‘Dhoom 3’ — Rhetoric On Ropes

© Yashraj Films

Iqbal Khan (Jackie Shroff) is a misunderstood artist of his generation. He is a visionary. He is not interested in rendering a generic circus machinery: that of hackneyed antics, animals (ill-treated behind the stage) and forced glamour. The callous bank executive — metaphorical of Philistine corporations and close-minded audience — is predisposed to reject his plea, with hidebound contention that viewers only expect puerility from circus. The director, Victor Acharya, sets the scene of Iqbal Khan’s plights within seconds of his introduction. Jackie Shroff, a seasoned campaigner that he is, portrays the character’s frustrations with ease. It’s hard to imagine anyone else in this role, albeit the length.

The casting of the young Sahir is crucial to the narrative. For one, he has to be a gymnast. And he has to be a good actor. He evades bullies in an act of mini-parkour. It’s a swift and effective introduction — a tap on his potential, for things to come. Siddharth Nigam is a real-life gymnast, so that takes care of acrobatics; where he excels the most is with his innate skill as an actor.

The trial circus show of 1990 is filmed very well. There’s soft “malang” tune in the background. (It would evolve into a full song and a proper circus act in future.) The circus props would also evolve in the future acts. The hat-throwing trick of the father and the son would later be replicated in the final robbery with motorbikes replacing hats. So far, so good from Victor Acharya.

Although Dhoom films are set in real world, they are quasi-fantasy films. The director makes sure that the implausible stunts are shot aesthetically. This is what separates a good director from an ordinary director. Every scene in Dhoom 3 has a function. There is a circus motif in each robbery. Tightrope walking is a common feature in circus and riding bicycle on a tightrope is a possible feat. Accordingly, the motorbike on high-rope is fully thematic in the quasi-fantasy realm of Dhoom. Since motorbikes are essential in Dhoom series, it makes for a thematic correlation between the Dhoom trope and circus. (Upon a closer inspection, preferably in high-definition, one can see that the tyres are mould in the shape of the rims to grip the rope.)

Victor Acharya uses slow-motion and ultra-slow-motion to a great effect in the motorbike scenes, without relying on gaudy tableaus. Then he immediately gets back to the normal speed: it enhances the effect of motorbike’s acceleration.

The second escape adventure is a riveting spectacle. The taut background music underlines Sahir’s predicament when the motorbike reaches the bridge. Sahir underplays well through his countenance of predicament. The scene also harks back to James Bond films where Bond uses gadgets to get out of trouble. Herein, the motorcycle unbelievably transforms into a Jet-Ski. After all, magic is meant to be unbelievable: a mix of sleight, contrivance and deception. Sahir, again, relies on circus acrobatics and magic tricks to escape. The VFX transformation is top-notch.  The entire scene is wonderfully executed without any toffee-nosed rush or jumpy chopping. The editor does a fine job in knowing when to chop and when to spare.

In both robberies, Sahir uses the disappearing trick (taught by his father) to circumvent the police.

The “malang” song is well-timed at a crucial juncture before the interval. The prelude has a sense of grandeur, silhouettes representing the young Sahir and his father, with an oration of the poem “bandey hain hum uske” in the background. Sahir’s father passes a flambeau to him and the curtain opens. Malang has so much potential that it could have become a meta-movie in the song itself. But it is still impressive, grandly expressionist with colours, shadows, outlandish creatures and magic. The qawwali version of the Dhoom tune is noteworthy. The epilogue has a sense of achievement, as Sahir somersaults out of the box to a resounding applause. The movie shows an extended version of the song, which is not there in the official video or soundtrack.

Unlike Hollywood, background music seldom gets due appreciation in Hindi cinema. Like the previous Dhoom movies, the background music is superlative. Julius Packiam blends it finely in the narrative: at times subtle, at times prominent as per the situation. It lingers on even after the movie ends. One gets to appreciate the background music more during repeat viewings. (For the record, Salim-Sulaiman did the background score for Dhoom and Dhoom 2.)

A big revelation comes at the point of interval. This scene, again, is very well directed. The good thing about Victor Acharya is that he knows when to accelerate and when to slow down. Following the confrontation with Jai, Sahir ensconces towards his room. It’s a long take with no dialogue. The length engenders a feeling of suspense. As Sahir sits on the chair, probably facing a mirror (a common mode of cinematography), one can hear his breathing. The camera circles slowly, the silence adds to the anticipation. The interval point is worthy of applause.

