Article 15 opens to the deep-throated singing of Gaura, poetically bemoaning the fate of the poor, before it unexpectedly transitions to Bob Dylan's opening verse of 'The Answer is Blowing in the Wind'. And so it is that the two Indias seamlessly entwine.
Let me begin by saying my grasp of caste oppression, its blast radius, its nuances and complexities is still very much in its nascent stages. I very likely have huge blind spots in this area. I am a work in progress and I welcome every opportunity for discussion to further evolve my understanding.
'Article 15' is Bollywood's latest offering on a subject not frequently talked about in cinema - that of caste discrimination. Using the Badaun rape-case as inspiration for it's police procedural drama, the film aims to highlight the plight of the Dalits in the villages of UP, as witnessed by an urban, globe-trotting first-time cop who exoticizes his own country. It is a story intended to speak to audience like me - young city-dweller professionals who have caste blindness because of our privilege. It is undeniably a well-intentioned film, even a necessary film, given the paucity of films on this subject. It is a beautifully shot film, quite engaging, with a few lovely scenes and warm humor. It is a well-acted film and it has a very effective background score.
And yet it is also an urban, upper caste lens employed by an urban, upper caste writer-director, executed via an urban, upper caste actor for an urban, upper caste audience. And this is its biggest existential flaw, which is why the biggest criticism it has garnered, even before the film released, is that it employs the 'white saviour' trope to India's caste problem.
First let's talk about why the white saviour trope is problematic. The white saviour trope is employed to tell a story of conflict in which the position of power is held by the main character (MC) who is armed with social privilege. The story views the world through their point of view, often other'ing, exoticizing or minimizing the efforts, strengths and abilities of the people the main character must "save". It once again reinforces the position of strength of people with privilege by showing those with a privilege deficit as needy, weak and reliant upon the mercy of the main character. It ultimately serves to build up the character who already has privilege currency while only doling out pity for the oppressed. It is patronizing, infantilizing and counter-productive to it's apparent intent to be an advocate for the oppressed group in question.
This then is the exact problem with Article 15.
Throughout the movie, Ayan Ranjan, the MC, is shown to be flummoxed and flabbergasted by all that's happening around him. He is also the only one in the film who has the strength of character to always do the right thing. All other Dalit characters are either weak, scared, needy for approval or victim blaming their own kin. Whether they are doctors, cops, villagers or rebels, when facing the MC, they're submissive and acquiescent. Even the seemingly strong rebel Nishad, when in the same frame as Ayan, is seated at a lower level such that Ayan must literally talk down to him and get him to see how his rebellion is hampering a police investigation intended to benefit a Dalit victim. The film seems to say look you're helpless until *He* steps up and protects you. At no point in the film does a Dalit character ever seem to say no, thank you, I got this. And this is where the films fails its subject.
The film's visual language further seems to underscore the hero effect of the MC. To begin with, Ayushman Khuraana is at least a few shades lighter skinned than every other character on screen. This includes the other upper caste characters like Manoj Pahwa's Bhram Dutt, who is a Thakur with a ruddy complexion. While the sepia-toned palette of the film is effective is portraying the dusty, grimy feel of the villages of India, all the dust seems to bounce off our MC who is always shown sparkling clean with suave gelled hair and smooth skin and neatly creased, perfectly tailored clothes. The halo effect is literally visible and a glaring flaw in an otherwise perfectly designed noir production. Even when our MC deigns to wade through a swamp (a not too subtle metaphor for the "mess" he's in), when he steps out of it - a true hero complete with a barely-alive Dalit girl in his arms, the swamp is barely a water stain on his trouser legs where the crease is still perfectly visible.
I know the rebuttal for each of these grievances, I've heard them often enough when arguing with male writers on the portrayal of women in films. I do not deny that for any minority demographic to break past its shackles of oppression, it needs the support of those in a position of power. For instance, women around the world could never have won the right to vote had the men in power not aligned with the cause. In terms of sheer numbers, you need groupthink to change for meaningful progress. However, what most writers and filmmakers fail to understand is that while being an ally is noble and necessary, how you ultimately portray the characters on screen is equally important.
For someone who has caste privilege blindness like me, I have found it easier to understand caste issues by drawing parallels with the challenges faced by women in a patriarchal society. It doesn't map one-to-one but it does have some overlap. This movie does no favours to its female characters either. In fact it does great injustice to Gaura and Malti, both Dalit women fighting to be heard. If the story had been shown from their perspective, I believe we'd have had a stronger narrative but Article 15 chooses to make them doe-eyed damsels in distress, hesitant and afraid, waiting for the strong male MC to give them agency. And then there's the young, exuberant Kamli, so full of life and joy. I do not know why the writers felt it necessary to crash and burn her world in the end unless it was once again to show that where her loved ones fail her, our MC is there to pick up the pieces. The only woman with some backbone is, of course, the MC's upper caste love interest but she too is gently chastised at the end for not looking upon him with shiny-eyed adulation.
At the end of the film, the only character that comes out smelling like roses is our hero - the indubitable Ayan Ranjan who successfully gets his posse of lawmen to sit together, irrespective of their caste, and share a meal; in the background the fiery young Dalit woman Gaura, teary-eyed with her head bowed and hands folded in gratitude, is seen driven away, neatly boxed in the back of an ambulance.
