
SHOLAY
("Flames"), 1975
Color, Hindi, 199 minutes.
directed by Ramesh Sippy.
Screenplay: Salim Khan, Javed Akhtar; lyrics: Anand Bakshi; music: R. D. Burman;
cinematography: Dwarka Divecha
From unpromising beginnings (typically, industry insiders predicted that unconventional
elements in this big-budget film would make it a resounding flop) Sholay
exploded onto 70mm screens to become one of the Bombay film industrys
greatest success stories the film that would, for vast audiences, definitively
embody the masala blockbuster. Released on August 15th (Indian Independence
Day) 1975, it played to sold-out houses at major urban venues such as downtown
New Delhi's huge Plaza Cinema for more than two years, becoming the highest-grossing
Indian film ever made, a laurel it held for nearly two decades. It is indisputably
one of the most influential Hindi films of all time, and the question to ask
Indian cinephiles is not whether they have seen it, but how many times?answers
in the double digits are not uncommon. Indeed, so popular was it that not only
its songs, but its stylish dialogs were issued on audiocassette, and can still
be recited by fans throughout India. One of the films that helped make Amitabh
Bachchan the 70s superstar par excellence, Sholay also catapulted
Amjad Khan to stardom in the role of the sadistic bandit Gabbar Singh, and is
said to have ushered in the era of the supervillain. While giving
a quintessentially Indian turn to the now-international mythos of the Western,
Sholay also set new standards in cinematography and action sequencesas
in the spectacular opening train scene.
The films entertainment value holds up well, as does its cinematic craft,
and so it remains a fine vehicle for introducing novice Western viewers to the
phenomenon of the "masala film." Literally meaning "spice,"
masala commonly refers to a blend of multiple spices (as in "curry"
powder), and cinematically to an action-adventure-romance that is expected to
offer a three-hour multi-course banquet of emotional flavors, encompassing slapstick
comedy, romance, violent action, social and family melodrama, and of course,
a half dozen or so song-and-dance sequences. First-time Western viewers sometimes
find such combinations indigestiblea disquieting emotional roller-coaster
ride through genre terrains that "properly" belong to three or four
different films. Another unsettling trait is the Indian filmmakers' apparent
tendency to "quote" motifs or images from Western cinemas (e.g., Sholay's
pop-critical label "curry Western, and its obvious citations of Charlie
Chaplin, Sergio Leone, Sam Peckinpah, and of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance
Kid). Again, novice viewers often see this less as homage and creative adaptation
than as ludicrous and uncomprehending copying of "original" Hollywood
ideas, resulting in a chaotic pastiche. Yet the fact that scores of masala
films are produced each year, including a handful of hits, suggests that the
genre has, for receptive audiences, an aesthetic logic of its own. As the most
acclaimed film of this genre, Sholay is useful for raising as well as
problematizing cross-cultural cinematic stereotypes.
Synopsis: A train arrives at a rural station and a lone police officer
disembarks, looking for "Thakur Sahib" (thakur, literally "lord,
master," is a respectful title for a member of one of the landlord castes
who trace their lineage to ancient kshatriyas or warrior-aristocrats;
Sahib means "sir"). As the credits roll, we follow his horseback journey
through a Badlands-like landscape to the remote settlement of Ramgarh (Ramas
fort). Here he meets the Thakur, Baldev Singh (Sanjeev Kumar), a retired
police officer who is always wrapped in a gray shawl. Singh requests his visitor
to locate and bring him two criminals, the scruffy, ever-smiling Veeru (Dharmendra)
and the lanky, brooding Jaidev or Jai for short (Amitabh Bacchan).
When the officer asks what task these notorious repeat-offenders can possibly
be suited for, Singh recounts his first meeting with them, two years earlier,
when he was transporting them to jail via a freight train. Immediately after
they boast to him of their courage, the train is attacked by bandits, and they
defend it and their wounded captor against a seemingly unending troop of horsemen.
But their moral ambivalence is revealed when they toss a coin to decide whether
to bring the bleeding officer to a hospital (landing themselves in jail), or
to escape (leaving him to die). In a motif that will be repeated, "chance"
impels them to do the Right Thing. The flashback ends with Singh's visitor promising
to search for the pair, but adding that, if they are out of jail and at large,
it may be difficult to locate them.
