Revue Rant: Story of Victims and Villains | Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro by Kundan Shah (1983)

Introduction?

A truly iconic film that stands out for its dark, satirical comedy, Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro is a timeless work of art that portrays socio-political evils masked as different characters and how they alter the lives of the protagonists forever.

The social commentary is a marvel despite the censorship restrictions of the time. Subtle remarks throughout the film invite the viewers to see the film as a milestone in Indian cinema, as hilarity and our society’s reality.

Plot Summary

The film opens with Vinod and Sudhir waiting for guests for their Photo Studio’s inauguration- cut to a puppy sitting in solace, innocently staring, like waiting for the show to begin, much like the rest of us. The plot reveals itself to be a murder mystery, commencing the second half of the film.

A string of perplexing and collapsing events later, the two heroic characters who only wanted to win over evil, are framed for the murder of D’Mello and the film ends with the AIR version of ‘Hum Honge Kamiyaab’ playing in the background, a song very critical to this film’s satirical stance and, interestingly, to government propaganda during Indira Gandhi’s office.

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Cast?

• Vinod: Played by the marvellous Naseeruddin Shah, this character is magnetic, humorous, and always gets his way by saying mai bada hu na. He loses his wits about him when he’s conned by editor Shobha Sen, yet always maintains a clear sense of what his morals are.
• Sudhir: Enacted by Ravi Baswani, this character is the ultimate conventional sidekick, always supportive of Vinod in all he does. He thinks women appreciate unsolicited flirting and though that’s a worrisome notion, it contributes to the comical element of the film and is always shut down by headstrong, badass women like our next character.
• Shobha: The badass editor of Khabardaar magazine, this character is played by Bhakti Barve and could’ve been my favourite if she’d not, halfway into the film, seduced Vinod with her feminine helplessness of not being able to accomplish the mission alone.
• D’Mello: Played by the wholesome Satish Shah, this character is the ‘honourable man’ from abroad who cons three contractors and then gets killed. Honourable, sure. For the majority of the film, he plays a dead body, who somehow stands upright on its own and has his eyes wide open, draped beautifully in Draupadi’s saree.
• Ahuja: Embodied by the legend Om Puri, this character possibly has the best comical timing in the entire film, a nonchalant influential contractor jisne kabhi apne baap ki bhi nahi suni. His sequence from towing DMello’s corpse in a coffin tied to his car will forever crack me up.
• Tarneja: The antagonist of the movie, if at all there is one, is played by Pankaj Kapoor. He enters the film spraying perfume in the armpits of the man he is about to talk to, a literal diva! He thinks he is the law and has the power to do whatever whenever.
• Priya: Played by the exemplary Neena Gupta, this character disenchants a little, honestly. Her only part in the film is to sit like a lady, bat her lashes like a lady, and fit into all feminine notions of her male-dominated work circle.

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“Municipality mere baap ka hai?”

“Nahi Sir, aapka hai.”

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The film is relevant to this time because of our politically compromised country. There are political references and cross-references throughout the film, almost like easter eggs for the viewers to better comprehend the message of it all. Most pronounced of them all is the JRD Tata quote in the background that says “I think it is wrong for a businessman to join politics, for him to play a political role,”

Another iconic easter egg is the quote on Shobha Sen’s wall that’s brought into focus when she accepts an Rs10 Lakh bribe to act as an accomplice in keeping the murder a secret:

“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep; But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.”

And the end engraves a silent message of the wealthy being just and the poor being scapegoat.

We see Vinod and Sudhir aimlessly walking in prisoner uniforms in the streets of Bombay, stopping to look into the camera, and gesturing at a guillotine. All this happens while the symbolic tune of ‘Hum Honge Kamiyaab’ plays in the scene, bringing this film to a woeful end.

There is something deeply depressing about the hilarity of it all and its lesson that is echoed through the years since its release:

‘The joke is never on the system. It is always on us, the common man.’