Queen: movie review
Director: Vikas Bahl
Cast: Kangana Ranaut, Rajkummar Rao, Lisa Haydon
Stop press: I have just seen an honest-to-goodness, full-fledged, full-bodied film. A FILM, hear me? Not an American sitcom masquerading as one, or yet another meaningless 70s masala remake. Queen is a significant Bollywood marker, a film that is intensely local and gloriously global, with a terrific lead performance by Kangana Ranaut, in a story that bubbles over with real feeling and meaning.
Rani (Ranaut) is dumped just a day before her wedding by her fiance Vijay (Rao). Devastated, she decides to flee, because staying home to lick her wounds is not an option. So she finds herself in Paris, and the journey she embarks on makes Queen the kind of coming-of-age, discovery-of-self tale that Bollywood usually doesnt touch with a bargepole. Because women-centric films dont do well, do they? This is where Phantom Productions, which has made this (their first was Lootera), has stepped in.
It starts with a loud Punjabi wedding, and you enter the film, mildly diverted by Ranis loud Punjabi family, doing giddha-shiddha, mehendi-shendi, but not before youve had time to register that the Rajouri Garden mithai-shop-owning middle-class-ness of the Mehras is just right. And that Mummyji, Daddyji, the plump chota bhai, and Dadiji are all pitch perfect.
Big Punjabi weddings and Bollywood have had a long relationship, but where Queen, both the girl and the film, start coming into their own, is when Rani is left to fend for herself, first in Paris, and then Amsterdam. A lone Indian girl, a behenji with a desi ghee tadka, would usually fumble her way across crowded streets and annoyed pedestrians and find herself in a handsome strangers arms, sing a few songs, do a few nakhras and gratefully accept mandap and mangalsutra.
But not Rani aka Queen. She does make silly touristy mistakes, nearly gets mugged but doesnt let it get to her, and discovers she has a spine after all. Lucking into a long-legged hotel maid Vijay Lakshmi (Haydon) is the first departure from standard Bollywood practice: this other Vijay takes Rani under her wing, drags her into a store with lovely Parisian clothes (these Paris maids are not just drop dead sexy, and enjoy their libido, they can afford all those designer threads?), and generally hand-holds Rani for an enjoyable spell.
Bahls second directorial venture is a delight: his first, Chillar Party, had some spark, but nothing prepared me for