What does Chhapaak mean?
It’s the phonetic sound of a splash.
It’s what you hear when acid hits skin.
The recipient is routinely a woman and the
attacker
is almost always a man who seeks
revenge by scarring.
The acid, he hopes, will disfigure his victim’s
face
and consequently her life.
It’s a crime calculated to shatter a woman
physically and mentally.
Society decrees that beauty is a superpower
–
specially for women.
With acid, the perpetrator hopes
to show his target
who is boss.
But Laxmi Agarwal, who was attacked
by a stalker
when she was only 15,
refused to follow the script.
Instead she filed a PIL
and fought legal battles for
years.
Eventually the Supreme Court
passed an order
restricting and regulating
the sale of acid in India.
Laxmi refers to herself as a survivor,
not victim.
This remarkable story is
the inspiration for
Chhapaak,
in which Deepika Padukone plays Malti,
a
middle-class Delhi girl
whose pleasantly ordinary life
is wrecked by an
acid attack.
The film opens seven years
after she's filed the
PIL.
As the case moves forward sluggishly,
Malti
struggles to find a job.
But prospective employers don’t know how
to work
around her reconstructed face.
The owner of a beauty parlour
rejects her with –
Beauty parlour main beauty na ho
toh problem hoti
hai.
Director Meghna Gulzar presents
the anguish of
this in a low-key way.
There is minimal drama.
This is Malti’s life.
But she doesn’t crumble.
Malti soldiers on, stoically and sometimes,
even
with a smile.
Chhapaak’s biggest success is that
Deepika
becomes Malti.
Her commitment and conviction is complete.
At no point do we feel that this is
a superstar
celebrated for her beauty,
purposefully un-beautifying herself.
Deepika infuses Malti with a quiet heroism.
Her strength doesn’t require screaming.
The prosthetics by Clover Wootton, which alter
as
Malti undergoes seven surgeries, feel authentic.
Right after the attack,
the disfiguration is extreme
but Meghna doesn’t linger on the horror.
Instead, we get an aching scene in which Malti’s
mother wordlessly bathes her burnt daughter.
The visual reminded me of American photo-
journalist
W. Eugene Smith’s iconic photograph
Tomoko Uemura in her Bath in which
a Japanese
mother lovingly bathes her daughter
who suffers from Minamata disease,
a type of
mercury poisoning.
The gentleness in the frame
underlines the
tragedy.
Vikrant Massey is also lovely as
Malti’s grumpy
boss Amol.
Amol’s angry activism is tempered by
Malti’s
ability to find joy in the world.
In one of the film’s best scenes, she reminds
him
that the acid was thrown on her, not him.
Their love story is tender
and delightfully cheeky.
Madhurjeet Sarghi exudes understated strength
as
Malti’s lawyer Archana.
But despite the strong performances, the film
doesn’t feel urgent or alive enough.
Who was Malti before the attack?
What were her dreams?
What did she enjoy?
We have little sense of this
until much later in the
film.
Which makes it difficult to emotionally invest
in her
in the way that this story requires.
Chhapaak is powered by good intentions
and
progressive messaging
but the film is undermined
by a flawed screenplay.
Written by Meghna and Atika Chohan,
the
narrative jumps back and forth in time.
The action largely moves between Malti’s
journey
to recovery, her job at an NGO
and her battles in court.
The hopscotching is confusing and it doesn’t
allow
the characters to flourish.
It also slackens the pace.
Meghna’s grip on the material and consequently
the audience becomes uneven.
Compare this to another film about an acid
attack
survivor – Uyare, released last year,
in which Parvathy Thiruvothu
plays the lead.
Writers Bobby and Sanjay create a living,
breathing portrait of a woman
passionate about becoming a pilot.
The dream is destroyed by her attacker –
or so he
thinks.
But Pallavi refuses to let her circumstances
defeat
her.
Like Malti, Pallavi is a hero
but she is more
layered.
We see her seething rage, her desire for
revenge,
her bitterness.
Malti doesn’t achieve this same dynamism.
Meghna stages the attack
with an unflinching
gaze.
It’s devastating to watch the horror unfold
so
casually in a crowded market place.
The bystanders gaze as a woman’s face melts.
The first time we see it,
the rousing title song written by Gulzar saab
and
sung by Arijit Singh, plays.
In scenes like this, the film rises to
its full power.
But there are also stretches in which
disconnected
events are strung together
to make a larger point
and Chhapaak hovers dangerously close
to
becoming a public service announcement.
The messaging becomes bigger than the movie,
which reduces the impact.
There is enough to admire in Chhapaak.
But I wish the film had taken the leaps
that its
protagonist did.
