Andhadhun Review - Blind To The Truth

Andhadhun starts with the shooting of a blind rabbit and ends with a car flipping over and burning down. They’re connected. Don’t ask me how the narrative reaches there, it’s just too convoluted - ironically, the best part about Sriram Raghavan’s newest thriller, whose biggest strength is its ability to revel in the absurd. In fact, the film even opens with an homage to two Doordarshan serials, Chhaya Geet and Chitrahaar, which are quickly followed by a question a character asks - ‘What is life?’ He answers simply with, ‘It all depends on the liver.’

And yes, this delightfully unhinged narrative depends entirely on two disconnected things - a rabbit who has a significant role to play and the aforementioned liver, which two friends discuss on a car ride somewhere far away. I know I seem like I’m rambling like a madman, but Andhadhun is nothing like your pre-conceived notions. 15 minutes in, Sriram completely destroys any pre-conceived notions you may have had about the narrative.

The film starts brilliantly, with a masterfully crafted sequence, involving an accidental gunshot, a blind pianist, two lovers and some flowy, beautiful nightgowns. You can imagine how that plays out. It follows Akash, a secretive pianist, whose life takes a turn for the ludicrous, when he inadvertently witnesses a murder. The woman entangled in the murder, Simi (Tabu), is a berserk woman who will do anything to make sure that this secret doesn’t get out - even resorting to pushing elderly citizens off a high-rise and contemplating blackmailing a five-year-old child.

Yes, it’s foolish as hell. Sriram’s narrative takes getting used to, and it might take people considerable time to immerse, but when you do, Andhadhun flies. It’s bolstered by the performance of Tabu, in front of whom, everyone else slims in comparison. She’s just brilliant, playing a version of every vamp from the olden days , the most obvious comparisons being with Simi Garewal’s Kamini from Subhash Ghai’s Karz and Bindu’s Shabnam from Shakti Samanta’s Kati Patang.

But unlike those women, Simi is never viewed as a bad character. Instead, Sriram and the multi-talented Tabu get you to believe that this psychotic woman was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s a refreshingly upbeat performance. Tabu’s expressions, especially during a scene involving a bathroom and a cop, are absolutely priceless. Also good is Ayushman Khurrana as the blind pianist who gets entangled in this pulpy mess. He especially rises in the rocky second half, where the blood and action are In high supply, but the comedy and interest run out.

To this implausible narrative, Raghavan boldly adds even more implausible characters - a cheating cop, a girlfriend who’s too gullible for her own good, but the standout is Anil Dhawan, playing a version of himself, a yester-years star who is hung over on his previous successes. In the house where Anil’s character, Pramod, lives, there are actual posters of Anil’s previous cheesy films including Honeymoon. In one scene, he tells Simi that he is shocked that he has fans in Denmark, to which Simi replies - ‘Hamlet was in Denmark, too.’

The actors reference their earlier works, with Tabu referencing Haider, Maqbool and Karz (Simi Garewal-Simi?), Anil referring to his entire plethora of filmography and frequent intercuts of reruns of Chitrahaar, that Doordarshan serial that left all of India mystified. Radhika Apte is a fine actor but she doesn’t get much to do here. Her character is too infrequent to be memorable and her Sophie turns out to be a damp wishy-washy squib until a climactic twist. Also good are Zakir Hussain and Ashwini Kalsekar. Ultimately, they have little effect over the narrative, but they add good doses of comic humour and being Raghavan veterans, they are in their element.

But in the second half, when both the leading ladies disappear, Andhadhun halts to a stop. The laughs just aren’t consistent. But, Raghavan never resorts to parodying the movies he references. He comes from a place of love, and while the narrative derails, his keen eye remains consistent, leading Ayushman, a fine actor, to give his career best performance. The reason I loved the first half of the film is that even though it plays out as a theatre of the absurd, it never becomes unbelievable or far-fetched.

But in the second half, when we are subjected to an organ trade ring, involving Zakir Hussain and his two side kicks, the storytelling just derails and takes a simplistic resolution to too many subplots. Andhadhun just can’t get over this slump. But still, that first half is absolutely spectacular. Inspector Manohar, played by a darkly delicious Manav Vij, also adds an extra layer to this role, but I’ll say it again - this film would be nothing without the gargantuan talent of Tabu, who even makes cooking crab and murder sexy as can be.

To steal a line from Greek writer, Nikos Kazantzakis, “Since we cannot change reality, let us change the eyes which see the reality.” As this film tells it, everyone, is blind to the truth, whether we can see or not.