposition when it comes to political communication. Women are celebrated for their struggle while men are celebrated for the seamlessness of it all. Look around and you’ll appreciate the fact that that is not just cinematic derivation but a societal fact. War-time films evidently attempt to source the momentary patriotism of Independence and Republic day, for it makes no pathological sense to immerse yourself in war during peacetime. While that formula is evident, it will probably take some time for the gung-hoism of war films to be pacified by the horror of combat. The genre’s obsession with masculinity, a morbidly pardoned version of it, says a lot about humanity’s gendered lens and everything it is willing to look past.
source https://www.firstpost.com/entertainment/women-on-the-frontline-changing-template-of-indian-war-films-with-raazi-gunjan-saxena-9886631.html
