Silsila - Movie Review
Published: January 25, 2011
Starring Amitabh Bachchan, Jaya Bachchan, Rekha, Shashi Kapoor
Silsila ranks with Ingmar Bergman's Scenes from a Marriage (1973) and Woody Allen's Husbands and Wives (1992) as one of the most uncomfortably voyeuristic, claustrophobically intimate, and emotionally absorbing depictions of marital infidelity ever made. But Silsila goes a titillating step further than the other two—the husband, wife, and mistress in the film were also husband, wife, and mistress in real-life, and everyone concerned knew about the affair.
Imagine if Brad Pitt, Jennifer Aniston, and Angelina Jolie were cast in a movie about a love triangle, with Aniston playing the wronged wife and Jolie as the other woman. Amitabh Bachchan, Jaya Bachchan, and Rekha were their 1970s Indian equivalents. Amitabh was the biggest Bollywood star of the day, and Jaya, also a famous actress, was his wife of many years. The two had appeared in numerous films together early in their relationship, but Jaya took a break from film after having their two children (their son Abhishek Bachchan is a major Bollywood actor today). During Jaya's hiatus, Amitabh co-starred with actress Rekha in several films—and had a rumored affair with her, which was widely reported in the media.
One can only imagine why the three of them decided to make a film together—any film, but this film in particular, with a premise that so closely resembles what was supposedly going on in their real lives. Perhaps they wanted to have the final word on all the speculation, however intensely difficult it must have been for them to do. If that's the case, both women succeed at portraying themselves sympathetically. The wife, Shobha, claims the moral right to her husband, although it's highly doubtful she really loves him, and the mistress, Chandni, pleads that she's a hapless victim of love, and the intensity of her feelings for him are perfectly clear. They share few scenes together; one is the most powerful of the film—a dramatic (and likely cathartic) confrontation.
Amitabh, on the other hand, reveals nothing about himself—or perhaps everything. His character—who has the same name—never takes shape; he merely adopts various roles—like an actor (in fact, the character is a playwright). More precisely, he embodies a series of changing, superficial, singular qualities. When he meets Shobha, his brother's fiance, Amit is goofy. When he meets Chandni, he's gallant. When his brother dies and he breaks up with Chandni to marry the pregnant Shobha, he's dutiful. When she miscarries, he's attentive. When he grows bored with his marriage, he's perfunctory. When he starts hounding his former girlfriend, the now-married Chandni, he's sleazy. When they consummate their love, he's selfish. When he gets caught, he's indignant. And in the end, he becomes heroic—to both women no less.
But his final avatar is obviously disingenuous—Amit says as much. Before you knock the neat resolution and the nod to Indian family values, remember that, just before the decisive climax and after he finally leaves his wife, he suddenly cares what other people think of him and he fantasizes about marrying Shobha. Chandni has second thoughts, too. Doing the right thing, for this inconstant man, is an easy way to get out of something he didn't really want after all.
The alleged affair between Amitabh and Rekha reportedly ended with the film, and they never worked together again.
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