It’s the phonetic sound of a splash.
It’s what you hear when acid hits skin.
The recipient is routinely a woman and the
attacker
is almost always a man who seeks
revenge by scarring.
The acid, he hopes, will disfigure his victim’s
face
and consequently her life.
It’s a crime calculated to shatter a woman
physically and mentally.
Society decrees that beauty is a superpower
–
specially for women.
With acid, the perpetrator hopes
to show his target
who is boss.
But Laxmi Agarwal, who was attacked
by a stalker
when she was only 15,
refused to follow the script.
Instead she filed a PIL
and fought legal battles for
years.
Eventually the Supreme Court
passed an order
restricting and regulating
the sale of acid in India.
Laxmi refers to herself as a survivor,
not victim.
This remarkable story is
the inspiration for
Chhapaak,
in which Deepika Padukone plays Malti,
a
middle-class Delhi girl
whose pleasantly ordinary life
is wrecked by an
acid attack.
The film opens seven years
after she's filed the
PIL.
As the case moves forward sluggishly,
Malti
struggles to find a job.
But prospective employers don’t know how
to work
around her reconstructed face.
The owner of a beauty parlour
rejects her with –
Beauty parlour main beauty na ho
toh problem hoti
hai.
Director Meghna Gulzar presents
the anguish of
this in a low-key way.
There is minimal drama.
This is Malti’s life.
But she doesn’t crumble.
Malti soldiers on, stoically and sometimes,
even
with a smile.
Chhapaak’s biggest success is that
Deepika
becomes Malti.
Her commitment and conviction is complete.
At no point do we feel that this is
a superstar
celebrated for her beauty,
purposefully un-beautifying herself.
Deepika infuses Malti with a quiet heroism.
Her strength doesn’t require screaming.
The prosthetics by Clover Wootton, which alter
as
Malti undergoes seven surgeries, feel authentic.
Right after the attack,
the disfiguration is extreme
but Meghna doesn’t linger on the horror.
Instead, we get an aching scene in which Malti’s
mother wordlessly bathes her burnt daughter.
The visual reminded me of American photo-
journalist
W. Eugene Smith’s iconic photograph
Tomoko Uemura in her Bath in which
a Japanese
mother lovingly bathes her daughter
who suffers from Minamata disease,
a type of
mercury poisoning.
The gentleness in the frame
underlines the
tragedy.
Vikrant Massey is also lovely as
Malti’s grumpy
boss Amol.
Amol’s angry activism is tempered by
Malti’s
ability to find joy in the world.
In one of the film’s best scenes, she reminds
him
that the acid was thrown on her, not him.
Their love story is tender
and delightfully cheeky.
Madhurjeet Sarghi exudes understated strength
as
Malti’s lawyer Archana.
But despite the strong performances, the film
doesn’t feel urgent or alive enough.
Who was Malti before the attack?
What were her dreams?
What did she enjoy?
We have little sense of this
until much later in the
film.
Which makes it difficult to emotionally invest
in her
in the way that this story requires.
Chhapaak is powered by good intentions
and
progressive messaging
but the film is undermined
by a flawed screenplay.
Written by Meghna and Atika Chohan,
the
narrative jumps back and forth in time.
The action largely moves between Malti’s
journey
to recovery, her job at an NGO
and her battles in court.
The hopscotching is confusing and it doesn’t
allow
the characters to flourish.
It also slackens the pace.
Meghna’s grip on the material and consequently
the audience becomes uneven.
Compare this to another film about an acid
attack
survivor – Uyare, released last year,
in which Parvathy Thiruvothu
plays the lead.
Writers Bobby and Sanjay create a living,
breathing portrait of a woman
passionate about becoming a pilot.
The dream is destroyed by her attacker –
or so he
thinks.
But Pallavi refuses to let her circumstances
defeat
her.
Like Malti, Pallavi is a hero
but she is more
layered.
We see her seething rage, her desire for
revenge,
her bitterness.
Malti doesn’t achieve this same dynamism.
Meghna stages the attack
with an unflinching
gaze.
It’s devastating to watch the horror unfold
so
casually in a crowded market place.
The bystanders gaze as a woman’s face melts.
The first time we see it,
the rousing title song written by Gulzar saab
and
sung by Arijit Singh, plays.
In scenes like this, the film rises to
its full power.
But there are also stretches in which
disconnected
events are strung together
to make a larger point
and Chhapaak hovers dangerously close
to
becoming a public service announcement.
The messaging becomes bigger than the movie,
which reduces the impact.
There is enough to admire in Chhapaak.
But I wish the film had taken the leaps
that its
protagonist did.
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