Carolime Time

Slumdog Millionaire review, a prettily painted picture

I just watched Slumdog Millionaire with my parents and brother(s).

It is referred to as the “feel good movie” of the year. As the winner of the Toronto International Film Festival’s Cadillac Award, with high ratings from pretty much every self-proclaimed movie critic I know on the ground, I went in with my expectations reined in. When I say reined in, I tried not to expect anything, but secretly knew I’d be fine.

Rightfully so, I was laughing and engaged within the first ten minutes. Off with a bang, the movie had my mom sitting upright. Having been brought up in Mumbai, she was immediately disgusted by the idea of a slum depicted on the big screen. “Chi, chi, what shit is this we’re watching?,” I heard her mumble when the lead character jumped into a pile of feces. I found this reaction particularly interesting, as I know there are Indians around the world from a generation before mine who have grown up in this place I’m not from directly. They are not as prone to pitying the slum kids without the charming texture of film, and are moreso desensitized to the poverty if not disgusted by it.

Using the timeline of a police interrogation and the popular TV show “Who Wants to Be A  Millionaire,” a young slum boy/chaiwallah is shown answering pop culture and general knowledge questions accurately and easily, one after another, much to the distaste of those in classes above him.

Directed by Danny Boyle, of Trainspotting fame,  the film plays on the current world fascination with Mumbai, India in general, and the exoticism of India’s scents and colours in pop culture. Like the speed of change in India, Boyle uses careening cars, trains, and chappal’d feet to tell the story of India’s race to success. The corruption, which every Mumbai’ite nods their head to, is apparent in Slumdog Millionaire, and those of us who are shielded from such harsh realities drop our jaws in awe. I was pleased to see my mother’s heartstrings sufficiently tugged. She was pulled in within a half hour as death, fire, and fighting struck the lives of innocent children. Truthfully, as I watched the film, I could’ve sworn I’d seen those same little girls and boys at my window and rickshaw openings in Bandra, asking for change or trying to sell me books. Really. I can’t tell the difference.There is so much truth to this film.

I guess this is Boyle’s modus operandi, in that he takes themes that are otherwise a harsh reality, jazzes them up a bit, perhaps glamourizes them to an extent to make them audience and ratings-friendly, and throws them out there to be gobbled up. It’s really prettily gift-wrapped and is told in the perfect Bollywood-esque style. And, like the Bollywood stories that are all the rage in India, Slumdog’s lead character is the object of much affection from all classes towards the end of the movie. One scene stood out to me in which the window of the slum-kid-turned-chaiwallah-turned-millionaire was being tapped on not for the sake of begging and getting some money, but to root for a slum kid on his way out and living what one may call “The Indian Dream.” ..to become a star, to be chosen from the masses, by chance, a city of 12 million or so people, and to have the opportunity to not only be rich but also famous.

I definitely felt good afterwards, although it’s obvious not all endings are so happy for the slum kids of Mumbai. You may as well hand one a hundred rupee note from your rickshaw and remind yourself that you’ve done your good deed for the day.