Praveen Lulekar
Kiran Yadnyopavit is a simple
story-teller. His two films so far have had a child as protagonist, basic but
important moral lessons and village settings with simpletons and beautiful
landscapes at the background. But the similarities between Taryanche Bait and
Salaam end there. The visible one with a father and son on the poster is
also just co-incidental. Their equation here is much different and so is the
story. It has its own beauty that grows on you through studious detailing and
you leave the theatre with a smile.
Salaam is
set in a village in Maharashtra that has had the tradition of sending its men
to either armed forces or in the police force. Raghya (Vivek Chabukswar)
is a school-boy whose father (Girish Kulkarni) is in the Mumbai Police. He is
in a state of jealousy as he perceives that being in military is bhaari (cooler)
than being in police. His friend Sadya, son of a military-man, initiates and
contributes to this agony by constantly teasing him. To beat him, Sadya decides
to bag first rank in a fund collection programme for children of deceased
soldiers. The film progresses with increasing competition between Raghya and
Sadya, the former learning the honest and the dishonest ways of earning money
and several twists.
Yadnyopavit, quite brilliantly, explores
every angle of his setting. The village is a character in itself and its long
tradition of bravery is seen through multiple perspectives. There’s a
let’s-bomb-Pakistan-and-finish-it-off attitude, a constant presence of Shivaji
and his heroic episodes for the children to hear, the delay in compensation
from government after a death and so on. Likewise, there is a range of
characters that are real and peculiar. The group of children is a fine example
of what variety Yadnyopavit can offer. It is this background that makes the
lead characters emerge and make the story believable.
While the story flows smoothly in its
subtle parts, there are hiccups when it comes to turning points and surprises.
There is use of the old gimmick of focussing on a usual suspect and then
throwing the spotlight on a dark horse. So while Sadya’s father is under
constant danger, we suddenly see the policeman, Raghya’s father getting killed.
While this works to some extent, the O. Henry-ish climax where the two
friends compromise for each other, is a little far-fetched and does not fit
into the simplicity of the film. But both these work on populist notes, there
are respectively worry and smiles in the theatre when these happen.
Kulkarni and Chabukswar pitch in with
beautiful performances. Kulkarni has an assuring fatherly presence again works
wonders with his language; his lekaa and astay capture essence of
the character. Chabukswar, along with all the child actors, has got everything
from his dialogue-tones to his expressions right. It is cliché to give the
director credit for child actors’ performances but it seems we have to
continue. The show-stealer is however Atisha Naik (as Raghya’s mother). Her
fun-loving yet caring mother is like seeing the aunt you have always wanted as
your mother.
Every other actor – Kishore Kadam, Jyoti
Chandekar, Sanjay Khapre and Shashank Shende, has given his/her hundred percent.
The situational humour is also brought out very neatly by the screenplay. The
irony of Raghya collecting money for the family of the deceased and later
becoming one of them is underplayed. If that is good or bad would have only
been realised if it was used more explicitly. The plight of soldiers’ families
is however neatly covered through a side-story.
The camera acts as an insider and gives
you some special pictures of the landscapes and interiors of the village. When
the characters roam about, the walls are mostly shown in diagonal frames,
giving it a real time feel. The art direction (Prashant Bidkar) is commendable
with houses in village very realistically recreated. Music (Rahul Ranade)
captures the mood of the films. The song Timbaktu takes you back to the
childhood wonderland. Background music is overused at places.
Go for Salaam for that simplistic
inspiration that never grows old. It’s a moral science class, right there on
the playground.
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