Cut to the first musical number: Veeru and Jai steal a motorcycle with sidecar
and burst into a rollicking "song of the road," evoking the antics
of Raj Kapoor's "vagabond" persona of the 1950s (cf. Awara,
Shri 420). Here, however, it is not simply a celebration of manic, vaguely
anti-social freedom, but an ingeniously choreographed male love-duet, as they
affirm their eternal friendship (dosti) during a joyride through a scenic
obstacle course dotted with banyan trees and hapless rustics.
We next see them approaching a crooked but comical Muslim lumber dealer, Surma
Bhopali (Jagdeep), with an unusual offer: he will turn them in to the police,
collect the reward of 2000 rupees, and split it with them when they are released
from prison. Cut to the prison, and another ludic interlude, including homage
to Chaplin's Great Dictator in the crackpot jailer (comic actor Asrani),
who boasts of his training under the British. The wily pair easily outsmart
him and escape, but when they return to Bhopali to collect their promised thousand
rupees, he betrays them to the police. Back in jail, they are located by the
Thakur's agent, and Singh awaits them outside the prison gate when they are
released, thus ending the comic digression and returning to the frame narrative.
Singh asks them to capture the notorious outlaw (daku) Gabbar Singh;
in return, he will give them the 50,000 rupees reward offered by the police.
He pays them a 5,000 rupee advance, and promises another 5,000 when they reach
Ramgarh.
Arriving by train, the boys encounter a talkative female tonga (horsecart)
driver named Basanti (Hema Malini). Jai is bored by her ceaseless chatter but
Veeru is entranced. Soon after reaching Ramgarh, Jai catches a glimpse of Radha
(Jaya Bhaduri, Bacchan's future wife), the Thakur's daughter-in-law, who wears
a widow's white sari. Having received their 10,000 rupees from the Thakur, and
having glimpsed the riches in his safe, the duo plan to rob the household by
night and make a quick exit. But as they prepare to do this, Radha confronts
them, offers them the key to the safe, and tells them to take her jewelry (emblematic
of the auspicious state of a married woman) as she has no more use for it. They
are shamed into dropping their plan.
Enroute to picking green mangoes for her elderly aunt, Basanti helps a blind
maulvi (Islamic preacher) descend a hillthus demonstrating that
communal harmony reigns in Ramgarh. He asks her to help convince his only son,
Ahmad, to take a job in the city, although this will mean leaving him alone
in his old age. In the mango grove, Veeru and Jaidev shoot down green fruit
for Basanti, and Veeru "teaches" her to use a pistol.
The village routine is shattered when dacoits arrive, demanding their tribute
of grain. The Thakur refuses to pay, and aided by Veeru and Jaidev, drives them
away. They return to Gabbar Singh (Amjad Khan), who metes out sadistic punishment
for the failure of their mission.
Cut to a scene of Holi festivities in the village (the spring harvest festival
of fertility and licentiousness, and a stock trope in many Hindi films; cf.
the similar scene in Mother India); amidst a rain of colored powders
and dyes, Veeru and Basanti dance and sing a saucy duet, but Jai can only gaze
at the somber Radha from afar. The festivities are interrupted by a brutal attack
by Gabbar's band, who almost kill the heroes, but are at last driven off. Afterward,
Veeru's disgust at the Thakur's failure to assist them at a crucial moment (by
tossing them a gun) leads to a long flashback, in which he explains the cause
of his helplessness and his enmity with Gabbar Singh. (Intermission)

When Veeru
and Jaidev, horrified by the Thakurs tale, vow to kill Gabbar Singh, the
Thakur reminds them that he wants the outlaw alive. A villager brings news that
gypsiesknown to supply arms to the dacoitshave arrived in the area.
Cut to a dance sequence in the gypsy camp, featuring the hypnotic song Mehbooba
(Beloved, sung by R. D. Burman himself), with sensual (to Indian
ears) Middle Eastern-style music and heavily Persianized lyrics. While Gabbar
Singh is distracted by the show, Veeru and Jai enter the camp. In the ensuing
skirmish, Jai is wounded. As he returns home, Radha rushes to meet him and the
Thakur realizes her feelings.
The blind maulvi receives a letter from his urban brother, informing
him that he has found a job for Ahmad; however, the boy refuses to leave his
aged father. It being Monday, Basanti goes to a temple to ask Shiva for a good
husband (as unmarried girls typically do). Veeru briefly impersonates the deity,
but is found out. As Basanti drives away in anger, Veeru sings to her "Anger
makes a pretty girl even prettier." Veeru now tells Jai that he wants to
marry Basanti, and asks his buddy to intercede with her aunt. Jai finally does,
but the aunt is horrified by Jai's description of Veeru's lifestyle of drinking,
gambling, and whoring. Rejected, Veeru gets drunk and threatens to kill himself
by leaping from the village watertank. The dialog to this famous scene includes
comic asides on Veerus use of English.
