Dhurander The Revenge
Returning from the pictures in that curious condition of mind that combines bewilderment with the vague, albeit satisfying, feeling that one has not entirely wasted one’s time and has, rather, got one’s money’s worth, I hailed Jeeves for a spot of the old tea to restore frazzled tissues that had taken a bit of a beating for the preceding four hours.
“Might I suggest chamomile?” said Jeeves.
“You may, Jeeves, you may,” I said, settling into the nearest armchair with the air of a man who has survived a railway buffet luncheon and lived to tell the tale. “Extraordinary affair, this Dhurander: The Revenge thingummy. I haven’t been so shaken since Aunt Agatha discovered me hiding under the billiard table after accidentally setting fire to one of her sermons.”
“Indeed, sir,” said Jeeves, returning with a pot of the healing brew and handing me a cup even before I had quite realized he’d been gone.
“The thing concerns a fellow called Dhurander, or Hamzi, or Jassi, I am really not quite sure which, who has, apparently dedicated his life to avenging something or other. The details were a trifle confusing due, possibly, to the fact that every few minutes something or the other exploded and bits of buildings, cars and body parts flew about, like starlings in murmuration.”
“A regrettably distracting circumstance, sir.”
“Quite. The plot, Jeeves, if one may employ the term in the broad and charitable spirit in which one speaks of a maiden aunt’s singing voice being ‘mellifluous’, has this fellow Dhurander insinuating himself into the company and confidence of his enemies and then wreaking chaos and anarchy from within for the next three-and-a-half hours, with the restraint of a hungry rhinoceros discovering on awakening from a blissful sleep that someone has hidden his breakfast.”
“A most natural response, perhaps, from the protagonist’s point of view, sir.”
“Exactly. The chap goes about the place smashing villains with the single-minded intensity of Aunt Agatha pursuing me with a list of eligible young women. There is no stopping him. Bullets miss him. Motorcars and trucks fly about like startled pheasants. Buildings collapse with the frequency with which Bingo Little becomes engaged.”
“Mr. Little has always possessed a romantic temperament, sir.”
“He has indeed. Speaking of Bingo, I ran into the old ass at the Drones afterwards and mentioned the picture. Apparently, the chappie has gone and seen it, too, persuaded, no doubt by the Indian lady he met at an Embassy tea party recently and has been trying to get on the better side of ever since. He said it reminded him – the film, not the Indian lady – of the time Rosie M caught him writing sonnets to another girl and pursued him with a riding crop.”
“A painful recollection, no doubt, sir.”
“Painful? The man still twitches at the sight of equestrian equipment. But, he did agree that, contrary to his own tendency to wilt under the slightest threat of a crop in a flighty lady’s grasp, Dhurander shows remarkable sangfroid under the most intense of pressures.”
“I gather the protagonist remains composed through all his trials and tribulations?”
“Composed, Jeeves? The fellow is as calm in the midst of an explosion as Gussie Fink-Nottle examining a newt at close quarters At one point he drives a truck through three warehouses and emerges with his hair scarcely disturbed. I have seen less self-possession in Anatole when informed that luncheon would be delayed.”
“Anatole places considerable importance on punctuality, sir.”
“And rightly. Nobody should trifle with a great chef. But the villains, Jeeves! Dashed sinister coves. One, especially. Great hulking blighter with a golden tooth and a laugh like Roderick Spode attempting to sing bass in church. Every time he appears, he glares in a manner that would curdle fresh cream.”
“A useful talent, sir, in certain branches of the dairy industry.”
“Quite. And his laugh! Froze my blood, it did. The sort of laugh that causes dogs to bay at the moon and infants to reconsider their plans to grow up! Yet, one had to admire the fellow’s stamina. He spends half the film threatening Dhurander and the other half being hurled through windows of increasing heights.”
“A somewhat repetitive existence, sir.”
“Exactly. You can say that again, Jeeves.
“That would be repetitive, sir”
“I see what you mean. And then there are the emotional scenes. Great Scott! Everybody looks as though they’ve just received a telegram informing them that civilisation is about to end and that, in the circumstances, luncheon would be delayed. Mothers weep, brothers brood, sweethearts gaze soulfully into the middle distance like cows contemplating philosophy.”
“The dramatic arts often demand a certain intensity, sir.”
“Intensity, Jeeves? These people don’t converse. They proclaim. A chap asks for a glass of water as though announcing the fall of the Roman Empire. Every sentence lands with the weight and solemnity of a bishop blessing a battleship.”
“The score, I understand, is similarly unrestrained, sir?”
“Unrestrained! Ha! My dear fellow, whenever Dhurander appears, the orchestra bursts forth with such enthusiasm that one half expects the trombones to leap into the stalls and demand an encore. The music follows him around with the same intensity and relentlessness that Aunt Agatha exhibits pursuing a discussion on matrimony, mine, more often than not.”
“And did the audience respond favourably, sir?”
“Favourably? Dear fellow, they lapped it up. Roared with delight each time a skulking villain got his comeuppance. Cheered. Applauded. Demanded re-runs especially when the main villain was served his just desserts in the most explosive of manners. The script might meander, the logic occasionally disappear, the nationalism attain extreme heights but, if I may confess, Dhurander: The Revenge is capital fun.”
“Would you say, then, that the film has your approbation, sir?”
“The narrative, Jeeves, resembles one of those railway maps, where several lines have become entangled after being sat upon by a large, wet golden retriever. Flashbacks arrive unexpectedly, revelations spring out from behind bushes, and long-lost relations materialize with such frequency that one starts to examine the audience for possible cousins. Yet, the film possesses a sort of magnificent insanity. Like a chap attempting to play Beethoven on the bagpipes while riding a camel. One admires the spirit even while questioning the concept.”
“And, your final verdict, sir?”
“My verdict, Jeeves, is that Dhurander: The Revenge is not so much watched, as endured. With affection. It is loud, absurd, overcooked and entirely devoid of modesty. But, if one enters the theatre prepared to suspend disbelief, judgment and several basic principles of physics, one may emerge thoroughly entertained and oddly cheerful.”
“Very good, sir.”