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Kama Sutra -- offensive and exploitative

Rajeev Srinivasan

Mira Nair's previous directorial efforts, especially the touching Salaam Bombay, were appealing. However, where Salaam Bombay appeared true to life, Kama Sutra is pure escapist trash. It is offensive, because it is exploitative, has no story, its dialogue is the pits, and it essentially is soft-porn-in-exotic-locale, somewhat like the Emmanuelle series of yore. I am very disappointed.

First, what the film does well: the cinematography is good, and the locales (medieval forts in Rajasthan's desert country, the temples of Khajuraho) and sets are very well done. The interiors are suitably romantic, the fabrics colorful and the classical dancers graceful. The classical music in the background is unobtrusive and attractive.

The costumes are absolutely superb; in particular Indira Verma wears a phenomenal number made of pearls. To die for, truly. There are acres of diaphanous scarves and translucent curtains on which to silhouette lovely naked bodies in close embrace. Exotica to the max, indeed. And oh, did I mention the full frontal nudity?

The skin is beautiful, and the sex rather tastefully done. Indira Verma as Maya-the-servant-girl is gorgeous, the well-endowed Sarita Chaudhury as Tara-the-queen looks good, especially deshabille; and for the ladies, Ramon Tikaram as Jai-the-sculptor-lover-of-Maya flexes his lean and well-muscled torso rather a lot.

But that's about it. Nothing else, alas, about the film is any good. In fact on a scale of 1 to 10, it is a zero in all other departments. Except when Bollywood film star Rekha is onscreen, there is nobody with any charisma whatsoever. It is a terribly ill-cast film; the sound recording is so lousy - or maybe it is the affected rapid-fire Indian accents - that it is impossible to understand what people are saying.

On second thoughts, though, it may be just as well that you can't hear them. Because when you *can* in fact hear, the dialogue is hilarious. Not intentionally, alas. The screenplay has some of the most banal and corny dialogue ever outside a Hollywood B film. Yes, definitely, on second thoughts, it is a good thing one couldn't understand what the characters were saying.

Some of the absolute gems stick in my memory, though. Naveen Andrews as Raj-the-dissolute-king: "Bring on the opium!". Naveen Andrews, wearily, as his wife comes over to have sex with him after he has been frolicking with his concubine, the aforementioned Maya-the-servant-girl, "In the end, it is always the wife." And Maya-the-servant-girl, reassuring Tara-the-queen that she will serve Raj-the-king well in bed, "Exhilaration is my department."

It was an experience to hear such pathetic dialogue in a film: I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Surely, Mira Nair (left) could have hired a half-way decent scriptwriter! And the decision to have the main actors, mostly British-trained, speak with a stereotype-of-Indian-English-accent, was a very bad idea. The film would have been much better with dialogue in Hindi and subtitles.

Oh, what about the plot, did you say? That's easy: there is none. If you read the publicity web page, there is some brave talk of women empowering themselves with their sexuality and turning the tables on their menfolk. Guffaw! Complete hogwash! On the contrary, this is an offensive and insulting film, exploiting women's bodies, exploiting white people's stereotypes of dusky Indian beauties and wild, romantic sex in medieval castles.

Rekha is the single person in the film who salvages any self-respect. She speaks clearly, looks good, and dances rather well: she is Rasa Devi, who runs a sort of school for courtesans. Rekha is about the only tenuous link the film has to the original Kama Sutra, a treatise not on positions to copulate in, but on the fine art of love-making. This film does nothing to dispel the widespread misconception about the book.

According to the book, the courtesan was expected to be a mistress of all the fine arts - of song, of dance, of painting, of fine cuisine - like a geisha. A gentleman caller was expected to be a rasika, a connoisseur, also well-versed in the arts. He could expect intellectual companionship from the courtesan, in addition to the pleasures of the flesh. Courtesans were often women of substance, respected in the community.

The casting, other than Rekha's (she seems as skilled and worldly as an ageing concubine), is a comedy of errors. Egregious miscasting: Sarita Choudhury, with her earthy and sultry looks, and her perpetual pout (she has nothing else to do but look sullen), is completely out of character as the queen--she would have been a much better siren. Virginal Indira Verma really doesn't look like a vampish, vixenish temptress. She should have played the rather innocent queen.

Naveen Andrews hams it up as the cartoonish king. I thought him adequate in The English Patient, but here he's downright bad. As someone with some good credentials, he may have been defeated by the puerile script. Ramon Tikaram as the sculptor manages to strike a few fine poses, but it is a losing battle for him too.

Worst of all the casting errors is a person whose name I didn't even catch. He is supposed to be Tara-the-queen's brother, who is smitten by Maya-the-servant-girl. Although he is supposed to be her contemporary, he looks like her father - grey hair and all, not to mention his hunched back. Is this supposed to be some Brechtian joke?

All in all, I am offended by this sorry apology for a film. As an Indian, I feel it trivialises and exploits my culture and my country: it reminds me of the "Blaxploitation" genre of the 1970s in its flagrant pandering to mainstream stereotypes. Mira Nair ought to be ashamed of herself.

Related link: The Kama Sutra site