1st villager: Brother, what is this "suicide" thing?
2nd villager: You see, when English people croak, they call it "suicide"!
At last, Basanti's old aunt relents and agrees to the match.
The blind maulvi's son Ahmad, departing for his new job in the city,
is waylaid and murdered by Gabbar's men as revenge for the Holi debacle. His
dead body carries a letter from Gabbar, threatening worse retaliation if Veeru
and Jai are not surrendered to the dacoits. As the old maulvi weeps over his
dead son, the villagers angrily tell the Thakur that they cannot take any more;
a debate ensues over nonviolence versus fighting back. But the maulvi
shames the villagers by asking Allah why He didn't give him more sons to sacrifice
as martyrs for the village. Veeru and Jai proceed to the rendezvous
point, and manage to outwit and slaughter Gabbar's men.
Back in Ramgarh, the Thakur's old servant tells Jai how happy Radha used to
be before the massacreleading to a flashback to another Holi scene, when
her wedding was being negotiated. Jai resolves to ask for her hand, and the
Thakur goes to Radha's father, urging that, although a widow, she be permitted
to begin a new life. The men agree on this.
Basanti is pursued by Gabbar's men, and Veeru tries to save her. Both are captured.
In a famous scene, Gabbar forces Basanti to dance in the hot sun, threatening
to shoot her lover if she stops. She sings, "I will dance as long as there
is breath left in my body." At one point, the dacoits make her dance on
broken glass (recalling the climactic dance sequence in Pakeezah). Needless
to say, Jai comes to the rescue, the dacoits are slain, Thakur Baldev Singh
takes his revenge on Gabbar, and (some of) the lovers live on happily.
Sholay presents interesting parallels with its predecessor by nearly two decades,
Mehboob Khan's Mother India, notably in the enduring trope of the daku
(Indian English "dacoit") or highwaymanan outlaw whose popular
representations span the gamut from freedom-loving Robin Hood to rapacious sociopath.
In the earlier film, the mother's dark, younger son Birju, driven by well-justified
hatred for the parasitic village moneylender who has ruined the family, eventually
becomes the leader of a dacoit band; he appears as a dashing, richly-dressed
horseman, who is primarily interested in settling a score against feudalistic
oppression; yet when he finally abducts the moneylender's daughter, his own
mother rises to destroy him. In contrast, the dakus of Sholayfrom their
first appearance in the flashback of the train-shootoutare unambiguously
evil and bent on carnage, yet they are apparently ensconced in the very heart
of the nation (the film's visual setting is the plateau country of the northern
Deccan, India's midsection), and the forces of social order (here focused in
the brooding patriarch, Thakur Baldev Singh) are powerless to defeat them. Indeed,
the sadistic Gabbar Singh has brutally murdered this "Father India's"
two sons and has literally cut off his law-administering arms (cf. the comparable
though "accidental" mutilation of the father in Mother India).
To strike back, Singh must (as he puts it) "use iron to cut iron,"
replacing his slain offspring and severed arms with two "adopted"
criminal hands, who alone possess the requisite bravery (and moral
ambivalence) to track down the monster in his lair.
Significantly, a mere six weeks before the premiere of Sholay, on June
26 1975, another self-styled "Mother India," Prime Minister Indira
Gandhi, claiming that anti-social forces imperiled the nation and that draconian
measures were required to prevent chaos, imposed a "State of Emergency,"
suspending constitutional rights and jailing thousands of political opponents.
In retrospect, Sippys cinematic epic appears as a surprisingly dark and
prescient parable of the erosion of traditional order and the brutalization
of politics in the once-happy village of Ramgarhthe Nation writ cinemascope.
Sholay has been the subject of two booklength studies to date. Wimal Dissanayake and Malti Sahai's Sholay, a cultural reading (New Delhi: Wiley Eastern, 1992), attempts a comprehensive scholarly study that sets the film within the broader history of popular cinema in India. Anupama Chopra's Sholay, the making of a classic (New Delhi, Penguin Boooks India, 2000) is an inside look at the film's production, based on interviews with the director, stars, and crew members.