Abhishek Bachchan delivers his best performance of the Dhoom series. He shares more screen-time with Aamir Khan than he did with his adversaries in Dhoom and Dhoom 2. He shows a menacing streak in the scene where he interrogates Sahir. Since everything has to be done in the Dhoom framework, the film misses out on opportunities of what they could have done with Jai’s character, as well as a few other things, because in many ways, it’s Jai Dixit who comes across as a stubborn antagonist. The result, however, is still effective. Jai’s beard in the amusement park scene is shoddy: almost a blot on the great picture. Although it is probably done on purpose since he is working unofficially and he is no master of disguise like the Hrithik Roshan of Dhoom 2. It almost seems like an unintentional nod to the ostensible masquerades from the old movies where a hero (or sometimes a heroine) would put on a moustache and become unrecognisable by one and all. The computer-generated shorter beard in the later scenes is much better.

Much like Dhoom 2, Ali (Uday Chopra) is in an adjutant position. He is affable, unsophisticated character who listens to lowbrow music, wears tawdry clothes, but considers himself stylish and poetic. He is a polar opposite of Uday Chopra because of their disparate backgrounds; in spite of that, Chopra gives an unaffected performance. And that makes his performance special. 

A propos the act in India, the idea was to play it to the gallery with a rustic fight scene. The auto-rickshaw feature, however, is unbefitting to the Dhoom template. Ideally they could have harked back to the brilliant chor bazaar (black market) scene from Dhoom 1; that scene had a riveting escape (with Jai and Ali being the absconders instead of chasers) and a little story behind it. But here, there is no back story, no motif and no Dhoom twinge on the rustic tableau.

© Yashraj Films

There is an unsubstantiated criticism that Dhoom 3 lacks the essence of the Dhoom series. In that way, Dhoom 2 was very different from Dhoom 1: Dhoom 2 showed robberies, while the first Dhoom barely got into robberies; Dhoom 2 was also a love story, while Dhoom 1 wasn’t. Similarly, Dhoom 3 doesn’t show any robbery, and much like Dhoom 1, it emphasises on escapes, yet it has its own identity while inheriting the quintessence of the series. Besides, just adding a new antagonist without making any changes would be assembly-line cinema, much like The Hangover Part II.

Dhoom 3 also succeeds in bringing old-school rhetoric to the fore. The poem “bandey hain hum uske” is orated throughout the film in different tones, each at a key moment. Sahir and Iqbal Khan disperse a few memorable dialogues: “Jo duniya ko namumkin lage, wohi mauka hota hai kartab dikhane ka. [What appears impossible to the world is an opportunity to perform a feat.]” This also makes the implausible stunts apt.

Katrina Kaif plays a spirited and somewhat quirky girl. Her smile after “malang” is moving, so genuine and heart-warming. She leaves a strong impact in songs with her adroit moves and expressions. And none of the songs are forced in the narrative. This time she really unleashes her inner kamli (her passionate self), which she couldn’t do in Jab Tak Hai Jaan.  Although, excluding songs, she has a small role, her character is vital in the grand scheme of things.

It’s hard to think of any other actor with such a wide-ranging repertoire of films (acted or produced). Aamir Khan takes care of aesthetics and nuances in a remarkable performance. As always he stays true to whatever character he plays. There is no reliance on past glory, self-reference or braggadocio. His poised countenance and that remarkable stance make the motorcycle scenes more effective. He gives Sahir an aura of mystique when he goes to meet Jai Dixit at the police headquarters. His fine hat, tilted a tad upwards, gives him an air of a sly jester. In a brilliant cinematic moment, we hear Samar speak for the first time, stammering “bandey hain him uske—” in pain.  It is Aamir Khan’s brilliance that enhances the scene’s effect. In another noteworthy scene, Sahir impersonates Samar. Aamir adds a bit of Sahir in that impersonation. Since he is acting like Samar from Sahir’s point of view, not his own, he has to act not only like Samar but also incorporate Sahir into the act. It’s a subtle difference but crucial. In the same scene, where the audience cheered the loudest, Sahir says, “Hoshiari, tarqeeb aur dhokha —teeno mil jaye to log ussey jaadu samajhte hain. [When sleight, contrivance and deception converge, people think it’s magic.]” During the dialogue, he scratches his face with the gun with an old-fashioned panache. Whether it’s a nod to the old-school acting or personal mannerism, it goes well with the rhetoric. This is the closest he can come to self-reference.