Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s highly-anticipated Bollywood biopic Gangubai Kathiawadi finally hit cinemas in March, and offers a refreshing, if at times frustrating addition to the tentpole Hindi releases of 2022. Bhansali is a well-known force in the Indian film industry, famous for his sweeping epics, ornate sets and costumes, and intricate song sequences. He is also perhaps the closest a filmmaker can come to being an auteur in the world of truly commercial Hindi cinema. He displayed his skill for emotional storytelling with Khamoshi: The Musical (1996), Devdas (2002), Black (2005), and Guzaarish (2010), and although I personally found the emotional centers somewhat lacking in later films Ram-Leela (2013), Bajirao Mastani (2015), and Padmaavat (2018), Bhansali’s rich aesthetics and attention to detail never fail to impress.
In Gangubai Kathiawadi, Bhansali tackles the (at least partially) true story of Gangubai, a woman forced into prostitution in the mid 20th century who eventually became a powerful Mumbai madam. Gangubai’s remarkable real-life exploits included becoming a respected leader in her community, forming strong ties to the Mumbai underworld, and meeting with Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru to advocate for the rights of prostitutes. Bhansali’s film focuses mainly on the plight of sex workers in India, as well as the personal sacrifices Gangu is forced to make in order to transform into a cold, intimidating pimp.
Many moments in the film are emotionally effective. The trauma of Gangu’s entry into prostitution, and the sympathy that the experience gives her towards other young girls forced into the same fate is a strong narrative throughline. This in particular provides excellent characterization for the protagonist in the first half of the film. Additionally, the middle section of the film, which deals with Gangu’s one true love affair and its breakdown, is one of the strongest aspects of the story. Bhansali makes clear that Gangu’s fatal flaws are her martyrdom and self-loathing. These flaws keep her from pursuing her own happiness through a relationship, and in turn hurt her lover when she pushes him away for what she perceives as his own good.
However, unfortunately, the film loses its way slightly in the second half. This is true of many Bollywood films, as typically they are designed to include intermissions. This often results in more of a two-act structure than a three-act structure, and sometimes makes it difficult for filmmakers to sustain consistent rising action throughout the entire story. This is clear as ever in Gangubai Kathiawadi. The first half is gripping, and ends with the conclusive and gut-wrenching sequence of Gangu forcing her lover to marry someone else before finally losing her composure in a wild dance at a Navratri celebration. Frankly, the film could easily end there. Instead, Bhansali leads us through a middling second act intent on repeating its message over and over again.
The second half of the film presents an entirely new central conflict, now the issue of Gangu’s brothel being threatened by a local girl’s school. This leads to a protracted series of one-note sequences, nearly all of them punctuated by a new empowering tough-girl speech courtesy of Gangu. While the first of these is effective, the next two or three feel redundant at best. This isn’t helped by the introduction of a bland, docile, potentially gay-coded journalist character who mainly serves to act as an audience surrogate, incessantly awed by Gangubai’s fiery charm. The film ends on a thematically weak note, with Gangu parading victorious through the streets in slow-motion, supporters literally showering her with confetti, as narration further stresses how important and well-loved she was. While none of this is necessarily untrue, the moment feels like an odd contrast to the first half of the film, which emphasizes the inherent misery and unnecessary sacrifice of Gangu’s chosen path. Does Bhansali wish to showcase the tragic cycle of trauma and abuse present in forced prostitution while making a plea for the rights of sex workers, or does he aim to unquestioningly glorify everything Gangu stood for?
Perhaps a film like this would have benefitted from an ending similar to that of Muzzafar Ali’s lyrical period classic Umrao Jaan (1981). Umrao Jaan, similar in subject to Gangubai, chronicles the tumultuous life of a young peasant girl forced into the role of a high-profile courtesan in the 19th century. At the end of the film, having lost both of her great loves, she returns to her hometown, only to find that no one there recognizes her. Exiled by her family, she returns dejected to her brothel and finds it destroyed and deserted. The devastating impact of this ending perfectly encapsulates the struggle of many sex workers at the time: They are damned if they do and damned if they don’t. Life in the brothel is harsh and unsustainable, while returning to ‘normal’ life would mean facing endless judgment and rejection. There are seeds of this devastation planted throughout Gangubai Kathiawadi, but none of them significant or consistent enough to take root.
Gangubai Kathiawadi is thought-provoking, visually opulent, and boasts a captivating performance from lead actress Alia Bhatt. Though it doesn’t quite measure up to Bhansali’s earlier work, it is a welcome deviation from his recent string of flashy historical epics starring Deepika Padukone and Ranveer Singh, and is certainly worth a watch. In the future, perhaps Bhansali would do well to return to his roots, and focus a little more on substance than style.
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