The dazzling spectacle of Bhansali’s film, coupled with Alia Bhatt’s powerhouse performance, overshadows and forgets the gritty resilience of the real Gangubai.
There’s a famous scene towards the end of Omkara, a brilliant adaptation of Shakespeare’s Othello, where Langda Tyagi, played by Saif Ali Khan in perhaps his best role, when asked about the truth of his accusation, says, “There isn’t any difference between my truth and my lie.”
That sums up Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s movies and the world he believes in. Renowned for his lavish costumes, grand production settings, striking female protagonists, and masterfully directed musical numbers that stand alone like mini-movies, the glitz and grandeur often overshadow the story element.
In recent times, Sanjay Leela Bhansali, celebrated for creating elaborate cinematic universes, has turned his attention towards history, focusing his specialty on constructing immersive, richly detailed narratives. While actors have expressed profound respect for the way he guides them through their most complex and layered performances, the same cannot be said for the veracity of the historical accounts and figures who have caught his fancy.
Gangubai Kathiawadi is based on a chapter from Hussain Zaidi’s bestselling book, Mafia Queens of Mumbai. It tells the tale of Gangubai Kathiawadi, a woman who, during the 1960s, was deceived and sold into prostitution in the notorious Kamathipura area of Mumbai. Utilizing her innate resilience and cunning to forge political alliances, she climbed the ranks to become a prominent figure in the criminal underworld, dealing in narcotics and engaging in violent activities. Leveraging her influence in the underworld, she eventually crafted a public persona as an advocate for the rights of sex workers. Legend has it that her advocacy even led to a discussion with Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s first prime minister. It’s a stunning story of resilience and determination and, without a doubt, one that needs to be told.
But in Bhansali’s hands, we see that Gangubai, while lacking the extravagance of Padmaavat or Bajirao Mastani, still reaches comparable levels of outrageously elaborate dance sequences and sets that wipe away the grime, dirt, and grit of the real Gangubai. In doing so, he takes away the very ethos of the character who had to claw her way out from the depths of despair. In making things sparkly and shiny, he tured the towering figure of Gangubai into a figurine doll.
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On Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s set, what is meant to represent a notorious street, is clearly constructed in a studio, with its overt artificiality becoming a feature of its own. The local mob leader, Karim Lala (played by Ajay Devgn), is an ala carte version of every Muslim-underworld-don-with-a-heart-of-gold. Initially, he appears merciless, yet surprisingly shows a softer side towards the downtrodden women. Amidst her crusade for these women’s rights, Gangubai encounters yet is forced to forgo her true love, which if we’re being honest, comes across more as lust rather than love. In sacrificing her love, Gangubai adheres to the tragic rules of melodrama that deny her any everyday happiness. The entire spectacle unfolds over two and a half hours, albeit with the typical Bhansali songs and dance numbers, epitomizing the quintessential Bollywood experience.
Alia Bhatt has swiftly ascended within the industry, carving out a reputation as a versatile actress by embracing roles that stretch her capabilities. It’s no surprise that she soars in the film. In fact, she is so good that we see Bhatt when we should be seeing the tough, hard edges of the real Gangubai. This issue highlights a recurring challenge when stars refuse to let go of their aura so that the role becomes an extension of their real persona rather than a vehicle for them to converse with the audience. You’re never not aware that it is Alia Bhatt you’re watching in another superlative performance. The fact that it’s based on a real person is almost a side note that is not worthy of anything more than a nod at the end.
In this dramatized portrayal, the story softens the historical accounts of violence associated with Gangubai, with narcotics discreetly replaced by alcohol sales on the premises. As Gangubai transitions from a mafia leader to a cherished Mother India–like figure, surrounded by cheerful sex workers from across Mumbai, the film loses its intensity and compass, something that even the family of the real Gangubai agrees.
