Indian theatre actress and animator Gitanjali Rao's feature film debut is a delicate and visually dynamic deconstruction of the Bollywood drama. Having originally premiered in 2019 at Venice Film Festival, Bombay Rose is an ambitious- albeit uneven- slice-of-life delve into the generational experiences of three women living in Mumbai (formally, Bombay).
Bombay Rose follows the family of Kamala, a Hindu flower seller who fled to Bombay with her grandfather and younger sister after abandoning an arranged marriage to an older man. Central to the narrative is Kamala herself, and the blossoming romance she has with Salim, a Muslim refugee working as a flower vendor across the street from her family's stall. For the most part, Kamala and Salim's romance is made up of silent stolen moments and knowing glances, however most fantastical are the moments in which Rao exchanges narrative realism for fairytale-like dayscapes. It is during Kamala's daydreams that Bombay Rose's animation is most captivating; exchanging muted colour palettes and minimal backgrounds for vibrant and textured frames reminiscent of traditional madhubani paintings.
A further strongpoint of this narrative thread is Bombay Rose's dismantling of the typical, often negative stereotypes associated with the "Muslim man" within Bollywood cinema. Frequently, Muslim characters are represented as delinquents or undeveloped side-kicks to the male hero, "doomed to minor roles fated simply to represent their community and conform to a series of well-established stereotypes." (Dawyer, 2021, Critical Muslim). Contrary to these archetypes however, Bombay Rose's male lead Salim is actively represented as a challenged and multifaceted individual, both romantic and troubled, resourceful and introverted. In Bombay's fantastical sequences, Salim is depicted as a charming, mighty Muslim nobel, his ethnoreligious identify never put into question nor censored. Comparison is frequently made between Salim and fictional action movie star Raja Khan, an embodiment of desirable hyper-masculine sensibilities. Raja Khan beats the bad guys, he escapes death, and in the end he always gets the girl. For a brief moment, Rao teases that Salim too might actually receive such a fate, though ultimately this hopeful spark is extinguished during the film's climax...
The second subplot of Bombay Rose centres on the English tutor to Kamala's kid sister Tara: Ms Shirley D'Souza, a retired 1950's Bollywood actress. Out of Rao's three female journeys, Ms D'Souza's is immediately the least developed. The conflict she faces between perusing a relationship with antique shop owner Anthony, and holding onto her screen partner and lost love, Laura, is rather stale. Indeed, Bombay Rose's shortcomings stem from its overly stuffed narrative, with too much happening to ever truly offer audiences a chance to become emotionally invested in its characters. From what Ms D'Souza's personal narrative does explore, her experiences reflect a romanticisation of Bollywood's past, and a decline of these ideals in the present. Soberly, Shirley frequents her late partner's grave to lay flowers, which are oft pillaged by Salim to sell. She relives her idealised past by watching her classic black and white movies, and hosting lonely dinners for herself and Laura (or rather, Laura's old clothes).
While Shirley clings onto the past, Anthony tries to adapt to the present, haphazardly marketing his antiques store as a place to buy "props" in order to appeal to the abundance of period pieces in production across the city. Anthony is not shy in his feelings for Shirley, and she eventually allows herself to open up enough to invite him over for dinner. Yet, this is ironically something she never makes it to, instead dying peacefully dressed in one of her character's classic wedding frock.
Death plays a continuous a role in Rao's film; as such, subscribing to some of the tragic romance tropes of Bollywood cinema that Bombay Rose initially aims to dismantle. Shortly following Ms D'Souza's death, Salim meets a sudden end when he is struck by a car whilst fleeing from the police and Mike, a pimp with a vendetta against Kamala. Of further irony is that the car that kills Salim is driven by none other than his idol, Raja Khan. Bombay Rose's metaphors of the dangers of the fetishisation of life within the metropolis of Mumbai and the damaging masculine stereotypes saturating Bollywood cinema are not-at-all subtle.
However, while Kamala and Salim's modern-day romance might end in heartache, the third of Bombay Rose's three core arcs is comparatively more light-hearted. The youngest of Rao's female leads, Tara, befriends a deafmute boy named Tipu after helping him evade capture by the police for child labour. Kamala and Salim's "forbidden" romance very much reflects current melodramatic Bollywood trends, while the childish optimism of Tara and Tipu offers a hopeful message for audiences as to the limitless potential of younger generations. While these narrative beats too lack any real weight, Tara and Tipu's endeavours are what ultimately draws Bombay Rose to its auspicious conclusion.
Gitanjali Rao's feature debut is a somewhat jumbled affair in regards of its pacing. However, in spite of this, Bombay Rose's glimpse into the experiences of a unconventional familial unit is throughly engaging. Rao's decision to explore Bombay- its sights, sounds, and the passionate labours of its people- through these generational female lenses is well-realised. The love and labour of Bombay Rose's animators is clear within every frame, rich with detail and texture; something which greatly suits the lush metropolis at the heart of its narrative.
Bombay Rose offers some striking experimental visuals and is a well-worthwhile watch for fans of animation and Bollywood cinema alike. The film is currently available on Netflix in the UK.
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