As a film that loves its metaphors, I wonder what the filmmaker intended for that to mean.
Let me begin by saying my grasp of caste oppression, its blast radius, its nuances and complexities is still very much in its nascent stages. I very likely have huge blind spots in this area. I am a work in progress and I welcome every opportunity for discussion to further evolve my understanding.
'Article 15' is Bollywood's latest offering on a subject not frequently talked about in cinema - that of caste discrimination. Using the Badaun rape-case as inspiration for it's police procedural drama, the film aims to highlight the plight of the Dalits in the villages of UP, as witnessed by an urban, globe-trotting first-time cop who exoticizes his own country. It is a story intended to speak to audience like me - young city-dweller professionals who have caste blindness because of our privilege. It is undeniably a well-intentioned film, even a necessary film, given the paucity of films on this subject. It is a beautifully shot film, quite engaging, with a few lovely scenes and warm humor. It is a well-acted film and it has a very effective background score.
And yet it is also an urban, upper caste lens employed by an urban, upper caste writer-director, executed via an urban, upper caste actor for an urban, upper caste audience. And this is its biggest existential flaw, which is why the biggest criticism it has garnered, even before the film released, is that it employs the 'white saviour' trope to India's caste problem.
First let's talk about why the white saviour trope is problematic. The white saviour trope is employed to tell a story of conflict in which the position of power is held by the main character (MC) who is armed with social privilege. The story views the world through their point of view, often other'ing, exoticizing or minimizing the efforts, strengths and abilities of the people the main character must "save". It once again reinforces the position of strength of people with privilege by showing those with a privilege deficit as needy, weak and reliant upon the mercy of the main character. It ultimately serves to build up the character who already has privilege currency while only doling out pity for the oppressed. It is patronizing, infantilizing and counter-productive to it's apparent intent to be an advocate for the oppressed group in question.
This then is the exact problem with Article 15.
Throughout the movie, Ayan Ranjan, the MC, is shown to be flummoxed and flabbergasted by all that's happening around him. He is also the only one in the film who has the strength of character to always do the right thing. All other Dalit characters are either weak, scared, needy for approval or victim blaming their own kin. Whether they are doctors, cops, villagers or rebels, when facing the MC, they're submissive and acquiescent. Even the seemingly strong rebel Nishad, when in the same frame as Ayan, is seated at a lower level such that Ayan must literally talk down to him and get him to see how his rebellion is hampering a police investigation intended to benefit a Dalit victim. The film seems to say look you're helpless until *He* steps up and protects you. At no point in the film does a Dalit character ever seem to say no, thank you, I got this. And this is where the films fails its subject.
The film's visual language further seems to underscore the hero effect of the MC. To begin with, Ayushman Khuraana is at least a few shades lighter skinned than every other character on screen. This includes the other upper caste characters like Manoj Pahwa's Bhram Dutt, who is a Thakur with a ruddy complexion. While the sepia-toned palette of the film is effective is portraying the dusty, grimy feel of the villages of India, all the dust seems to bounce off our MC who is always shown sparkling clean with suave gelled hair and smooth skin and neatly creased, perfectly tailored clothes. The halo effect is literally visible and a glaring flaw in an otherwise perfectly designed noir production. Even when our MC deigns to wade through a swamp (a not too subtle metaphor for the "mess" he's in), when he steps out of it - a true hero complete with a barely-alive Dalit girl in his arms, the swamp is barely a water stain on his trouser legs where the crease is still perfectly visible.
I know the rebuttal for each of these grievances, I've heard them often enough when arguing with male writers on the portrayal of women in films. I do not deny that for any minority demographic to break past its shackles of oppression, it needs the support of those in a position of power. For instance, women around the world could never have won the right to vote had the men in power not aligned with the cause. In terms of sheer numbers, you need groupthink to change for meaningful progress. However, what most writers and filmmakers fail to understand is that while being an ally is noble and necessary, how you ultimately portray the characters on screen is equally important.
For someone who has caste privilege blindness like me, I have found it easier to understand caste issues by drawing parallels with the challenges faced by women in a patriarchal society. It doesn't map one-to-one but it does have some overlap. This movie does no favours to its female characters either. In fact it does great injustice to Gaura and Malti, both Dalit women fighting to be heard. If the story had been shown from their perspective, I believe we'd have had a stronger narrative but Article 15 chooses to make them doe-eyed damsels in distress, hesitant and afraid, waiting for the strong male MC to give them agency. And then there's the young, exuberant Kamli, so full of life and joy. I do not know why the writers felt it necessary to crash and burn her world in the end unless it was once again to show that where her loved ones fail her, our MC is there to pick up the pieces. The only woman with some backbone is, of course, the MC's upper caste love interest but she too is gently chastised at the end for not looking upon him with shiny-eyed adulation.
At the end of the film, the only character that comes out smelling like roses is our hero - the indubitable Ayan Ranjan who successfully gets his posse of lawmen to sit together, irrespective of their caste, and share a meal; in the background the fiery young Dalit woman Gaura, teary-eyed with her head bowed and hands folded in gratitude, is seen driven away, neatly boxed in the back of an ambulance.
As a film that loves its metaphors, I wonder what the filmmaker intended for that to mean.
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