In Jawan, Shah Rukh Khan manifests as a mythical being, a godly figure. His introduction occurs when the residents of a kindly village pray for deliverance. He makes an entrance—fittingly from the sky—amid shrieks of pain and streaks of lightning. Just so you don’t miss the parallels, director Atlee has a huge prop of goddess Kaali, and in case you still miss it, Shah Rukh Khan emulates the goddess’ pose, when he stands, hands with weapons and a foot on a fallen adversary. Much like our divine protectors, SRK has more than one avatar in the film. Much like them, he exerts protective influence, not just as an adult but even as a foetus. Perhaps that’s why, try as he might, Vijay Sethupathi, playing evil entrepreneur Kaali Gaekwad, simply cannot kill him. At one point, expressing a sort of dry amusement that Vijay Sethupathi has mastered by now, Kaali even checks SRK’s body for bullet wounds just to make sure it’s all there.
Director: Atlee
Cast: Shah Rukh Khan, Nayanthara, Vijay Sethupathi, Deepika Padukone, Priyamani
Only the god-like hero is immune to fatal damage though. Everyone else is fair game—and in Atlee’s universe, deaths are devices to shock you into caring. Well-meaning villagers get massacred. Farmers commit suicide—and Atlee ensures that you see it in full detail. A bunch of poor people—no, wait, let’s be more specific— poor children die asphyxiated in a hospital. A noble collector dies of poisoning. A bunch of soldiers get killed in action. And if none of this works on you, a woman—not just any woman—a mother… is sentenced to death. All of this is the film nudging you, imploring you, blackmailing you, into caring. Listen, I wanted to—hell, isn’t that why we even watch films—but I just needed to know these people a bit more. More importantly, I just needed to see that the film first cared about them, and did not, like its villain, Kaali, see people as tools to be dispensed with for selfish reasons.
Women especially have been in much danger in Atlee’s filmography. In Raja Rani, a woman gets bumped off in a road accident. In Theri, a woman, not just any woman—a mother!—gets murdered for no fault of hers. In Mersal (a film I often thought of, while watching Jawan), a woman dies during a surgery. In Jawan, one is hanged—after the villain makes (I never thought I’d ever write the following) hanging-victim-faces at her. Another woman gets shot. The multiple-roles angle and the back-and-forth nature of the screenplay got me thinking a lot of Mersal, but I think Jawan is the most Shankar-esque version of Atlee yet.
Jawan, in fact, feels like Shankar on steroids. Shankar (who Atlee assisted) is well-known for often employing the vigilante justice idea and for usually centering such films on a social justice issue. In Jawan, Atlee crams in as many issues as possible. Here’s something about weapons manufacturing. Here’s something about government hospitals being neglected. Here are a couple of issues that Tamil cinema has been having for breakfast, lunch and dinner: Farmer suicides and heartless factory owners. There’s some blink-and-miss commentary on the purpose of prisons as well. These are all important issues, topics so vast and with so much potential that entire feature films would struggle to handle them individually. The problem with Jawan isn’t that it tries to cram in as many issues; it’s that the film doesn’t really seem to care… a lot like how it doesn’t really seem to invest emotionally in its characters.
The best Shankar films ensure that you see how much the vigilante protagonists—and through them, the director himself—care about the social issue(s). Such films are not in a tearing hurry to create memorable moments; they know the value of earning our emotional investment first. In Jawan, the social issues—like the film’s murder victims—feel simply like tools being utilised to create an attractive ‘product’. That’s perhaps why the characters feel unidimensional and cold. SRK turns on superstar charisma to make us feel invested in his characters, Vikram and Azad, but the writing of the film doesn’t really provide him with a lot of assistance. If it did, we would care about at least one of the two mini love stories in this film. If it did, the film wouldn’t have to keep resorting to manipulative shots of its characters shedding tears without conviction. They are crying; why won’t you? In Jawan, the tears and the deaths, the politics and the characters, they all feel like mechanical variables of a cold equation. When a woman dies towards the end, for instance, the void is simply a placeholder for another character to fill up, so we get an elevation scene. There’s no real emotion. It’s all checks and balances in the making of a viable product.
In Atlee’s previous work, Bigil—promoted as a women empowerment film—the women served as accessories in a hero elevation exercise. This time, Atlee does better. The women actually do some fighting, and in two big moments, they perform unexpectedly violent acts of resistance. One smashes a face while the other creates a murder weapon out of a pen. Nayanthara gets a few cool slow-mo shots as well. And yet, the question remains. For all the Vikram-like fancy introductions to Azad’s team of women—Jhanvi, Helana, Eeram, etc.—do any of them really come across as a real person with a unique identity? The women still come across as ‘dependents’, with traditional roles like motherhood getting valourised and held as the height of feminine strength. Nayanthara’s Narmada, for instance, chooses her foetus over her partner. She also implies that only a father can provide children with a genuine sense of protection. Never mind that she herself is supposed to be a bad-ass capable of fighting off multiple men with ease. In another scene, a farmer’s daughter gets enraged to kill right after her mother’s mangalsutra is snatched.
But no, Jawan isn’t a washout. It’s a film with many ideas but not quite the genuine emotional interest needed to really wade into them. A whole jail of women uniting to raise a child is a great idea (it reminded me somewhat of a similar idea in The Dark Knight Rises, or maybe that’s because there’s a Bane-like character in this film as well). There’s another interesting idea of hostages deciding to root for the ‘bad guys’. There’s all the Shankar-esque—or perhaps it’s time to say Atlee-esque—enjoyable ostentation in presentation. There are some great shots, like bandages being eaten by fire to reveal a hero’s face. Oh, and there’s definite political utility in who this film sees as enemies. Jawan shows that a real patriot isn’t one who stands by the government; it’s a man who isn’t afraid to take on corruption even when it’s—and especially when it’s—within the government. It’s a man who speaks truth at the cost of personal peril. And when such a man is played by SRK who breaks the fourth wall and urges you to ask questions of elected representatives, there’s definite utility there.
But I only wish these ideas were truly seen for their value—and not just as decorative trinkets. Jawan is shiny, bright, and expensive, but ultimately—and as often is the case with anything shiny, bright, and expensive—devoid of soul. If I had to pick a parallel from within the film, I’d liken it to a shiny gun, one that’s packed with cool features and stylish to hold… but won’t fire when you most need it to.
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