The quirky charms of 'Aynabaji'
I don't find Bangladesh's cinema appealing. Despite encouraging beginnings with films like Mukh O Mukhosh and Surjosnan in the 1950s, Bangladesh's cinema has not lived up to its potential. Aside from a few films by the late Alamgir Kabir, and much later, the late Tarek Masud, Bangladesh has embarrassingly little of worth to show for six decades of filmmaking. My own favourite Bangladeshi film remains Mashiuddin Saker and Sheikh Niyamat Ali's Surjo Dighal Bari based on Abu Ishaq's eponymous novel.
During the Pakistan era, commercial Bengali cinema, quite a different kettle of fish, made some attempt to reflect Bengali life, but its efforts fell short. Stories were formulaic, the acting overwrought. Its assumptions strained credulity: Heroes and heroines had a disconcerting habit of breaking into songs and dance; the rich father of the heroine often sported a dressing gown at all hours.
After independence in 1971, commercial cinema entered a brave new fantasy world. Culturally untethered, gaudy and utterly spurious, this gauche cultural confection sprang from the fevered imagination of filmmakers struggling to ape Bollywood. The discerning moviegoer deserted Bengali cinema; Bangladeshi cinema returned the favour.
No wonder Aynabaji has created such a fuss.
In Atlanta, where I live, I learned from social media that after a triumphant release at home, the Bangladeshi film Aynabaji had garnered an extraordinary following among Bangladeshi expatriates. Bangladeshis hosted two sold-out screenings in Chicago. Around 1,600 people filled a large cinema in Brisbane, Australia. Other US cities scrambled to host screenings.
When I reached Dhaka, I found the film running to packed houses three months after its release. I tried to get tickets twice and failed. My sister Alpana came to my rescue and pulled a few strings.
The popularity of Aynabaji reflects the thinking moviegoer's hunger for intelligent cinema, though the rapturous response seems a wee bit out of proportion.
Having said that, there's a lot to like about Aynabaji. The production values are superb, thanks to filmmaker Amitabh Reza Choudhury's background in advertisement films and its exacting production standards. The cinematography is particularly noteworthy – aerial drone shots, long shots and overall nuanced photography give a marvellous, captivating, visceral feel of Dhaka.
Ayna, the film's protagonist, is an actor by passion. This leads him to a strange, dark profession – he plays a double for well-heeled convicts and does time in jail for them. He meets a neighbour, an attractive, single woman, and they become close. The relationship changes Ayna, he no longer wishes to do what he does. But the choice is not his, it turns out. He is compelled to take one last assignment. Things go badly wrong. The story ends with a dramatic twist.
The film's appeal stems from its honest, sharp-eyed take on contemporary reality, backed up by witty dialogue, some good acting and excellent production values.
As a straight narrative, the film is not convincing – there are just too many holes in the story. An exchange of a convict with his double happening repeatedly in broad daylight in busy streets? No way. The romance between Ayna and his girlfriend, effortlessly transcending a yawning socio-economic gap, is too far-fetched.
Aynabaji is more powerful when considered as a stylised, modern-day parable. Wrapped in whimsy, leavened by an impish wit, it is reminiscent of the imaginary English world of Jeeves created by P.G. Wodehouse. Its take on life is similar to the stylised storytelling of the 2014 film The Grand Budapest Hotel. Underneath the humour lies very dark hints of barbarity and injustice. Its Dhaka is an enchanting figment of the imagination. The lush green, the open-air rooftop home, the gorgeous view of the riverside, the free and easily navigable streets–we only wish this Dhaka existed. Wonder of wonders, there's even a car chase!
In the end, Aynabaji, despite some flaws, has some searing observations of contemporary reality. We realise that the politically connected and wealthy, often synonymous in Bangladesh, can flout justice with impunity. For all its quirky humor, Aynabaji is enveloped in a gentle sadness about how vulnerable ordinary people are to the cruel vagaries of fate and the callous machinations of the wealthy. It's a touching, deeply affecting fairy tale, but one that is deeply anchored in reality.
One swallow does not a spring make, but it's enormously heartening to see Bangladesh cinema take baby steps towards creating cinema that's a thoughtful record of the human condition as experienced in Bangladesh.
The writer is a contributing editor for Siliconeer, a monthly periodical for South Asians in the United States. He has been writing for US-based South Asian media for over 25 years.
A Correction and An Apology
In my last article ("Remembering the Bright," Dec. 24, 2016) I mistakenly identified martyred 1971 intellectual Ghiyasuddin Ahmed as Ghiyasuddin Chowdhury. I knew him by his nickname, my beloved, respected Bachchu mama. I deeply regret the error and beg forgiveness from his family members in particular and readers in general.